spar log!

[garmr]

Who: guts berserk and... you?
What: SWORDS PRACTICE!! SPARRING!!! PUNCH FRIENDSHIP?
Where: Training Area
When: After the sheetcake bonanza, during training time
Warnings/Notes: semi-open! Basically just a place to keep all the planned sparring threads together. Just hit me up if you'd like to do something.

(( Feel free to use the prompt below or have them be in a general training scenario - I will run with it! ))

Comments

open prompt

[garmr]

((feel free to actionspam from this if you'd like!))

Although training sessions put him in a better mood, Guts will be intent on going off by himself as soon as any group exercises were done, as he often seemed to do. It wasn't an easy process getting some of his equipment back to practice with, so he intends to make the most of it.

He is off at some empty corner of the training deck to swing his sword by himself. Despite the presence of extra supervision that came with temporarily being given some of their tools back, nothing of note would come to pass. Guts had no interest in rebelling here - he didn't even feel like being particularly nasty at the guy watching over him. This activity was just a way to get his mind to shut up for a few hours - a meditation or ritual of sorts. He didn't care about being watched as long he didn't have to talk.

And so, he would do what he always does: practicing his strikes and footwork in what must've been hundreds of diligently performed repetitions. At times he would swing so many vertical strikes in a row he seemed to get lost in the action itself. It was well beyond simply committing the attack to memory.

Very little of the exercise could be considered particularly flashy, except for the fact that his sword was more like a coffin-shaped metal slab than an actual sword. The crude iron arm attached to his missing limb didn't look sophisticated enough to be able to move on its own, but it could grip onto the sword's tang. That was good enough for him.

[somnioergosum]

Ronan would have to be the most unobservant person in the world to miss someone with an iron arm swinging around a giant sword. Whatever he planned to do to blow off some steam, it was now officially on hold.

He walked over. "You look like you know what you're doing. How good are you with a regular sized sword?"

[garmr]

Guts stops the exercise, leveling a look at this new arrival while resting the blade on his shoulder. He recognizes the guy's face from sheetcake hell, though they've never properly met. Even if Guts didn't make any particularly strong effort to socialize, he at least observed them all from afar.

"Not really my preference, but a sword is still a sword," he says. He's trained with multiple weapons as any mercenary worth their salt ought to do.

"Why? Are you a swordsman?"

[somnioergosum]

After he'd taken in Guts, Ronan eyed his sword. "No, but I had one before I got here. Jorgmund took it. For all I know, they destroyed it." They seemed like they that would. No one had exactly been happy to see such an unreal weapon.

"I'm better with my fists." He clenched his hands and held up a perfectly formed fist. Ronan's father hadn't trained him in boxing for nothing. Then he lowered it. "Not much use against that." He jerked his head at Guts's weapon.

[garmr]

So this one knew how to fight with his fists, at least.

"I see."

Guts has a feeling where this might be headed. The morning training didn't really cover something as archaic as sword fighting. If Jorgmund apparently kept his own equipment around, then this guy's sword could very likely still be somewhere on the Rig.

"There are batons if you'd like to spar."

[somnioergosum]

Ronan wasn't one to turn down a good fight, even if it was just practice. And if he ever did get his sword back, it'd help to have an idea of how to use it other than the very basics.

"Yeah, sure. I don't have anything better to do." Ronan stretched his arms, lacing his fingers together before cracking his joints.

A wiser man would ask for Guts to take it easy on him and just show him the ropes. Ronan was not that man.

[tagspam ahoy]

[passifloraincarnata]

[Setsuna came in here to work off some energy and maybe do some exercises via the equipment, contemplating trying to keep herself in some sort of reasonable athletic trim, expecting maybe she might find Adora, or Catra, someone she knew in here if she found anyone at all, but honestly not really thinking about anyone except herself in what she expected to get out of this. she needs to think, and mindless physical activity should keep her thoughts primed enough to work through some of her thoughts.]

[she is, to say the least, not prepared for what greets her when she chances a look at who else is occupying the training area.]

[what the hell is happening, there, exactly.]

[no, really, just ... what.]

aww yeah!!

[garmr]

[It's just a guy swinging his sword around!

Guts happens to be very involved in the action, as a matter of fact. Unless she speaks up or gets in his way, hes going to continue moving along with this little murder dance of his. He's practiced it quite a bit by this point.

A step forward here, a twist of the blade there. There's a stirring of the still air where the metal slab slices through with a dull hum. The roughened heap of a weapon had its own sort of simple grace when wielded properly. ]

[imagining guts kool-aid manning into the behelit and screaming]

[passifloraincarnata]

[she's never seen anything like that. she's just struck genuinely dumb.]

[her feet only sort of consciously move her closer, against all sense and sanity, unable to look away from this vulgar spectacle.]

[that could kill someone, and not decently.]

[it's not that Setsuna's never fought for her life, never fought knowing that winning might mean she has to take someone else's life, it's just that she's the sort of person who's grown attached to the idea that she doesn't have to, and that she'd rather fight to the pain or the resolution than ever to the death, or the horrible maiming.]

[that is a weapon, and a use of it, where its purpose begins at maiming, at best, and where dying to it looks like it would be a mercy.]

[she's horrified. just what kind of use would Jorgmund have for something like that? is that what she has to come to terms with, to have any hope of passing as someone who can accept what they're proposing?]

[if it is, she can't afford to look away, can she?]

[smashes through screaming GRIFFIIIIIIIIIITH]

[garmr]

[Guts takes a few steps backwards, getting closer, too focused on what's ahead to particularly notice the girl behind him. While she was concerned with the unfortunate consequences of the metal slab cleaving flesh, he was counting the swings. How many enemies could he cut down before his arms gave out on him?

It's a test of himself as well as the sword. It's been good while since his last major battle, giving him precious time to recover. Even then, the exertion leaves him sweating and carefully monitoring his breaths. Curse it all - as well as he'd been healed, his body just isn't the same as it was years ago. All the heavy beatings he put himself through were starting to catch up with him. Will he have enough left in him to make it through yet another journey? Frustration seeps into those swings, becoming a less technique and more simple emotional outlet. He focuses on bringing that heap of metal down with all his might.

All these thoughts are interrupted when he catches someone out of the corner of his eye mid-swing. What he intends to be one wide horizontal sweep has its trajectory altered through grit teeth. Diagonally it cuts, the very tip sweeping way too close to the girl's head for comfort. It takes a tremendous effort to halt the thing's momentum once it starts, but he manages, keeping it pointed up and away.]

Hey - !

[ The blade remains hovering in place.]

You got a death wish or something? Get away from here.

[passifloraincarnata]

[she doesn't realize how close she's walked - much less consider what's compelling her to step that close - until the hollow whistle of the large slab that only barely merits the label of "blade" comes within shrieking distance of her face, far faster than she could have dodged it without being braced for just that.]

[she dodges anyway, too late to have saved herself if he hadn't stopped his own swing before she even registered what was happening, reflexes nonetheless flinging her to the side and down in a curled-up cartwheel, eyes suddenly blown wide in adrenaline-pumping panic.]

I - [she fumbles.] I - what is that thing?!

Re: open prompt

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday's taken a break from her own workout and is sitting on the sidelines, hydrating. She's watching Guts with a careful eye, appreciating his skill and also looking for his openings, blindspots, favorite moves. They do owe each other a bout, after all, and it'd be plain silly not to take him seriously. He's certainly going to do the same for her. She's also not hiding her admiration; that is seriously cool, and he's seriously good with it.

When he pulls off a particularly elaborate bit of shadowboxing, she cheers.

[garmr]

Guts reaches the end of that particular chain of attacks with a familiar voice catching his attention. He stands up from the lowered stance of the final extended thrust forward. The weight of his weapon often necessitated quite a bit of work for his legs as well as his upper body, it seems. Cycling through some basic moves was enough to get a good exertion.

Well, looks like his time for cleaving invisible monsters in half would have to be put on hold. Saturday wouldn't be a bad person to spend a break with. So, with the flat of the blade resting on his shoulder, he'll greet her with a content enough look on his face.

"How long've you been there?"

[wheyoftheadept]

"'Bout five minutes." She grins up at him, shading her eyes in a gentle mock of how he towers over her. Especially because she's sitting cross-legged on the floor. "You sure you're not an adept? That sword's a beast."

Her own blade is nowhere to be seen, though if he was paying attention, she was definitely using it earlier.

[garmr]

"It's good for cutting monster hides. Regular swords tend to break on 'em."

He turns the Dragonslayer on its edge. It's not particularly sharp, but when something that massive is swung at breakneck speeds, it's going to do unpleasant things to whatever unfortunate thing gets caught in the way.

He sits down next to her to dry off and cool down, getting comfortable on the ground. Right now, he feels like enjoying the simple silence of being near good company, it seems. He looks a lot calmer than he did in their room or at the party.

Her bottle of water gets a curious glance, though. Now where did she get that?

[wheyoftheadept]

((unrelated but I did a height comparison for Guts and Saturday im dyin))

"More of a bludgeon than the pure blade, innit?" Saturday notes, observing the sharpened but very thick edge. She notes that he seems calmer, and thinks it's a good thing. Save your fight, that was what pops always told her. If only it hadn't taken so goddamned much for her to listen and understand what he meant.

She offers him her water. "Thirsty? They got a fridge over by the locker room. Buncha sport drinks I don't trust but the water seems okay."

'Don't trust' is putting it mildly. She's pretty sure gatorade isn't supposed to smell so - powdery. And she wouldn't put it past Jorg to drug them for performance without asking.

"There's snacks, too." That had been, for her, the most important part. Even if they were gross nutrition bars, they were calories, and they were unsupervised. She'd filled her pockets.

[becauseimacoward]

It seems to Dojima that staying in shape will be essential if he wants to stay on Jorgmund's good side for the time being. After all, the assignments they may have to tackle seem like they could get physically intensive -- depending on if they get any foes, really. Failing because you weren't strong enough would be unforgivable, he's sure.

That was why he came to train -- or more accurately, to try to follow long-forgotten exercise routines.

Guts seems like he knows what he's doing. Those strikes and footwork have so many repetitions. It was impressive. Dojima wouldn't come even close to getting that many times.

"Your stamina is excellent"

He can't help but sound rather impressed.

[garmr]

He stops, lowering his sword to acknowledge the familiar voice. Hey, it's this guy again!

"It's you..."

Did they exchange names?? Guts isn't the best at introductions... Help him out here, guy.

But hey, he found his sword! At least for a few hours of the day. The structured morning training apparently didn't take into account the dudes (or Nora) who like to fling around giant weapons on the regular. He didn't really start to feel much exertion until he had time to train by himself.

[becauseimacoward]

"Me. Dojima."

At least he could tell a certain someone didn't know his name, he gives it with a smirk.

"Not that I have your name either. You don't want to be known as the guy who has the huge sword."

A sword of that size forces you to have impressive stamina, either way. That must have taken years of intensive training, and of course, being in a rig in another world is no reason to leave behind such trainings.

"I'm surprised they gave you the sword in the first place. I was certain they'd try to keep it out of your reach for as long as they could."

...unless all they could manage was a couple days. If so, pitiful move, Jorgmund.

[garmr]

"It's Guts. Good to meet you."

Well, there's a greeting. It looks like he is capable of one, it just needs to be fished out of him.

"It wasn't anything grand. None of these machines make sense to me..."

He looks at the array of weight machines, treadmills, drones, and other things. They were all so odd-looking.

"I know how to train best with my sword, so I insisted."

[becauseimacoward]

That was surprisingly permissive of them! Maybe these people at the rig listened to their thoughts and opinions more than he thought they would. Dojima seems rather surprised.

"They didn't give you any conditions or threats?"

He says that, getting onto one of the weight machines, and starting to look for the right setting.

[purple_paradox]

"Ha!" laughed Saint as he approached Guts as he trained. "Now that, my friend, is impressive. Even Shaxx would feel inadequate when faced with such a weapon!"

The Exo strode up without any equipment, as he wasn't intending to do any weapons training today. He had other exercises in mind.

"If I could intrude, friend, would you be interested in a sparring partner? That--" he gestures to the giant hunk of metal Guts was swinging around "--looks to be the perfect thing to test my abilities against."

[garmr]

You know what? It's hard to stay completely dour and serious with Saint around. He can't help but brighten up a little as this odd metal dude just saunters over in such a good mood.

"Well, if it ain't the guy responsible for spreadin' around that cake."

Guts remembers seeing him, even if they didn't interact directly before.

"You sure you want me to cut you with this?"

Pensive, he tilts the Dragonslayer's edge away. Granted, the guy had a sturdy build and was made of metal - but he's vociferously cut through things made of metal before. He'd at least like to get an idea of what he was dealing with before whacking someone with his sword.

[purple_paradox]

"I tried my best," he replied with a laugh, "but at least half of it ended up in the trash just from picking out the...less edible bits, yes?"

Saint smiles again at Guts's question, and shakes his head.

"Me? Not so much. Back home, I could come back from that, but here I am much weakened. I am looking to test this instead."

At that, he causes a glowing, purple shield to manifest on his arm, tapping against it with his free hand.

"I would like to see how much punishment it can take before we find ourselves in a real fight."

[garmr]

Testing out his equipment. Not a bad idea.

"Okay. What do you usually block with it?"

Trying to gauge how hard he should smack his buddy here. He wants to provide a good challenge with a controlled blow, if nothing else.