goneawayworld | The Bad Idea, or Me Befallen By It?

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The Bad Idea, or Me Befallen By It?

Who: Dan Sagittarius and Guts
What: Sparring and practicing with swords. Homoerotic tension. A truly incredible height difference, too.
Where: Training Area
When: After their conversation on the top deck, but before the night attack on Dave and Wash.
Warnings/Notes: Foul language, firearms.

[Dan has once again, for the second time in about six hours, forsaken the buddy system everyone’s supposed to be operating under, in spirit if not in law. He feels guilty about it, knowing that the others are going to stress out at having an uncooperative flake heading off on his own habitually, but the rig is claustrophobic enough without feeling like he’s being babysat all the time. He was starting to get so worked up he was adding shortness of breath and tinnitus to the residual post-electrocution muscle spasms and jitteriness, so he gave the group the slip, grabbed that Mac guy no one trusts to find his way out of a paper bag, and headed down to the training area.

If the fresh air on the top deck wasn’t enough to calm his nerves, maybe refreshing the skills he may imminently need will help. First is the shooting range. Dan’s carried a firearm since he was six, and not having one on him has been one of the many disorienting and permanently frustrating things about life on the rig. The shooting range here, thankfully, has a nice selection of weapons, and after setting Mac up with over-the-ear protectors and a Nerf gun (he wouldn’t trust that man with a flyswatter), Dan works his way through target practice with a hunting rifle, a handgun and a revolver. He’s always preferred the revolver; something about having to keep careful track of how many shots you fire makes you more thoughtful, more respectful of the fact that you’re wielding a weapon that could end a life in a split second. When you have limited ammunition before a reload, you have to think before you shoot, and it’s always good to think before you shoot.

Following that, he dismantles the guns and cleans them himself for the next person, not because he got them messy or doesn’t trust the cleaning practices here, but because it feels good to take something apart with his hands. And when he’s still feeling strung-out and twitchy, he decides to work on his hand-to-hand combat skills. See if some physical exertion resets his nervous system. He makes sure Mac’s still in eye- and earshot, then sets up some droids.

The training droids are useful, but after about thirty minutes it becomes obvious that they move in a particular pattern and have certain tells before they make a move. As they become predictable, Dan gets in closer, blocking hits and counter-striking until his forearms are bruised and knuckles are bloody. His technique is artless, utilitarian, trained by experience instead of theory, but it’s effective.

He’s still occasionally drooling on himself, but the muscle twitching has significantly receded, so clearly this is working, beating the tar out of a droid to deal with the frustration of being so goddamn helpless while something’s running around torturing kids, of having a monster to hunt and people to protect and absolutely no way to go about doing that, on this stupid craphole of a moving Tonka Truck, under the thumb of a bunch of tie-wearing jackasses who don’t seem to value anything Dan values.

Facing down another droid, he grabs a machete from the rack of weapons.]

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[Dan's maneuver with the ring piques his interest, the corner of his mouth quirked up into a pleased grin.]

Slippery.

[Yes. This is exactly what he wanted. Now he just needed a bit of blood between them to make it a proper match.

The second time around, Guts is far less tolerant of letting himself get pressed back. He's aggressive, and the blows come harder and faster than before. That prosthetic arm of his is going to start denting into the metal, reverberating through like the blows of a hammer. Breaking the weapon altogether isn't out of the question, at the rate he was going.

But he doesn't opt for that, yet. The moment there is an opening - a jab or parry that went on just a split second too long - he'll attempt something a little more audacious. That audacious thing will be grabbing Dan and his weapon to toss them both away from the rings. The area he aimed at would still be closer to the monkey bars, but perhaps not in the way it was originally intended.]

[There's a part of Dan that feels fear at this moment, an honest fear of taking a blow that won't kill him, but will hurt him and maybe cripple him going forward. A broken hand or a maimed shoulder. But he likes that fear. That fear is a flavor that runs in the sweet drink of adrenaline.

He barely keeps Guts from landing a blow, and he gives up ground, decidedly on the defense. The bat dents, and then the bat bends, until it's more boomerang-shaped, which reduces its utility significantly.

But Dan figures out fairly quickly that the monkey bars aren't in the forefront of Guts' mind, even if he can't mount an offensive enough to force Guts back. So the other option is to draw him in - and what better way than with a live target? What better option than to take some of what Guts is giving?

He purposefully doesn't dodge when Guts grabs him. Instead he does his best to absorb the impact and then, when thrown, instead of a single roll to his feet he gives it another roll until he's in the safe metal structure. He can't use his bat for shit here - at this point it's a means to jab and nothing else - but cradled in the metal bars he's hard to hit, and can still throw punches. And the bent, damaged bat is useless to him now anyway.

He pants for air. His lower lip, cut from hitting the ground during the throw, bleeds down his chin. But he raises his fists in a traditional boxing stance, shielded by the metal bars and ready to duck through the next ring of them to relative safety. If Guts is going to get him, Guts may just end up having to come after him through metal squares and rectangles smaller than his standing height.]

Edited (typoez) 2020-10-15 05:21 (UTC)

[Guts pursues him, of course. He promised Dan a challenge, and he is nothing if not relentless. Although he is showing little signs of exertion, there is an intensity in his eye that was absent in the day to day. Something about the heat of a fight quickly drained away the weariness that came with their mundane routine - even if it was mock one.

He stops at the outer edge of the steel cage, circling around the structure to see what his opponent is planning next. For all he had in brute strength, Guts still stopped to assess that Dan was pulling him away from the open ground where he could move freely.

It isn't a forest of stone pillars, but similar enough in principle. Something like that would be even more encumbering if he had his sword and armor with him. The metal was strong and the angles were even tighter, with both horizontal and vertical beams. It'd be hard to maneuver and even harder to break, if he tried. ]

Not a bad idea, hiding in there.

[He notices the split lip. Would his enemy do well enough to return the favor?]

I'd almost think you're used to this kind of thing.

What, fighting or hiding? Because I've done a little of both.

[Dan, with a grin lightly yellowed with blood, keeps moving so that the vertical poles of the box are beside him and the horizontal bars on the top remain over him, which means Guts can't hit him from above or from the right, only directly forward or from the left. He spares a moment to wipe his bloodied mouth across the back of his hand, then drops that hand slightly to feel the vertical bar next to him.

It's been a hell of a time since Dan got to use anything close to his poledancing skills; it's been at least five years since he did any kind of dancing for money. But the body remembers more than the brain forgets, and sometimes the skillset comes back when opportunity arises.

Dan grabs the bar and drops his body weight, swinging around into a kick aimed right at Guts' right knee, using the metal bar to give himself a healthy dose of quick momentum while protecting, now, his left side.]

Edited 2020-10-15 09:16 (UTC)

Uh...

[?????

What? What kind of fighting style is that? Had Dan been some kind of street performer in his past??

Not quite entangled into those metal bars, Guts can still move freely enough to avoid that first blow, but that doesn't solve the problem of how he's going to get his hands on his opponent. He supposes there isn't much use waiting it out. Not his style, anyway.

He swiftly maneuvers himself under the bars, leaving himself still able to move right and left, flanked in the rear by the two thicker poles forming the more open-ended half of the bars. Guts closes in to try and strike him off his perch with his forearm. The tight angles made it harder for him to make the strong, sweeping blows from before, but he adapts. The fight must continue. ]

[Guts hasn't shown much of a weakness yet, so getting that expression of surprise when Dan swoops around the pole feels like both a victory and a handhold in this match. Dan realizes he has a little bit of the element of surprise, but it won't last him more than a few seconds, likely, and it's not as if he was ever using these skills for combat back at the strip bars. The main advantage is that he can turn the corners of the box quickly, and with enough momentum to hit fast and hard with hands or feet.

He's going to have to be careful, though. His body remembers how to do it but those muscles haven't worked that way in a while, and he could easily wrench out a shoulder. He jumps back and swings around the pole at the far end, getting out of the box and putting the ladder between him and Guts, and throws a punch aided by the torque of going around the pole through one of the open spaces. He figures Guts will have to be more careful punching through the slats - bigger hands, smaller window.]

[Guts finds his metal arm slamming into the pole with loud clang as Dan slips away to put more bars between them. Chips of paint get stuck to his limb once he pries it free for the next attack. He sees the punch coming, but hits the back of his head against a bar when he avoids it, pausing for a split second. Too small. Not enough room at all.]

Tch.

[He sounds annoyed, but in truth he is enjoying the added challenge. Spars tended to generally go one way most of the time, with him having to significantly hold back to avoid hurting his partner. Having a proper problem to work through makes it harder than a simple contest of strength and speed. Very clever.

Rather than try and punch him through the slats, he grips the top rung of the ladder and vaults over it to the outside. No need for striking from here - he didn't have enough room to build up the momentum, anyway.

His plan is simpler than that - he'll tackle Dan off his bars and right onto the ground, and end this in one swoop.]

[It's a hell of an impressive vault, but the height means that it gives Dan just enough time to get out of the way and back to the other side of the ladder. He feels skin coming up off his palm and friction burn from the pole down his wrist and forearm, and sweat is matting his hair to his forehead.

This is what feeling good feels like.

He doesn't hide behind the ladder this time, instead keeping momentum so he barely has to put his feet on the ground before grabbing the pole on the far end of the ladder and taking the turn as fast as he can. It gets him enough speed that the ensuing kick is just about face-height for Guts.]

[Enter Saturday, who had innocently come in search of her and Guts' regular combat date, only to see Guts batting at a very small man (still taller than her, dammit) through the bars of a gymnasium, much like a cat trying to get at a mouse.

Then homeboy jumps on a pole, swings himself around, and kicks Guts in the face.

Saturday has no choice but to crack up.]

Hoi! [she cups her hands around her mouth.] Guts! Just pull out the damn monkey bars, they can't be in that deep!

[Well. He can't blame anyone but himself for that. That kick hits him squarely in the face with all the extra momentum provided by the pole.

His lip stings. His teeth had bitten down on something soft in his mouth, sending a matching little dribble of blood dripping down his chin. Rather than wipe it with his hand like a normal goddamn person, he licks his lips to get a bit of a taste. ]

Good job. We can call it even, if you want.

[Saturday is right that ripping out the monkey bars would make it easier... but Dan looks pretty tired. Where's the sport in just slapping someone around on open ground?]

[Dan nods, trying to catch his breath more than speak, with an absolutely elated grin on his face. Whatever tension he brought here, this has thoroughly chased it from the forefront of his mind.

But he is tired. He's been here in the training area for several hours now, and even keeping up with Guts for the less-than-twenty minutes that made up that fight felt like running from a bear. Besides, he should probably go use the training area's first aid kit for the massive blisters using the monkey bars like that put onto his palms.]

I think we can assume you might could have had me dead to rights [he pauses to breathe] in a few more minutes.

[He gives Saturday a little wave.] I appreciate that you didn't give him any smart ideas until after I laid one on him. [He grabs a towel from one of the many baskets stacked around and wipes his face off, getting it bloody.] Pardon, have we met?

Edited (what are tenses? we just don't know) 2020-10-15 20:30 (UTC)

We spoke in passing on the boards, I think. You're Dan, right? From one of the vampire hunter kinda worlds.

[Here's a young woman a good six inches shorter then Dan, who stands like she several feet taller, with messy black hair and bright, mischievous eyes. She's torn the sleeves off her jumpsuit, and her right arm is articulated metal covered in engravings. She sticks it out for a handshake. When Dan takes it, it's as warm and responsive as real flesh]

I'm Saturday.

...

[Guts stands behind them like some huge shadow while they introduce themselves. He gives Saturday a familiar little nod in greeting. They'd done their sparring enough times to require no fanfare in their hellos.]

Do you still want this...?

[ He presents Dan with the metal bat he'd bent into a right angle. The interruption is a gentler one, as if the violence had leaked out some of the tense aggression that had been pent up in his body.]

Pleasure, Saturday. [He shakes her hand, and tilts his head a little in surprise at how much like a real human hand it feels like. Then he withdraws, looking a bit sheepish, and grabs another towel for her; she's likely got a little of his blood and a lot of his sweat on her now.] Sorry, ripped up my hands some on the bars. I assume you two know each other?

[He takes the bat from Guts and gives it a loving pat. It tried, the poor thing. It just can't hold up to the one he has back home.]

Sure, I could use a souvenir. Guts, that was an honor.

He's like a force 'a nature, ain't he?

[The crooked grin she flashes to Guts when he nods is warmer, more personal.]

Don't worry about it, ain't the first blood I've had one me. Guts and I got assigned roomies first day here. And we're in the superhuman workout club, so you know. [A cheerful shrug] We get along good.

[Guts grins back at her for a brief moment. A subtle upturned quirk of the mouth, easily missed. He sounds like he’s in a much warmer mood when he turns to Dan.]

No need to be all formal. It was a fun fight. I still owe you a sword lesson, so let me know when you wanna try again.

A force of something. [He taps the bat against his hand.] Look at this damn thing.

[He wipes his hands again and gives Guts a pat on the shoulder, but it's not just for friendliness; secretly, he's snagging a little of that warmth and released tension in case it comes in handy later. He can feel it as if it's hot in his hand, but Guts shouldn't feel a thing. He just isn't going to mention that to anyone.]

If you're going to do me the favor of a sword lesson, I should find something I can teach you. How familiar are you with traditional firearms?

[He asks that question to both Guts and Saturday. They're both invited and welcome.]

Never use 'em. Not my style. [She rubs the back of her neck and sighs.] Probably oughta learn somethin', though. Can't grab the bullets out of the air here, for some reason, maybe local reality won't allow for it. I dunno.

[This confession costs her some dignity; here is a woman who doesn't like admitting to weakness]

I can help you learn swords, too, if Guts doesn't mind. I'm also decent with spear, shield, and bow.

[Guts is oblivious to Dan's power. He just assumes he is getting a friendly shoulder pat!]

I have a cannon, though I've been goin' through a lot of black powder and crossbow bolts as of late....

[Its... technically a firearm? It's attached to his arm. It spits fire when he pulls the chord.]

More knowledge is always better than less knowledge, even if you don't use it none. [Dan gets that some people don't like guns, but some people didn't fire their first pistol when they were still in diapers. He understands it but it still seems alien to him.]

They got more advanced stuff than cannons here. [A lot of the stuff that shoots lasers or whatever is way more advanced than anything Dan's used, either, and he wouldn't say he's comfortable with them. He can use them, and sometimes he practices with them, but anything without gunpowder feels wrong to him.]

Would you be willing to go try some out now, or should we all reschedule for a later date?

Edited 2020-10-15 22:59 (UTC)

I got time, was comin' in here to get a workout anyway.

[Saturday doesn't have anything against guns, really, they're just not her thing. And the best ones have computers in them - at least in her world - which makes it a no go]

They have like those old timey guns without smartlink and stuff, right? 'Cause that shit won't work with me.

[The difference between a computer-assissted gun and a laser gun is nil to Guts. It's all weird magic to him, and some of the magic just doesn't work well for Saturday. A weapon with gunpowder made more sense, though.]

Sure.

[He grips his prosthetic with his flesh hand. It didn't have the grooves his iron one did to mount a crossbow, but he's sure that could be fixed if he asked.]

Wonder if they got anything I could mount on this...

I don't know what the shit a smartlink is, and I know guns, so...yes? [Dan makes an exaggerated shrugging motion.

He gives Guts' arm a look, running through his mind what he knows about the armory here.] I reckon they can. If you're already using a cannon you're already a professional handling the kickback.

[For corporate security reasons, getting any of the firearms requires even more check-ins and waiting around than getting the sword would have taken Guts, but that gives time for Dan to walk the two through their options while absentmindedly treating his blisters. He gets a revolver and holds it out to Saturday, but doesn't quite give it to her yet.]

I can guarantee this one doesn't have a smartwhatever in it. But safety first, [Dan recites the rules his mother taught him when he was only about three years old,] Never load it until you're ready to shoot it. Never point it at anything you don't mind killing. Use a holster. When you ain't pointing it at a target, the safety goes on, the chamber's empty, and you're pointing it at the ground.

[He demonstrates to both of them how to flip the safety.]

I swear, bless their hearts, but some of the people here are complete fucking idiots with their firearms.

Smartlink's an aim-assist program. I can't use anything with a computer in it safely, it's basically kind of a curse.

[She says this without self-consciousness; curses are a normal thing for her. When Dan starts to recites the Gun Safety Creed, she grins, and then recites it with him.]

I don't use guns, but pops made sure I knew the rules for any weapon I might end up handling. Never seen a gun that old before, though.

[Guts knows absolutely nothing about modern firearms, and had little reason to learn so far. He'll be over here, listening to Saturday and Dan speak with each other, looking up when his attention is needed.

His hands are kept occupied curiously examining an unloaded handgun like one might look over an intricate watch. It was just so compact and puny compared to any portable ranged weapon he's used before. Even smaller crossbows were fairly large to allow a good amount of penetrating power. Maybe it was just the size of his own hands.

He wonders what possible thing could get the little metal pellets to move so quickly. Rickert would love all of this.]

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bless, dan gets to use his stripper powers

amazin

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