Osprey (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
checksum) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2012-04-27 09:59 pm
checksum) wrote in exsiliumlogs2012-04-27 09:59 pm
[open] Testing and Documentation
Date & Time: Most anytime post-Roman mission
Location: Gym
Characters: Osprey and anyone who cares to join
Summary: Osprey is feeling out his body/weapon's newly increased limits
Warnings: Possible martial-arts violence
Osprey was unhappy with the Initiative, which was nothing new. He had been willing to offer them the benefit of the doubt up to a point, but that point had passed on the ground outside the Assyrian village, where he and the other transports had been left to their own devices in the fight against the Romans, without intelligence, direction, or support.
Right now, though, his annoyance was more focused. He'd taken his sleeve, his already massively-upgraded body, as his weapon, and as promised, its capabilities had indeed increased. However, exactly how it had improved hadn't been documented, which was irksome.
So now, he ran through practice exercises, speed katas, and anything else he could think of to try and figure out exactly what had improved, and how much. A weapon you didn't know was a weapon in the hands of your enemy, to borrow a line from one of his more philosophical instructors, and he was not about to let his body be that kind of weapon.
Location: Gym
Characters: Osprey and anyone who cares to join
Summary: Osprey is feeling out his body/weapon's newly increased limits
Warnings: Possible martial-arts violence
Osprey was unhappy with the Initiative, which was nothing new. He had been willing to offer them the benefit of the doubt up to a point, but that point had passed on the ground outside the Assyrian village, where he and the other transports had been left to their own devices in the fight against the Romans, without intelligence, direction, or support.
Right now, though, his annoyance was more focused. He'd taken his sleeve, his already massively-upgraded body, as his weapon, and as promised, its capabilities had indeed increased. However, exactly how it had improved hadn't been documented, which was irksome.
So now, he ran through practice exercises, speed katas, and anything else he could think of to try and figure out exactly what had improved, and how much. A weapon you didn't know was a weapon in the hands of your enemy, to borrow a line from one of his more philosophical instructors, and he was not about to let his body be that kind of weapon.
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The giant room had the potential to blindfold him from them for a little while. If he concentrated hard enough, worked himself ragged...Two glasses, now, to catch the black reside that came up after conjuring that lance over and over again. It always left the most unpleasant taste in his mouth, but even that was a better thing to focus on than what was hiding in the back of his mind, shoved forcefully further and further away.
All to slingshot back later, of course; he had to sleep sometime. But until then...
Martin stepped into the door before barely realizing what was waiting for him. His shoes squeaked to a halt when he saw just what – no, who – was already occupying the space.
"O-oh..."
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"Uhm, I..." He glanced about quickly, head ducking down a little as he took a couple steps further into the room. "If that's alright, then...then I will. Thank you."
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"So! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm assuming you're looking for sparring of some kind. So we should establish ground rules before proceeding." He looks at Martin. "When you've trained before, what have the rules been?"
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He startled a little as eyes fell back on him, put on-the-spot for a reply. "Uh--" Quick. What were the rules? Every Darkov child memorized them.
"N-no shots to the throat," he recited, automatically straightening up and bringing his feet together, as though he were on a spelling bee. "No fighting past scourge exposure, uhm. No direct joint shots if there's a rookie training. No class mixing unless permitted by Grandfather. No...Nnno..." He squinted. Oh. Right. "No contracted aides."
He paused, licking his lips, then swallowing. "Uhm...I think. I think that's it. Sir."
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He rolls his shoulders as he talks, making sure he stays loose. "I'd suggest adding a few to that as well. First, stop if your opponent says 'Stop', goes limp, or taps out of a hold. Second, for today at least let's say we stop if someone draws blood. And third, please don't call me 'sir'. Are those rules all right by you?"
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"Yes, sir." He flinched, coloring practically the second he heard the words leave his mouth. "I mean...yes. It's fine."
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He keeps his attack to more human speeds, at least to begin with, opening with a feint toward the head followed by a jab for the ribs.
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As he fell, Martin swung his feet forward, crossing his arms in front of his face. He'd rather keep his nose unbroken than aim proper, despite all the advice otherwise he'd had before. Still, he wasn't too far off if he were hitting, say, something stationary.
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