Joseph Wilson | JERICHO (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eyecontact) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-08-12 10:44 pm
eyecontact) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-08-12 10:44 pm
all work and [OPEN]
Date & Time: 8/11-8/14
Location: Training area(...s...)
Characters: Jericho, others
Summary: donny osmond softly sings in the background
Warnings: whatever comes of spar/train/fightytime encounters that doesn't involve donny osmond
Like with any blank canvas ready to fall under pen or paint, starting was always the hardest part. The training hall was an intimidating structure as much for what it stood for as for how it felt to be there; expectations lingered in the air almost as prominently as that gross, inescapable gym smell. Sweat and breath and coarse materials and mats that pretended to be easier to fall against even when thrown hard enough...
Not that Jericho was intending on being thrown around or anything. That...that didn't seem very proactive, where training was concerned.
But beyond the basics and regimens he knew well enough before, there was plenty more to explore. More often than not, it began with observation. Seeing before doing was sensible, and given the wide array of people in the Initiative's care, Jericho was in a pretty good place to learn something new. And if he was going to be stronger, more capable (and less likely to get crushed by half a ton of building again), he had no better place to give it a shot than there.
And when there's no one around? He could at least run through his old, familiar sets. For a so-called superhero, he wasn't terribly brilliant when it came to combat...at least, not as his gangly, still-short self. Even so, he liked to imagine he'd improved a little, at least where footing and endurance went.
He'd keep at it, in any case, hoping somehow all this hard work would get whatever was all bogged up in his system good and gone, and that maybe those other blank canvases would fill up again.
You train creative blocks away, right?
Sure...
Location: Training area(...s...)
Characters: Jericho, others
Summary: donny osmond softly sings in the background
Warnings: whatever comes of spar/train/fightytime encounters that doesn't involve donny osmond
Like with any blank canvas ready to fall under pen or paint, starting was always the hardest part. The training hall was an intimidating structure as much for what it stood for as for how it felt to be there; expectations lingered in the air almost as prominently as that gross, inescapable gym smell. Sweat and breath and coarse materials and mats that pretended to be easier to fall against even when thrown hard enough...
Not that Jericho was intending on being thrown around or anything. That...that didn't seem very proactive, where training was concerned.
But beyond the basics and regimens he knew well enough before, there was plenty more to explore. More often than not, it began with observation. Seeing before doing was sensible, and given the wide array of people in the Initiative's care, Jericho was in a pretty good place to learn something new. And if he was going to be stronger, more capable (and less likely to get crushed by half a ton of building again), he had no better place to give it a shot than there.
And when there's no one around? He could at least run through his old, familiar sets. For a so-called superhero, he wasn't terribly brilliant when it came to combat...at least, not as his gangly, still-short self. Even so, he liked to imagine he'd improved a little, at least where footing and endurance went.
He'd keep at it, in any case, hoping somehow all this hard work would get whatever was all bogged up in his system good and gone, and that maybe those other blank canvases would fill up again.
You train creative blocks away, right?
Sure...
no subject
so instead, he reaches, as if for a handshake, to take her hand. when offered, he can trace the letters on her palm.
m-o-m]
no subject
She must've been pretty good at that stuff.
no subject
no subject
...what happened to her?
[She like to think she can read that sort of thing from a million miles away.]
no subject
well...nothing. he shakes his head, not really sure why anyone would think something's automatically happened.
he hasn't watched Eva, he just doesn't know.]
no subject
Everyone she knows has one (or two) dead parents, after all.]
Oh. My mistake.
[Not that she sounds happy about admitting it.]
no subject
he stares for a beat longer before shifting back another step, looking about the mat before back at her with his eyebrows lifted.
his hands, too, lifting with the faintest suggestion of his stance. again, or...?]