Sparring

[andinfluencepeople]

[From here]

The room they walk into is a small one, relatively bare except for the mats on the floor and mirrors along one wall.

"Figure most people don't know about this one, unless they've got a couple French friends," Chuck says, shrugging off his khaki coat he tends to wear upstairs these days, just in case Liranan shows up to play fetch. He has a long sleeve tee on underneath(and a tank on under that). "D'you even spar?"

Or was it just a handy excuse? Either works, but if it's the latter, Chuck's going to try to talk him into it.

Comments

[hate_gettin_older]

"Sometimes? Uh, Tars 's been showing me how to use a sword, if that counts."

He peers at the nearest mirrored wall, dubiously.

[andinfluencepeople]

"Sure," Chuck says. "I use a stick or barehand, myself. There's practice swords back here, if you want."

He opens the closet, where there's wrist-wraps and first aid gear and, yeah, a practice sword or two.

Chuck grabs some wrist wraps before sitting with his back against the room wall, pulling off his shoes and socks. "What're you learning how to use a sword for?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Eh," he says with an attempt at a shrug that comes off just a little too stiff, "Tars gave me this huge fuckin sword after I visited his world, on account of I killed a plant monster and saved poor Nitwit from getting eaten? It's a whole big thing they have where he comes from, giving somebody metal."

[andinfluencepeople]

"I went to Mars, and all I got was this sword," Chuck says, half to himself. "What d'you want to bet I can beat you barehanded, if you've got yourself one of the practice swords?"

He tucks his socks into his shoes and sets them aside, before starting on the wrist wraps.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar gives him a smirk of profound disbelief.

"You know, if you really want me to give you a beating, you could just say so."

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck laughs. "I've gone against bigger-- no offense, mate."

He's grinning, clearly not actually worried about causing any offense. He finishes wrapping up his hands, and pushes himself up, grabbing the edges of his t-shirt and pulling it off, so he's left with his tank, and drops it next to his shoes.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Oh well sure," Edgar says, sitting down to take off his own shoes and socks, "giant fuckin alien monsters, can't say 've ever gone against anything that big."

Being barefoot still feels a little weird, but he's gotten more and more used to it over the last months. And it's warm in here; too warm for the layers he's wearing to be entirely comfortable, even before they start.

[andinfluencepeople]

"Admittedly, must've them have got claws and shit instead of swords, but..." Chuck shrugs. "Unless you want to go barehanded?"

He's pretty sure he has better odds against a sword -- most people who spar don't know how to handle it when the other person is using a different method entirely.

[hate_gettin_older]

He makes a considering face. "I dunno, I'm still kind of new at this whole sword thing."

Which isn't to say, of course, that he hasn't got a lot of experience in holding one end of something heavy and swinging it.

[andinfluencepeople]

"Hey," Chuck says. "Gives you an excuse for when I beat you."

Pause.

"I mean, hand to hand might be more productive for you, if you already do that stuff, but it's not like we're training or anything."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar tugs off his shirt, and elects to tie it around his waist by the arms rather than leave it with his shoes.

"Wellll," he says slowly, "maybe let's start hand to hand, and see how that goes?"

[andinfluencepeople]

"All right," Chuck says, "but try not to kill me, yeah?"

He grins at Edgar. Dead people jokes!

He waves his hand, for Edgar to join him over on the mats.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Right," Edgar grins back, pushing himself to his feet. "No killing."

A pause, as he starts toward the mats. "Any other rules?"

[andinfluencepeople]

"Uh, leave off if I cry mercy, and easy on the eye gouging," Chuck says, laughing. "That's all for me. You want any others?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Suits me fine." He bounces on his toes a bit, to get the feel of the floor mats under him.

(It's a good thing, he thinks, that he's long since gotten used to a floor that doesn't rumble and shift.)

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck looks Edgar over, and tilts his head up, almost an invitation to get on with it.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar grins, hard and wild, and throws a punch -- roundhouse style, telegraphed as obviously as he can -- at Chuck's jaw.

[andinfluencepeople]

It's not that Chuck doesn't notice that Edgar's intentionally telegraphing, it's that he's not paying enough attention to assess what that means for the tone of the sparring. His body is loose but his focus is entirely honed on Edgar's movements.

Chuck avoids the swing, and grabs Edgar's elbow, shoving his palm into Edgar's side.

[hate_gettin_older]

The blow to his side hits, but only glancingly, as he's twisting away to break the arm-grip. It's enough to sting, but not seriously hurt; it wakes him up, like a splash of cool water.

He bounces a few feet back and braces to charge in again, eyes alight.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck lets go before the twist can do any real damage to either of them, shaking his hand out slightly.

He waits for Edgar to get closer, stance stabilizing, grinning a little.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar feints, a quick head-fake as though he's about to break to the right, and then drives forward with a blow aimed at the center of the chest.

The first fizz of exhilaration is starting in him, and he welcomes it.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck's a brawler at heart: he doesn't block, this time, instead closing the distance. It should mess with Edgar's angle, get him in the shoulder instead of the chest, but more importantly it gives Chuck access to Edgar's unprotected right side.

His strikes are fast, and he doesn't so much aim as estimate with pretty good accuracy. Kaiju don't give a fuck about style.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's punch does land glancingly across one shoulder instead of on the breastbone where it's aimed. When Chuck's first blow lands, though, Edgar's already rolling with it, giving way and dropping to the mat.

He lashes out with one leg as he falls, trying to kick Chuck's ankles out from under him.

[andinfluencepeople]

Ha, that's familiar. Kaiju love using their relative speed to drop back underneath a jaeger. It's not something you usually face when sparring with another pilot, but Chuck actually grins.

He's not quick enough to get out from the kick, but he drops with it, aimed towards Edgar's torso, punching into his side on the way down.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar rolls toward him this time, fast, trying to pin the striking arm under his ribs while getting close enough to drive a knee into Chuck's belly.

And if he can get his forearm across Chuck's neck and the leverage to press down hard on it, well, so much the better.

[andinfluencepeople]

With one hand pinned, Chuck ducks under the oncoming arm and grabs Edgar's lower leg with his free arm, holding it in his elbow as he attempts to force it backwards.

He's still too low on Edgar's body for his own legs to be of much use, but unfortunately that's not really a new experience.

[hate_gettin_older]

The split second of thought isn't one of strategy so much as of snatching the immediate opportunity.

Edgar balls up both hands in a single fist, sacrificing his balance and his pinning grip on Chuck's arm to do it, and swings his joined fists down hard into the join of Chuck's shoulder and neck.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck makes an incoherent noise, having removed his hand just before the strike actually hits. He knew something was coming, though, so he doesn't let the pain daze him for more than half a moment.

He falls down onto Edgar to close the distance to his target, bringing Edgar's knee with him to slam into Edgar's stomach, and reaches an arm around Edgar's neck to attempt to get an elbow grip there, too.

He keeps his forehead down, his only concession to potential blows -- he doesn't want to leave his face exposed.

[hate_gettin_older]

Oh no way is anyone getting an arm around his neck --

They're pressed too close together for him to be able to bring up his other leg between them. Instead he heaves with hip and shoulder, torquing his upper body away as best he can, and attempts to thrash his legs free of Chuck's grip.

[andinfluencepeople]

His free leg catches Chuck in the stomach and while Chuck could maintain hold, in not life-or-death circumstances it's just not worth it. He drops the knee he was holding, and rolls, springing back up on his feet.

He bounces, slightly, waiting for Edgar to do the same.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's back on his feet almost as fast, half-crouched, his breath coming a little faster.

This time he waits to see which way Chuck will jump.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck doesn't give him much time to wait, rushing him almost immediately.

One fist to his face, another to his abdomen, and he'll keep going until Edgar shakes him off.

He'd have hesitated, if he didn't know Edgar got his Tars Tarkas-acquired concussions healed by future magic or whatever the fuck Doctor Tam was doing, but as it is there's not a second thought.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar pulls back from the blow to the face, but not far enough; the impact throws him off balance enough for the second blow to come in hard.

He staggers, and tastes blood.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck doesn't go back to his face. Instead he reaches down with his right hand to grab the shirt tied around Edgar's waist, using it as a handhold to keep him close as he pummels his abdomen with short strikes.

[hate_gettin_older]

Shake him off, nothing; Edgar goes in, catching Chuck's arm at the elbow on the next blow.

And slams his forehead hard into Chuck's face.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck has just enough space to tuck in closer to Edgar's shoulder, baring his teeth as he does, so the blow lands across his mouth and cheek instead of directly.

It hurts, but a lot fucking less than if he'd gotten his nose broke.

He twists to break his arm out of the hold, staying close otherwise, breathing heavy.

[hate_gettin_older]

He shifts to maintain his grip on Chuck's arm, pinning it awkwardly under his own, and pounds with the side of his other fist at Chuck's neck and head like he's trying to dislodge a stuck shelf.

The angle's bad and he can't get much leverage, but he can't work out how to change that without letting go --

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck can't get his arm free, but as Edgar's arm comes up he sees a way to make that not really matter.

He leans back, catching one of the blows glancingly across his face as he lets go of Edgar's shirt. His now-free right arm snakes up Edgar's back as he shifts around him, going for his throat.

[hate_gettin_older]

With the grip on his shirt gone and the arm going for his throat again, Edgar turns loose of Chuck's left arm and jerks away hard --

-- and trips somehow, managing two flailing attempts at regaining his balance before he lands rolling on the mat and fetches up flat on his back.

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck blinks, and stares at him.

He doesn't quite snicker.

"Y'okay, mate?" he asks, keeping his distance just in case Edgar feels like grabbing his leg or something.

[hate_gettin_older]

With the utmost insouciance, Edgar stretches both arms up and then folds them behind his head, as though waking from a pleasant nap.

"Oh, are you still here then?" he asks, feigning mild surprise. "Got so slow for a while there I thought I'd have a rest."

[andinfluencepeople]

"Ha," Chuck says, accepting this, and flops down to sit cross-legged on the floor next to him.

"You don't really get that many brawlers around here," he says, pulling at his wrist wraps. "They're all badass knights and guys who fight with walking sticks."

Scary guys who fight with walking sticks.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Or swords," Edgar agrees, and hides a wince as he massages a sore spot on his ribs. "You do this a lot, then?"

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck's not really wincing yet, but Edgar will definitely hear complaining tomorrow. He doesn't so much have pain tolerance as strongly entrenched pain ignorance.

"Yeah," Chuck says. "Usually a little more structured, I guess, but every other day at least. Had to get back to training when my boss showed up and I hadn't for, I dunno, a year."

[hate_gettin_older]

A low whistle, simultaneously impressed and conveying distaste. "Every other day? You can keep that, man."

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck laughs.

"You meet Pentecost, you'll get it. He's not the kind of guy you want to think you're slacking."

He rubs the back of his neck, wincing a little as he pushes into a forming bruise by accident. "He's still alive, see. We're supposed to, I dunno, save his version of our world, though how I'm going to help except by fixing up Jaegers...."

Chuck shrugs.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Well," he says, "that's gotta be some help, right? Can't save the world without proper fuckin equipment."

(Briefly, he thinks of rolling empty oil drums.)

[andinfluencepeople]

Chuck snorts, and grins. "A proper fucking mechanic would help."

He knocks his elbow into Edgar's knee. "I've got a room, if you want to take a shower. Then I guess I can go cause a distraction if the dickhead's still around. Otherwise I'll see you later?"

'Cause Chuck's taking a shower, thanks.

[hate_gettin_older]

He wants to boil up at the word dickhead as applied to Curtis, snap back something cutting -- but he can't, and swallowing it back makes him feel vaguely queasy.

"Shower'd be favorite," he says instead, managing a smile. "Thanks."