Logs:An Adult's Advice
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| RL Date: 19 March, 2013 |
| Who: Mave, Barnabas |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Bones stumbles on Mave practicing her pugilism, and adds his own input. |
| Where: Lakeshore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 4, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
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| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. Since the day's managed to stave off rainfall, despite cloudy temptations, people are out in the bowl and Mave has staked out a portion of the lake shore. The bandana that's been meant for play before now keeps her hair off her forehead and the runner's tail from whipping too much at her face. Legs in a determinedly balanced stance, fingers curled tight, she throws out a punch, punishing the air in front of her, before twisting on a heel to repeat. Twist, repeat. Twist, repeat. Going in a circle, like some kind of ridiculous dance, there on the sand that gets crushed beneath her in whirling circular patterns broken by the swinging of her weight through the punch. Intermittently, at no discernible rhythm, she switches to the other arm, throwing both fists impartially. With far less purposeful motion in him than Mave, Bones' idle walk on the sand is a lazy thing that has him ocasionally plucking up rocks he deems flat enough to skip across the water's surface. After finding a suitable little hunk, he tosses it out with all the subtelty of a hurricane, and it kerplunks so sharply into the water that he might as well have thrown it straight down. "Damnit all.." is his mumble as he saunters on, eyes aimed downward to try and find the next one. He'd get the hang of it eventually, right? As he rounds a particularly heavy boulder and spots Mave in the distance. Was she... dancing? No, something he was much more familiar with. He'd approach with a hand making a cone shape at his lips. "AHOOOOY!" "Hu-- !" as the shout catches Mave off-guard, leaving her lurching forward in her next faltering punch. She staggers several steps forward in the sand, ruining the perfect circular impression she'd been creating. Balance caught, it's not long before the culprit is found, bandana keeping her hair from bouncing too far as she throws her gaze around till the gardener's spotted. Mirroring his conical amplifier, her response: "Oy! Avast, and come about!" Lowering her hands, further practice punching is refrained from, fists only addressing her hips as she stands and awaits the large man. There's an awkward smile for her response, one that has him looking to the sands for a second or two. "Have not heard that in a while, hehe." The moment of reflection ends the moment his words do, inked arms crossing over broad chest as he makes his way to the edge of the circle. "So, s'this a new dance routine yer workin' on to impress the boys or...?" A knowing grin punctuates the joke at her expense. "A hardy har har." Lofty faux-laughter answers him, Mave's tiny moment of self-consciousness dropping the hands from her hips. Lifting one arm, she wraps it across her chest, bracing the other around it till she can pull, stretching all out along her shoulder. "The boys Impressed quite fine on their own." Rather indistinguishable between whether she realizes the wordplay or not; she's swiftly enough distracted crinkling her nose in investigation at him. "I was... punching. The air. But now that you're here, I think I'll just punch you." Firming her feet, she tosses a feinted fist at him, coming up short of those tattooed arms. While her eyes are briefly taken by the ink, her voice carries on, "How about it, huh? Then you won't have to be worried about deckin' me when I come into the greenhouse." Because that's all the difference that stands between them, yes. With the benefit of proximity, Bones can observe one of her punches firsthand, and he leans back a bit as the small strike slices it's way through the air right towards him. "Whoa, go easy on me eh kiddo? Heheh." His arms unclasp, and he pinches one of her fists between thumb and forefinger, his own hands wide enough to make that an easy task. "Y'could power right through a boulder with these monsters couldn't yah? Ha! Who toldja how to throw like that?" For all his condescension, he seemed impressed enough to be earnest in his question. Mave's mouth opens to respond, then snaps shut on a sudden thought. "I... don't think I should tell you," Rather than fear, her hesitation births from revelation; a little intelligence sparks in her eye. "In fact," loosening the fist, she waves flat palms in front of him -- wax on, wax off, "Forget you even saw that. I want to see how you'd teach me to throw a punch. Assuming I know absolutely nothing, which is... really not that far from the truth." Squaring her shoulders, she regains her ready stance, eyeing him expectantly... then abruptly shifting out of her ready stance and attempting to look unaware. Bones' curiosity as to where she's getting her hitting lessons would have to go unsated, as the prospect of adding his own advice sounds like, well, fun. "You want my way? Well lesson one would be..." He pauses on that, scratching the back of his head as he trys to think of precisely how the Bones system of fighting would go, if written down in a book. "Learn to drink enough so that all the nerve endings in your face are dead before the fight starts. That always worked for me, Ha!" Despite the joke, he slowly lifts his arms up in a fighting stance, both of his fists rising up in front of his face, tucked just underneath his chin. "Do this." While adjusting to Bones' offered stance, Mave tosses her head. "I think I could drink like you." Bland, barely thought-out fact; almost, really, fond as she considers. But narrow focus on mimicking him poses a barrier to further talking. Weaseling her feet into the sand more securely, she tests her hands both ways, left out first, then right, the left again, and ending on that. Because of the switching, the outside hand ends up a little higher than Bones' example. "Really? Because no you fuckin' can't." He drops his own hands now to give a brisk walk around her, inspecting her own form. "And you shouldn't, neither. Unless yer wantin' yer voice to sound like mine eh? Ha!" He gives a quick pat at one of her legs. "Bring this leg in a bit. A wide stance'll give you more power but you ain't got no power 'cuz you're what, like eighty pounds? Keep your feet under your shoulders and you'll be able to move quicker. For your size, you ain't lookin' to flatten nobody in one hit, you wanna sting em till y'can get something heavy to hit em with. When you get bigger, well.. then you can be that thing." Watching Bones circle her gives Mave's eyes a somewhat dizzied look but, blinking down after, the indicated leg adjusts obediently. Feeling this new distance, she sidles her weight back and forth to become familiar. "Quicker," she echoes studiously, "Quicker. Sting 'em." The second's said with more frown, as she tries to pluck further meaning out of the phrase by merely saying it. "But if I don't weigh nothing, then wouldn't picking up something heavy slow me down?" Eyebrows lift, skeptical, as to her ever being that thing, but she falls into casualness-- hazy with concentration as she looks over her figure again to check feet against shoulders-- to blithely mention, "I guess you're right, though..." Of the drinking, perhaps, due to the hint of challenge in the brusque way she brushes it off, hinting to a loss. "Well yeah it'll slow you down, but I'm just thinkin' worst case scenerio here kid Y'see..." He circles back around to her front as he talks, and pauses to give her a little more advice with a grip at at her shoulders, giving her a slow rock back and forth. "Stay loosey goosey, yah? Looooosey Goooosey. Don't stay tight. You'll get tired real fast if you stay tight." After hopefully sillying her out of stiffness, he stands back tall. "What was I talkin' bout? Oh, right, worst cases. See, worse case is you'll hafta fight off a dude like me. Dude ain't got no pain in him left to feel. That happens? All the speed and sting in the world wont help, you gotta put 'em down. Fightin' don't gotta be fancy kid. Get him in the throat, or the eye. Then, you grab a bottle, a chair, anything. You put him on the ground. And you don't take time to gloat neither, you get your ass out before his boys show up. You hear me kid?" There's a touch of protectiveness in his tone towards the end. Initially she sways exaggeratedly under his rocking but eventually Mave takes it to heart, shaking her shoulders of her own volition to clear any lingering tension, though after that there's surely not any. "Gloatin's for jerks," snapped out, then followed by, "I hear ya, I hear ya," so he knows she takes him seriously, though quickly brushed off with a few nods; she must have missed any subtlety to his gruff voice. "Y'know, you've only got some more months left, to call me 'kid'." After saying, the looseness is tested out with bouncing, sidling from side to side, her head bobbing, and a soft pretend punch off to the left. Ducking is felt out next, her body dropping more like a rock than anything fluid, and she rights like off a spring, all the while muttering the mantra, "Throat, eye... bottle, chair, throat, eye." "What, you don't like kid? I think it's endearing!" He chuckles as he watches her do her ducks and dives. "Was plannin' on it till at least another ten turns or so. If I'm around that long. Now, uhh s'more basics. People'll say you wanna keep your eyes on your guy. That's garbage. You wanna keep your nose on 'em. Aimin' your whole head front is the best way to avoid damage, specially if you keep your hands up like your 'sposed to." To illustrate, he takes a gentle hold of Mave's wrists, and ensures they're right in the spot they need to be. "If you're real fast, y'can drop your hands a little. Bait big slow fuckers like me thinkin' they got a clean shot. Then? You sting em and dodge at the same time. They'll whiff, and come out the other end with a busted nose they didn't even see get tagged. You gettin' all this?" "I'll be sixteen," chides Mave factually, "I'll be an adult." She rapidly blinks to the incoming instructions, like her round head's heating up as she processes and her eyelids hurry to fan off the brain. Eyebrows drop, measuring him steadily to figure out that keeping her nose on a person is not meant literally. Luckily, she refrains from head-butting him as his wrists are taken. Tensing, she chides herself back into loosey-goosey while letting him arrange her hands. When he lets go, she drops them like he's saying, then raises them, then positions them somewhat halfway with a frown tucked into the corner of her mouth. "So... I want to-- let you think that you can hit my face. I noticed that, when I punch, I fall forward really easily cause it's like... I'm throwing myself into it. So that's what I want to make them do and then that's a good time to-- ?" she wallops the air brutally. "Kid, I'm thirty... thirty-six turns old." He has to pause to think about it, his age not actually coming up in conversation all too often. "And I ain't even what I'd call an adult, not by the grander stretch'a the definition." At her attempts at trying out her hand dropping, he snatches up her wrists and brings her hands up once more, returning them to her chin. "Don't drop your hands, that's for later. Advanced stuff. And in all honesty here? I'm probably forgettin' the most important rule of fightin' there is." He gives a sigh and runs his hand back through his hair, while the other goes to his hip. "So should I be calling you kid?" With an eyebrow lifted in bait, her voice straight, Mave's either deadpanning or honest-- most likely the former. The eyebrow relaxes slowly, and that's the only part of her. Since Bones said not to drop her hands, they stay right exactly where he positioned them, with her knees in the stance, tentatively prepared. Hovering there takes control, but she works at it, diligently refusing to be at rest. Mouth mulls, alone, over the answer, with even her eyes remaining steady until she pronounces, "Don't?" She offers as rapid-fire response, followed by, "Stomp on their toe and then run really fast?" "The most important thing to know about fighting? All these lessons? Friggen useless." He clearly hates to admit it as he looks up from the sands to the girl, wearing with a sheepish smile, hand still at the back of his head. "Truth is this. If you're angry enough to throw that first shot, or that first shot is flyin' at you outta nowhere? S'already too late. Instinct's gonna take over, and you won't even have time to dig into the part of your head that's got all this. Y'gotta retrain your instincts, and for that? You need somebody tryin' to hit ya." He stands tall after the admission that his advice is futile is delivered, hands going into his pockets. "Which ain't gonna be me, by the by. But if it makes y'feel better, y'can call me champ or sport or somethin? Kid's your name, after all." "Fear and-- anger, right?" Testing by Mave, before she nibbles on her lip. Under this admonishment, her carefully held stance begins to fade, losing a touch of its form. "Couldn't you just..." searching in her head is obvious by the distracted way her eyes float to the side, symbolizing digging deep behind them. Fingers lose shape and she scratches at one wrist. "Jump out at me every once in a while?" Squinting an eye, she knows she's stretching. Hands finally flag substantially, lowering to about her chest as her shoulders loosen. "Actually, I really prefer people's names." She shrugs with one newly relaxed. "That's why I harped on you first time we meet." "I'll tell you what, Maaaave!" He stretches out her name, robbed of the precious nickname she seemed to dislike so thoroughly. "If you wanna learn to fight? Like, for real? Just... I'unno, stop by the greenhouse more often. We could find out a way to trigger your instincts, without puttin' you in any real danger. Well, y'know, less real than an actual fight anyway." He reaches forward to pinch at the fabric of her bandana, and playfully tug it down in front of her eyes. "Hehe. Oh and by the by, the reason you're losin' your ground when you throw them jabs out? Y'aint shufflin' your feet proper under you. Take a short step with your front leg, and then bring the back one up after it's landed proper." A nod. Another nod. Then Mave pauses, tugging her mouth up into a tight squint in one corner before popping her lips out, "You just invited me into the greenhouse." Words: marked. There's no more taking them back now, she states as though witnessing in front of a harper. All ruined by the sudden blindness involved, when she bats at his hands ineffectually and the bandana droops drastically over her eyes. "S-short step," she repeats chirpily, stuttering to pay upmost attention while also occupied with trying to soothe the bandana back up over her forehead. As her eyes reappear, they blink to find him. "Where... umm." Hands fall, "Where did you learn to fight, Bones?" Despite being the one with his eyes open, Bones is the one left to blink a few times at Mave's observation, and he cracks a bigger smile than the one he already had plastered on. "Yeah, s'pose I did. Just don't sneaking in anymore alright? Lemme know when you're in, so I don't turn around a corner too fast with a sickle and take an eye on accident." His arms lift up and he wraps his hands around the back of his neck, showing off a bit of the usually unseen ink on the inside of his arms. "Y'know, around." He chuckles, knowing that probably wasn't enough to satisfy her. "Wasn't much else to learn on the open water, once you got the knots and navigation down." "No more sneaking in," and she flashes him a mighty salute to be absolutely clear. Mave's eyes wander unabashedly over any previously unseen ink. "Huh," is all she adds to his admittance, having little more insight than that-- or generally agreeing. Licking her lips, fists form a couple more absent times before she lets it rest, sticking them into jacket pockets. "Y'know, I figured out what I'm gonna get inked on me. When I stop growing." Finding a perfect flat stone right by his boot, Bones bends down to pull it free of sand and shake it a few times before making the attempt at another throw. "Yeah, what's that?" Her choice of ink that is, the question asked just before he tosses it free out into the water. Another chunking, harsh, and most importantly singular splash signifies his failure. He droops a little in defeat. He'll never learn to skip stones. Half a snort makes it out of Mave at his attempt, "Maybe I'll teach you how to do that next time." Then she stretches her neck to both sides, cracking it. Her arms sling around behind her as she back-steps, "As for the ink... well... You'll just have to find it. When comes time." Shrugging a most innocent shrug, she twists on her heels and starts loitering off the beach towards the bowl proper, glancing over her shoulder just to shout, "Smooth sailin'!" |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 21 Mar 2013 19:41:14 GMT.
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I love Bones' advice at the end, about how it all means shirt 'in the moment'. It's to true. And Mave is as adorable-knowledge-sponge-adorable as ever. <3
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