andinfluencepeople | Not-Really-OOM: Ysalwen

"Are you ready?"

She's got her sword and staff at her side, though she's not going to move to get up until Chuck gives her an affirmative.

Just so it's not awkward.

Liranan, meanwhile, shoves his face at Chuck because petting!

Chuck leans in so his nose is pressing lightly against Liranan's brow bone, before breathing out, and patting him as he stands.

"Yeah, sure, if you are. Um, like I said -- I'm pretty out of practice. Anything'll be an improvement.

"Uh-- thanks."

"I like to think I can do better than anything, but we're definitely going to accomplish something, so."

She slides out of the booth, weapons first. The staff stays in her hand, the sword -- a blunted practice sword this time -- she slides into the strap on her back.

"You're welcome. It's not as if I don't need the practice, too. The gym?"

"Yeah," Chuck says. "The kwoon's not finished."

And there's better than even odds the Marshall's there.

As they head towards the gym, his hand stays on Liranan.

"How've you been?"

"Petty infighting among nobles, attempts at a campaign to discredit me, more darkspawn attacks, and an undead Warden possessed by a spirit of Justice. Same old, same old."

Her mouth quirks in a wry smile.

"How have you been keeping busy?"

The look he gives her is genuinely incensed. "What kind of assholes want to discredit you?"

"Nobles who don't want an elven mage in charge of them. It's not exactly a surprise."

Chuck snorts at that.

"Yeah, I bet they'd rather have to deal with all the demon undead monsters themselves," he mutters. "Fucking wankers."

Quiet.

"I didn't know you were an elf," he offers, as a subject change. "Is that why you can do the Fade stuff?"

Her eyes go wide.

"You didn't -- never mind."

It's too strange to really think about.

"It might, I suppose. But plenty of humans and qunari are mages, too, so it's probably something else."

"Yeah, probably."

They get into the gym, and he settles on a bench, dropping his bag. He shrugs out of his jacket, and pulls off his shirt to reveal the white tank he's wearing underneath, tucked into his loose grey pants.

"I've been working on Nova Hyperion," he says, as he pulls hand wrappings out of his bag. "She's a Mark 4 Jaeger the Marshall found a few weeks ago. Doing analysis, some basic testing. I'm moving to exterior work in a day or two, to make sure she doesn't have hidden salt damage."

"If I can help with that at all, I do a mean blowtorch. If I say so myself."

She laughs a little, lightly.

Deliberately.

"Also, if you're expecting me to strip down you're going to be very disappointed."

Ysalwen does set her staff down, however, and makes a few passes with her practice sword.

(She's already got leather gloves on. They aren't armored, and are also mostly fingerless.)

The look he gives her is, frankly, deeply confused.

"What?"

"Your undershirt is now your outershirt. I am not doing that."

Not even if --

"Is there a reason you're doing that?"

"No sleeves," Chuck says, bemused. "It's just a normal shirt," he adds, looking down at it with deep confusion. "It's just colder upstairs than it gets when you're sparring, is all."

"Wear whatever you want."

"There's just so -- little of it. Like a breast-band, but for men. Huh. Never mind."

She'll just be over here swinging her sword.

Not metaphorically.

"Tell me when you're ready? I don't know what kind of warm-up you like."

The idea of a world without sports bras is deeply troubling, but Chuck would rather not pursue it. Clearly, they handle it with magic.

Or... something.

Augh.

"Just stretches, and stuff," Chuck says, taking his shoes off now that he's finished with his hand wrapping, then standing up to move away from the bench. "Um," he says, after a moment, and instead of stretching crouches near Liranan. "Ysalwen?"

Breast-bands are kind of like sports bras. Strapless sports bras. At least Ysalwen is not well-endowed enough for it to be a huge problem? (Maybe Chuck uses his tank top to keep his abs in check. She doesn't know!)

Anyway.

She looks over from where she's been stretching out her own muscles, dark brows furrowing in the beginning of a frown.

Maybe it's his tone of voice, or his position near Liranan.

"Chuck?"

"Uh," he says, looking at Liranan. He hesitates, then makes a face when the dog reaches out to lick him across the nose.

Chuck pets him, intentionally relaxing his shoulders.

"I haven't, you know, sparred since I -- died."

"Ah."

She continues with her stretching routine, not looking at Chuck as she does so.

"It's not going to be easy, is it."

It's not really a question.

"Probably not," he murmurs. "And, you know, if it is -- there's always ghosting."

He closes his eyes, after he says it. Then he just shrugs, awkwardly, aware he's going to have to describe ghosting but not really wanting to.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have... fuck."

"It's all right. I don't know what you're talking about, but it's still all right. On my end, at least."

Ysalwen takes care to keep her voice from being any softer or more quiet than usual.

And she continues to stretch out her muscles, movies slow and easy.

"Take your time."

"Right," Chuck says, and breathes. He actually stands, now, and starts to stretch. It's a routine; one he's done every day for years, even in Milliways.

It's grounding.

"So, uh. If you spend enough time in the Drift. With your, uh -- Drift partner, and your Jaeger."

Chuck waits until his breathing is back under control.

"Sometimes when you're not in the Drift -- especially, um, if you're emotional or tired, and especially if you've... had a real long running team or started Drifting, you know. Younger. You can get, you know. Drift ghosts."

"Is that like -- remembering things like your Drift partner does? Or -- actually being in their memories?"

She moves through a practice pass, checking that her wrists are loose enough and her practice blade is balanced.

"Because I have a little experience with the latter, in the Fade. I -- is there a way I should react if it happens? Or signs I should watch for."

"Sometimes, yeah." Chuck says. "More, uh -- you're not you, when you Drift, are you? Me an' my dad, we're Striker Eureka. We don't pilot her, we ... are her." Pause. "That probably doesn't really make sense."

There was that moment, there at the end, when Urthemiel's soul ran into Ysalwen's and what should have been mutual annihilation was gestalt, instead.

Then they slid apart, one back into her own body and one into the child in Morrigan's belly.

It changed a lot of things, that moment.

"I -- think it does. Enough for me to be going on with, anyway. It -- you're saying you're used to that, when you spar. When you practice. Being you-and-someone-else, not. You. And you won't have that here. It's going to -- hurt."

Just a guess. Or -- not.

"Yeah," Chuck murmurs. "But if... like, if my brain forgets that I'm not just me. The parts of my dad that are still in my head, if my brain tries to Drift with those-- that's ghosting. And it's... fine. Like, it's not dangerous. But it can... kind of fuck you up."

Ysalwen chews on her lip for a second or two, then comes to a decision and looks over her shoulder at Chuck.

"So if it happens, if you get -- upset. I'll disengage and turn you over to Liranan. And go do -- something else. For awhile."

Is that -- helpful?

"Yeah," Chuck says, after a moment. "That... sounds good."

He doesn't quite smile, but the side of his mouth quirks up.

"Thanks."

She matches that expression, gaze dark and solemn above it.

"Think nothing of it."

It's what friends do, when they kind of sort of understand.

"So."

"So," Chuck says, and goes to grab a staff from the weapons wall.

He finally grins.

"You ready to embarrass me?"

Her mouth quirks up even more broadly on the one side.

"Only if you'll let me."

It takes a second to call up the magic, the old memories, the part of the Fade that lets her remember battles she's never fought.

It's a lot of experience for her to draw on, in addition to having used it in combat herself, for real, not all that long ago. Damn the Blackmarsh, anyway.

Chuck's rustiness does not help him much here, but by the last few sets of passes he's gotten much closer to fighting trim.

Ysalwen is very glad she didn't stick to just straight staff-fighting.

Because ow. (Also he would not have been pushed as much, which was sort of the point.)

Afterward, though, she gets Liranan to herd him outside, even if he insists on stopping and getting something called Gatorade first.

Maybe it's his world's version of a magic potion? The color is certainly terrifying enough.

Edited 2015-06-14 03:05 (UTC)

"Sometimes they'd ship it to us, special like," Chuck says, as he breaks the seal on the bottle of red Gatorade. It's been rebranded as Crimson Typhoon flavor, in hanzi, with a cartoon rendering of the Jaeger on its label. "Most of the distribution was shut down, right? But China was a huge market."

He makes it down the last few steps and flops to the ground.

He lifts the bottle over his head. "Here, try it. It's good for you."

She looks at him backwards and upside down, braid falling over her shoulder. Then she reaches forward and takes the indicated bottle of special potion from China. Or wherever.

Tasting it, however --

Well, she takes a swallow, curious and a little tentative.

Then her mouth puckers at the saccharine syrupy sweetness, so strange and unnatural.

"What -- please tell me this has some kind of medicinal value, because otherwise I just don't understand."

Chuck laughs at her face. "Well, you lose stuff when you're exercising. Electrolytes. They make your muscles work, and stuff. So they stuff a lot of it in the drink, but that tastes gross, doesn't it? So they add flavors and sugar so it's drinkable."

That may be overly gracious to the Gatorade corporation, but Chuck likes it. "If you don't want it..." he reaches back up.

"I think I'd rather the taste of the salts, honestly."

Dear Maker.

"Or even the taste I remember from the time someone dared me to lick the contents of a healing poultice."

That was -- also really terrible.

Liranan barks. Twice. Those things are delicious, Ysalwen, what is wrong with you?

"Yeah, see. Liranan agrees with me," Chuck says, blithely.

He picks up Liranan's chewed up Frisbee, which had been stored at the Bar, and tosses it, before drinking his Gatorade.

Lying on the ground.

He is a man of talents, okay.

Liranan bolts after it! Frisbee!

"Liranan would probably drink this Gatorade if you gave it to him. And he eats found cake."

So there.

Um.

"You can't waste cake, Ysalwen. That's just... wrong."

He stretches.

"Ugh. How's that magic knowledge thing work, anyway? Like... did you borrow the know-how from the Fade, too?"

"The remnants of a thousand thousand battles echo in the Fade, so -- yes. Essentially that's what the skill is. To call forth the memories of those fights, as well as a few other magic tricks besides. I didn't even show you the Fade shield, it seemed gratuitous. But in a true battle, with someone who was trying to kill me -- oh, that would have definitely come up."

A pause.

"And I can so waste cake, if I want to."

So there.

Liranan drops the Frisbee back next to Chuck.

"Liranan," Chuck says. "Ysalwen is a cake-waster."

Liranan is wounded to the quick! What is this betrayal?

How can she do this?

He passes out from the shock, right on top of Chuck.

(What? Liranan's loyalties are always clear, and wrestling with Chuck is great!)

Ysalwen laughs.

"That always means more for him, Chuck. Obviously."

Chuck oofs on being hit, and wrestles back cheerfully.

But not for long. He's tired, though gracious in his defeat, scratching behind Liranan's ears.

"Giving it away isn't wasting it, though, is it?"

Not-Really-OOM: Ysalwen

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