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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Distance, too. You'd be pretty hard to hit with the way you run around. Shooting and moving'll be tricky, though... It took a while to get a hang of leading the shot with a crossbow.

[He knew firsthand that Saturday could be slippery, which can help even without armor. He certianly played the range game plenty of times, even if he liked to be up close. A well-placed arrow or throwing knife can do alot of work in the right situation.

A new magazine is clicked into place, and he handles the gun more confidently the second time. He'd counted the amount of shots in each metal cartridge. 20 total. He uses 10 to try a tighter second cluster in the chest, 10 for a new target.

This time he opts for the eyes - the preferred target he aims for when in a battle. Even a beast that can heal itself can get more easily taken out if its blinded. Or maybe, it's just a little irony he's allowing himself. The second cluster sits roughly over where the right eye would be. Not tight enough to hit them all exactly right, but it was getting there.]

Edited 2020-10-17 04:41 (UTC)

[Dan makes an appreciative whistling noise for both of them. They're fast learners.]

Mostly cover. I usually don't carry armor, anything bulletproof is going to be too heavy for my preference. And you got to rely on a bit that most opponents that you're firing at - unless they got some kind of armor or enchantment - you hit them, even in a non-vital area, the bullet's going to hurt so much that they fall back and can't retaliate for a second. So one perfect shot ain't everything. You can usually expect to have a chance to take a second, and hopefully not even need it.

[It's different with animals. When you're hunting deer, you have to expect that anything short of a crippling shot is going to spur your prey to run away from you. But Dan's fundamentally opposed to shooting at any sentient thing that isn't charging him or someone else.]

I'm impressed. When I first started shooting, it took me a few months to hit the target. [He was three, but, you know, he leaves that out.

He raises an eyebrow at Guts.] There a reason you're aiming for headshots?

[She nods at Guts, focusing on reloading and resuming her stance]

Yeah, it's the run'n'gun that's got me worried. If I can't move that's most of my advantage gone right there.

[She's talking to Dan as she squeezes off another round.]

That's good to know. Is it just a question of practice or are there tricks to it?

[Most of the rest of the shots go as expected, landing on their target. Head. Head. Head. Head.

Guts was starting to feel more comfortable focusing on that distant range, until a fuzzy halo begins to blot out his vision. For a second, all he can see is pitch black. Blind. The last shot goes awry - missing the target entirely - as a shot of fear runs up his spine with the pull of the trigger.

It is difficult to hide the fearful tightening of tendons as he slowly points the weapon to the ground. His hand instinctively reaches to tug on the eyelid of his good eye, as if that would do anything. It doesnt - but his vision returns after an instant.

It was then that he vaguely remembers that Dan had asked him a question. As he regains his composure, he turns to the man as if nothing had happened.]

... Did you say something?

[Dan nods approvingly at Saturday's latest round.]

Bit of both. Everyone's body moves a little bit different, so half the time finding the tricks that work for you comes out of practice. Uh...curl your toes a little. It sounds silly but it'll ground you a bit more. And take some more time between trigger pulls, the gun can only fire so fast and it gives your body more time to rebound from the recoil.

[Dan doesn't show on his face his concern when Guts tenses up - he maybe wouldn't have even noticed it if he weren't watching Guts' body language so carefully to give feedback.]

Oh, no, nothing important. Just making some idle noise to test your focus. Here, let me take those. Great shots except that last one, but personally, I always like to end a shooting on a miss because it keeps me motivated to come back and try again later.

[He takes the guns from them both, and while he does lightly, "accidentally" brushes Guts' thumb with his own. Everyone's hands are hot from the firings, but Dan's especially so as he tries to slip a little of Guts' previous relaxation back, like taking a long sip from a favorite warm beverage.]

I don't know if I could swing a sword right now without my arms falling off, but maybe you might could walk me through the blades around here so I know what's what and what's a...funyun.

[Falcon. Fashion. Whatever the hell Guts called it.]

Edited 2020-10-20 17:05 (UTC)

Oh, okay.

[She curls her toes and slows her breath, pulling the trigger on each inhale. Her improvement is steady, if incremental; periodically she stops to adjust something in her stance or grip, almost always for the better.]

Next question. The gun only goes so fast, you said - what if you're faster than the gun can handle? Like how fast can they fire? Also, it's called a falchion.

[Guts notices the brush of fingers, and pulls his away. He always notices touch when he's on edge, but isn't sure what to make of the warm relief that comes after. It is too minor to suspect anything. Perhaps it is simply the return to a familiar topic that eases his nerves. ]

Yeah. Falchion. Thought you were familiar with it, since you were usin' it...

[Well, it's not exactly required to know too much about a sword to be good at it. What's important is being able to feel its weight and movement in your hands. It was still an interesting little quirk of Dan's.]

Falchion. [He rolls that word around in his mouth.] I know them as machetes, although I was wondering why that one wasn't standard-sized. Can't say I'd put money on me in a fight with a...falchion, but I know my way around them a little.

[He gives Saturday an encouraging smile.] You keep improving like that, you'll be sharpshooting in a few months. And as for how fast you can go, it depends on the gun, what the mechanics of it are and a little on the circumstances, which you learn with time. And if you're too fast for the gun, you gotta be patient or get a faster gun. I got a feeling something like a shotgun, which you gotta reload, will make you in particular a little crazy.

[In front of the array of swords and blades, Dan bites his lip. He's used a sword maybe three or four times in the past, always the big enchanted behemoth his current hunting partner carries. And he knows hunting knives. Other than that, this is foreign territory to him.]

Alright, experts, school me. Which one should I be learning?

Depends, really. How much reach do you want? Weight? Based on what I saw you're a dodgy little asshole like me, so you want something lightweight and shorter 'n you think; reach is good, but control is better.

[She comes over and taps her chin, thoughtfully, then picks out a falchion, a dagger, and a small round shield that just fits over Dan's forearm.]

I'm thinking, start with this 'cause it's familiar, and see if you like a dagger or a shield in your offhand, or if offhand work is even gonna be your thing. What do you think, Guts?

Bring into battle what your hand knows best.

[Even a little knowledge is better than none at all.]

You used your club pretty well, but any sword's gonna be different than that. It ain't just a weapon to slash and stab with. It's a tool. You can lock up your enemies or strike up close with the hilt, if you're fast enough.

You'll need to think on your feet and see what you can do with it.

[Dan listens attentively. He wouldn't have thought of it, but Guts is correct about the sword being a more multifaceted tool than it looks at the surface. Dan's found, over the years, just about every way to use a baseball bat in a fight, not just as a cudgel but as a defensive weapon, as a lever, as a way to close off an exit, and yet in his mind a sword does nothing but break skin.

Saturday, too, is absolutely correct, against Dan's initial impulse, which would have been to ask about something that would give him more reach.]

This is why I need teachers.

I don't expect it'll ever be my preferred instrument, on account of the bloodshed. It's an unpopular sentiment, it seems, but I try to avoid it where possible.

[Dan doesn't sound bitter about that; he's used to it being an unpopular sentiment, particularly among hunters. And for all that his restraint and patience has resolved violent situations without casualties, he's also failed to protect people along the way by hesitating to take lethal action. He'll own that.]

But in this place I expect I'll need both to know it and to have the guidance to get there.

Guns don't have many pacifist applications, neither. [Saturday's observation isn't intended to sting, just point that out] You can pick when you pull a blade, just like with a gun. Same rules, even. Keep it sheathed unless you're okay with killing whoever you draw on; it's not a toy or a prop for someone's big swinging dick, you know?

[She's certain he does, because his first move with the gun was to make sure she knew]

People forget that, in places where they're outta fashion. But a sword is a tool for killing, an' if you're gonna learn one seriously, treat it exactly the way you would a gun. Same respect.

Anyway. Grab the falchion an' take your stance. We'll start with that, an' your grip.

She's right. You won't really have time to wring your hands in the middle of a battle. You fight, or you die.

[If it were up to him, he'd ask them to spar right away as he'd been taught, even if they were using sharp blades. Saturday knows what she's doing, though, so he's okay with following her lead here. He stands behind her, observing the two of them.]

If his basics look good, we can go another round.

[Dan makes a "you right" head gesture at Saturday, although he doesn't totally agree. Just the ability to let someone coming atyou know that you'll drop them before they even get halfway close to you can often be enough to get someone to shut up long enough to listen.

He gives her a nod, taking in what she's saying about the weapon. He appreciates it, even if he was entering with respect for it being a weapon.]

I know how to conduct myself in a fight. [Dan says that firmly but not defensively.] I may not like to have done it, but I've left a good bunch of bodies in my wake.

[Dan takes his stance, and while it's definitely not that of a novice, there are definitely improvements to be made. His dad trained him when he was young, but that was more than twenty years ago, and the amount of times he's used a blade since then has probably been less than once a year, without extensive practice in between. Going at the droids an hour ago was the most he's practiced all year. And what his dad did drill into him was not how to fight a combatant who also had a sword, but how to hack at an intruder in the home or an attacking wild animal.]

Okie dokies. [Saturday circles him with a professional and assessing gaze] You ever boxed before? Same principle with the feet - stay light, weight on the ball of your foot, shoulder width apart. Good. Now, lemme at your hands a second.

[If he permits, she wraps her hands around his on the hilt and adjusts them to demonstrate; if not, she demonstrates on the knife handle. Her emotional state, should he wish to filch, is of calm, happy focus, someone doing something challenging that they deeeply enjoy.]

So only your thumb and forefinger are actually gripping the hilt, see? The back three fingers are where you get your balance and control, but this grip here, these two - they should never leave the hilt. That's where it joins to your arm. You shouldn't be able to lose that grip anymore than you can lose your elbow.

This kind of sword's a bit heavier on the blade end. The weight'll give you a good cut without needin' to put too much force into it. Like she said, you'll want to keep that control and feel the balance in your hand.

[He says this after Saturday makes her observations, wondering distantly how he'd gotten to this point. Casca would be amused at the bull-headed vanguard captain suddenly acquiring the patience to teach.

Ah well. He supposes he should at least return the favor Dan had given him.]

I was a boxing coach once. [Dan grins.] But I was underqualified and got fired three days in. Rightly, I reckon.

[Yet another of those odd jobs to get enough to put gas in the tank. Dan's resume, if he would ever bother to put it together, would be like a CVS receipt in length.

He lets Saturday adjust his hands; his grip has been functional enough, but nowhere near as effective as it could be. And he's smiling. He's smiling because Saturday's smiling, and Guts is watching, and he himself is learning.]

So you're what, trusting momentum more than the force of putting your shoulder into it?

Ooof. [She demonstrates the stance and weight distribution, then, bouncing on the balls of her feet.] Like this, then. Fast and loose, ready to move. And yeah, Guts is right. Trust the sword. Cuttin' things is what it's made for; if you've kept it oiled and sharp and polished, then it doesn't need any more help to do its job. Your job isn't to make it cut, it's to stop it cutting, get it cutting only what and when and where and how deep as you want it to. If that makes sense.

Edited 2020-11-01 22:12 (UTC)

If you swing too hard you'll telegraph your moves, so your enemy'll be able to counter it.

[Guts reaches for a longsword to strap to his belt. It remains sheathed, for now. He doubts they'd be ready for a full on sword duel on the first day, but a demonstration or two might be good. He'll spare them the zweihander end of the available blades.]

You were doin' pretty good switching it up with the bat.Not too different with a sword. You don't want to be predictable.

Perfect sense. [He mimics Saturday's stance, finding that lightness in his feet, watches Guts' body language as well. He likes that way she's put it, that it's more about the thoughtfulness and the restraint than the aggression. That somehow warms him to the blade a little more.]

Most of the experience I have with a blade's about hacking at wild animals and through undergrowth if you get attacked in the woods. Deer-brush don't pick up in telegraphing that well. Swordfighting's mostly in the movies in my world.

[Not always.]

It used to be in mine, til people got magic-powered. Now you see blades as much as guns. More, some places. All right.

[And then a sword grows out of her metal right arm. There's no compartment, just a weirdly organic slit she pulls the hilt from as if it were an ordinary sheathe, smooth as if this was a totally normal bodily function. It's a two-edged, straight blade, with a well-worn grip and a simple guard. It's largely unadorned, well-cared for, and definitely doesn't look magic as hell.]

[She takes up her stance next to Dan, safely distanced, to demonstrate, wielding her blade one-handed.]

So there's a lot of fancy shit about like, angles and memorizing strikes and whatever but here's what it boils down to. Hit the other guy, don't get hit yourself. There's four basic strikes, and everything from there is variation. Head.

[She strikes an invisible opponent, with perhaps less force then Dan might imagine - it's almost a flick.]

Side.

[She strikes ones to the left, blade parallel to the ground. Again, her movement is quick, controlled, focused.]

Angle.

[Two more strikes, first one slashing down from invisible shoulder to invisible hip, the second from hip to shoulder]

Head. Side. Angle. Like so. See how my grip changes, but I never lose the control from my back fingers? Give it a try.

[ Guts' sword remains drawn, for now, letting Saturday do the demonstration for him. For now, he observes him with a watchful eye. ]

It'll start to make sense when you feel the movement in your body.

[He raises his eyebrows and gives an impressed not to the fact that Saturday just, well. Grew a sword out of her arm. He does a soft, miniature mimic of the direction her hands and arms are moving, before he follows her lead for those quick, precise strikes. They look better on her, but that's to be expected.

He's not sure if it'll start to make sense ever, but he doesn't want to contradict his teachers, so he decides to trust them. He watches closely at everything that's happening, both as Saturday moves and as he himself moves; he's always been good at picking things up quickly, mostly because he's good at observing both the larger gist and details on the first round. It's a skill his parents drilled into him. He expects it'll help him out here.]

We ought to make a regular thing of this, if y'all are willing. I'm certainly getting more out of it than from Planker's exercises in sadism. [He shifts back out of a fighting stance, rolling his shoulder with a wince.] I think I wrenched myself on those monkey bars, though. I won't get then full benefit of your instruction right now.

[He's not looking for an out; he sounds, and is, genuinely excited by the idea of the three of them doing this again sometime.]

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The Bad Idea, or Me Befallen By It?

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/drawing to a close?