[Closed] In the clearing stands a boxer

[alittlesweptup]

Date & Time: Backdated to 2/20, evening
Location: Hold's training facilities
Characters: Charlie Cutter and Henry Sturges
Summary: Baby's first boxing lesson.
Warnings: Manly dudes doing manly things (not a euphemism)

It had been a few days since Charlie'd offered to spirit Henry down to the Hold's training facilities to show him a 'thing or four' about boxing, but it had taken him as long to free up some time away from his pet project with Collette and Billy nevermind the nonsense surrounding 'Separation Day' and all that. Suffice to say, he was worried the offer might have grown a bit stale by the time he got round to pinging Henry a message late in the day: a text that read simply, "Going down to knock a bag about - come if you like - wear appropriate footwear." So Charlie wasn't really expecting much, but he needed to go down and put a few hours in anyway; if Henry decided to come along, all the better.

Dressed in sweatpants, t-shirt and the best trainers he'd been able to scrounge from this wasteland of a consumer environment (what d'you know - finding anything like specialty footwear in Exsilium is about as easy as not getting rained on), Charlie makes his way to the Hold's training facilities. Bypassing the firing range and the archery range - for christ's sake who the hell used a bloody bow here? -, it doesn't take long to tread the now familiar path down to where the Initiative's hung a few punching bags and strung together a fairly passable ring. It's all a little too clean, but he supposes that's better than a little too anything else. And while they haven't gotten anything near the right shoes, the Initiative at least knows enough to provide wraps and gloves.

Wrapping his hands is like applying a second skin: goes on quick and he checks the tension in the wrap only out of habit more than necessity. Retying his shoes, he knocking the toe of each against the floor in some mysterious, nonsensical ritual as he falls into warmups and cycles through simple footwork and a little shadow boxing until his joints start to loosen up. It's not really a sport built for someone getting near their forties; lately he's sort of starting to feel it.

Comments

[deservinghell]

Henry's been a fighter all his life. Any memory of time not spent in the pursuit of violence was already foggy and aged before his curse touched every cell in his brain with perfect regeneration and made it difficult to remember what it's like to forget.

Cutter had the right idea. Throwing a punch will be comfortable--a return to what's familiar. It's the best environment he can think of to come clean with this guy.

When he enters the gym, he finds Cutter already at it like Henry expects him to be at it: like a man who loves his sport. It's almost a shame to break in on the picture, and he only does so after quietly (if unnecessarily) dressing his own fists.

"I trust you won't go too easy on me," he says, arms folded loosely across his chest as he approaches Charlie from behind.

[alittlesweptup]

He's really only been at it for ten, fifteen minutes, before the sound of Henry's voice breaks his concentration. Charlie lets his arms swing down to his sides as he turns to face him; the stretch of warm muscles is more pleasant than anyone gives enough credit for.

Grinning, he nods to Henry's hand wraps. They look all right from here - he won't have to re-wrap them anyway. "Just a thing or two, eh? No, I promise I won't run you round the ring more than a few times." He stretches his arms and shakes the tension out of his hands.

"So when was the last time you got into the ring, Balboa?"

[deservinghell]

"It's been a few years." Which is true. Henry did a bit of prizefighting for legitimate funds in London, mid-18th century, before settling permanently in the Colonies. It's been some time since he played by any rules.

"Might have to work a bit of rust out of the gears."

[alittlesweptup]

Charlie shrugs, rocking from one foot then the other. "Should be able to manage that. See what you've got left in you, eh?" He gives Henry a small check on the shoulder with his wrapped knuckles, a quick grin. "I hear it's like riding a bike."

Stepping back, he motions to a nearby rack of gloves and the line of hanging bags. "Well, pick up your kit then. Do you remember how to warmup, or shall I just start the hand holding right off?"

[deservinghell]

"It's worth getting right the first time. Why don't you walk me through it." He turns to rack, spending just a couple seconds picking through the sizes until he finds something that looks like it might be suitable. His hands are on the low end of average; he expects Cutter's fists are at least double the size. "We'll see if muscle memory takes over from there."

[alittlesweptup]

"Now there's a good lad. If only everyone had that kind of sporting attitude."

Boxing with Charlie Cutter apparently means getting a good ribbing along with any blows he might throw out. Because this? This is fun. It may be half for show more than anything (Henry's probably about as incompetent as a duck is at swimming), but there's real pleasure in going through the motions. It's been a while since he had anyone to swing opposite who even knew the meaning of the word 'footwork.'

So he falls into stride, bouncing cheerfully from foot to foot and talking his way through what he's doing: "So you start with a little footwork to get loose, bring your heart rate up. Then straight jabs--" He throws a few shots out into the air, planting and twisting his forefoot to do it before settling back into that rhythmic hopping step. "Then some hooks and head weaves until everything's stretching through."

[deservinghell]

And though they are just motions for the likes of Henry, he finds he enjoys playing the part of the student for a change, lining up to match Cutter's steps.

"Do you see much company down here" he shifts his feet, light even in shoes with too-stiff soles for this kind of exercise "or is it usually this quiet?"

He swings and jabs with precision. What challenges him is dialing back the speed of his firing fists enough to appear natural.

[alittlesweptup]

"What, down here? Not on your life. Don't think many people here are into boxing." More's the pity. He can't remember the last time he had a half decent sparring partner. Working a bag over's not the worst thing in the world, but there's nothing quite like trading punches with something that can actually hit back.

"Plenty of people on the firing range and the bloody archery range of all things though. --See, not bad. The line of your forearm's pretty sharp for being out of practice." He swings out, gives Henry's elbow a dull tap with his knuckles. "Just make sure to keep your elbow level with your hand."

[deservinghell]

"Perhaps they get their fill of violence out there." He quirks an eyebrow over his arm mid-punch.

Henry's a good sport about taking instruction. The back and forth is good for both of them, and he supposes it's important to bolster a sense of fellowship down here before he goes confessing anything.

[alittlesweptup]

Charlie makes a low, dismissive noise that probably indicates more about his opinion on the people using the firing and archery range than words could. He throws a few more jabs and swings, then settles back into the bouncing one-two step. Eventually he lets his fists swing down, the line of his arm stretching down; he can feel it in the elbow and shoulder - that easy stretch.

"Well Tiger, you ready for a little one on one then?"

[deservinghell]

"Think I'm warm as I'll ever be," he says, letting his feet settle flat under him and swinging his arms across his chest a couple of times to finish loosening up his otherwise very, very cold muscles. "Remember: don't go easy on me. I'll take it personally."

[alittlesweptup]

"We'll ramp up to it," he assures him. Bless, look at the little thing all chomping at the bit. So long as he was careful not to pummel Henry straight into the mat out of habit, this might be just the thing.

Charlie pats the edge of the ring, then clambers up onto it. He holds the ropes apart so Henry can slide through to the middle before he ducks through himself, walking an easy circle round the mats and bouncing absently, testing the alacrity. "All right," And he swings for the center, bringing his gloves up and rocking there with a cheerful grin. "Just remember to keep your elbow level and you'll be fine, yeah?"

Touching gloves, he doesn't bother to even take a solid step back before throwing his first hook.

[deservinghell]

Henry climbs into the ring and sets himself up opposite the big man before lifting his gloves and preparing to go to work. Cutter's enthusiasm is infectious, which is honestly what the doctor ordered: a distraction.

That initial swing is dodged with a tiny bit more verve than he intends, dipping his knees and weaving under Cutter's arm without much thought. When he throws an answering uppercut to the ribs, though, he has to catch himself mid-swing to soften the blow.

[alittlesweptup]

The dodge is quicker than he expects it to be and the swing that follows find him still in the process of recovering from his own throw. It's a half second, but more than enough time for Henry's knuckles to find their target. Charlie makes a low, surprised sound when they do - swings back and puts some distance between them with a quick step back and over.

"See? Like riding a bike," he says, though it's obvious he's a little put out by the hit. Not that he was being too careful with his defense-- but all right, he can swallow a bite of humble pie. Teach him to be cocky, eh?

He sticks back in that easy bouncing step for a moment - feints left then comes in from the right with a hook.

[deservinghell]

"Maybe we ought to schedule a bike ride for the next boys' night out." If there's anything he's truly missed about home, it's having a motor under him.

The feint's wasted energy. Henry can pull his punches all he wants, but there is no turning off the mental celerity that makes even Cutter's most precise swings look clumsy. When the right comes, he throws his own narrow left, the momentum tilting his head just out of range for the incoming hit as he pivots and taps Cutter's jaw.

[alittlesweptup]

It's one thing to get caught unawares, another entirely to get that tap to the jaw when he knows better: when his guard's a bit up and he's playing a bit more wary. It's an easy hit, no real force but the surprise of it is jarring enough that he snaps back a little.

"What like one of those two seaters? Getting a bit weird there, mate."

He may be a lot of things, but he's not an idiot. Clearly Henry knows more than a 'thing or two', is less than rusty; Charlie knows when he's being conned, especially when it's such a damned clumsy attempt. Might as well give him a little hell back while he's at it. So the next time he comes at Henry, it's quick and sharp: a flurry of punches meant to hit and to hit a little hard at that.

[deservinghell]

"Not what I had in mind. But if you're a pedaling man." Ah good, he's catching on. It's bound to be a better segue into the intended line of conversation than he might come up with otherwise.

And here's his chance.

When Cutter punches, Henry deflects, blocking without holding a thing back. The speed and ease of movement will doubtlessly look a bit fishy.

"I have a bit of a confession to make."

[alittlesweptup]

Patience has never been his strong suit, particularly when it comes to someone pulling the wool over his eyes, so it's not exactly surprising that he snaps back a bit when the opening comes: his throw neatly turned and his weight sliding from the momentum. He jerks back roughly, all off footed for a moment. There's no goddamn way.

"Yeah, you think so?" He bites back, sharp edge of irritation right there in his voice even as he reels back for another attempted strike. He's growing impatient, and the next jab is more than a little sloppy.

[deservinghell]

Henry neatly ducks out of the big man's range toward the ropes, though he doesn't expect the move to do anything for Cutter's mood.

"I was honest with you, I haven't boxed in ages." He doesn't look winded, or sweaty, or in any way put out by the exercise. Cold and efficient as a machine. "What I didn't tell you is that it's been two and a half centuries."

[alittlesweptup]

Well it certainly doesn't help. Charlie comes at him again, all piss and vinegar though the inevitable side step puts him on the ropes. The snap of it enough to momentarily redirect his attention as he sways back, balancing himself off them. He's panting a little, color high in his face as he swings back toward Henry.

"Mate if you're going to be pulling my leg around the whole bloody ring, I'd at least prefer a story that isn't totally mad."

[deservinghell]

"You're a veteran of interdimensional travel," Henry says, this time standing his ground and letting Cutter come at him with all he's got. "And you can't stomach the idea you're trading punches with something that isn't quite human?"

[alittlesweptup]

Yes, but the difference between Henry and the myriad of Exsilium inhabitants that are most definitely not human is that he at least looks the part. Charlie's had enough of people he knows claiming to be immortal; it's starting to come off as a bit of an old hat. Maybe there's a practical joke being played that he hasn't been clued into yet. He swings a few punches at Henry, trying to get through his defense.

"So what then, you're not a bloody elf too are you? Haven't got the ears for it."

[deservinghell]

It was easier with Chloe somehow, perhaps because she'd been exposed to the signs for months and his uttering the words simply provided the missing value she needed to solve the equation.

But he doesn't want to play any more games with Cutter; it's not doing their budding friendship any favors.

On the next swing, Henry whips one of his hands from its glove and catches the flying fist just before it slams into his face, flexing his fingertips into the smooth leather as his nails extend into claws, his eyes sinking into a soulless black. He snarls through a mouthful of razor teeth too unnaturally long for his jaws.

[alittlesweptup]

The sudden stop to his arm rattles straight through his wrist, slamming up his elbow and shoulder. It makes his teeth chatter and his jaw ache which might be a point of worry if he weren't more concerned with other more pressing matters. Charlie goes stock still, deer in the headlights--

--for all of half a second before he rocks back on his heels, staggering back a few paces until the ropes catch him.

"Jesus Christ!" He's breathless, clearly rattled by it (and who wouldn't be), but-- "What the hell are you?"

[deservinghell]

He snaps back out of it as quickly as he can--he has Cutter's attention. That's all he needs. But the change out is always more difficult, pushing the explosion of bloodlust back into the bottle and putting a cap on it.

"I am a vampire." Easier to say these days, but the words leave his mouth with no less revulsion. "And lucky for you, that is as extensive a demonstration as I'm willing to give."

[alittlesweptup]

Charlie keeps back on the ropes for a moment, one hand clutching at the topmost one for balance as he stares blankly at Henry. Then the gears start to turn - slowly, visibly. He frowns a bit but doesn't move to rock his weight off the ropes.

"We talking Bram Stoker or the preteen fiction sort?"

[deservinghell]

He almost smiles at that. The irreverence popular culture has brought to the subject of vampires used to aggrieve him. But with enough exposure, he's forced to have a sense of humor about it.

"The dangerous sort," Henry says instead. "That's all that's ever mattered."

[alittlesweptup]

Which is met by a long pause, mouth half open as he sucks down air in an attempt to catch his breath - both from the physical activity of trying to land a hit and from the proverbial stomach punch of Henry's rapid change. Then he shifts, pulls one of his gloves off and then the other. Runs his hand over top of his skull and then settles it at the back of his neck. Christ.

"Well, suppose it takes all kinds."