Bokken

August 25, 2015:

Phobos and Rant train a bit with Bokken.

Redacted

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Hours turn into days and days turn into weeks. Several of them by now in the alternate dimension that houses the Authority's base of operations. There have been trips back to their own dimension, and matters have been tended to. Rent must be paid, connections maintained, and even the occasional adventure embarked upon. Yet at times the young man Alexander finds himself enjoying a return to the base, despite the occasional mispleasure it might cause Deathstroke having to use the teleporter now and then.
Yet there's something about this place. It's cut off, neat and away in a lot of ways that Olympus can be, without the weight of obnoxious family. It's a microcosm of interaction without the weight of history and it allows the young deity to avoid some of his obligations and responsibilities. It also has a rather decent entertainment center.
Yet the main thing that draws him, other than the interesting personalities he has a chance to observe, is that the 'war room' is an entirely more interesting place to train than the university gymnasium that's normally available to him.
And so there he is today/tonight/this afternoon… time having a curious way of passing in the floating alternate dimension ops center. Against the wall of the training room is a canvas bag with a bunch of wooden practice kendo blades. Next to that bag is a folding chair of aluminum that is supporting the young Olympian as he looks across the way towards Rant and her use of one of those blades. "So when you hold it, what do you feel?"

Back home, that's where all the trouble was. Back home is where your supposedly dead boyfriend is now back and is in trouble. Back home is where.. if she was sure of it? He wasn't the same and she needed to be ignorant of the fact that he was alive. She deduced that, he was not the same as he once was, and was told that he needed to be put back together again.

She gave away that biggie smalls shirt.

Back home is where she acquired a powerful backer in his name, back home is where her friend found out her lineage. Back home is where certain things were moving and shaking and Gotham and really.. here?

This was a welcome break. Hard work on the mind, body.. powers..

She holds it with both of her hands, the wooden blade, her stance is as what he's told her, her shoulders obviously stiff and her arms very much so. She wasn't used to this at all. "Um.. it's really uncomfortable. Like, do I force myself to deal with it or do I do like with what I do with guns? Find what works?"

"Hm," Alexander is leaning forward on that chair, elbows resting on his knees and his fingers interlaced. He cocks his head to the side, faintly glowing red eyes framed by those ragged blonde locks remain on her. He opens one hand slightly, the fingers indicating her as an individual. "Not quite as freely as you don't have the same goal with a blade as you do with a gun. A pistol, for the most part, you are simply trying to get a single angle and succeed in connecting with your target."
Phobos looks to the side, eyes lifting upwards as if digging into his memories. He looks back, "With a blade, you have to be mindful of not just success in an attack but in protecting yourself as well. More aware of their body's position as you are providing the energy for the strike, while with the firearm it is the chemical explosion."
Alexander lifts his chin, "So you will want to find a grip that is comfortable, not too heavy, but not too loose. It should feel like an extension of your arm. It sounds cheesy, yet it's also true."

Melody stands straight up, dropping the wooden weapon down from it's outstretched pose, her posture relaxing just a bit as she lifts her sword arm up, down, and up again to test the feel. Since nothing was trying to kill them at the moment, it was easier for her to do so. But she does listen, all the while swinging it slowly as she was told, just to get a feel of the movements, even though it was relaxed.

Not forced.

"So in other words, relax. Let it come to me to me. Move as I usually wood and the sword is me?" She takes a step forward, not towards him, but towards the bag, poking it briefly with a few harsh jabs.

"I don't think this is working. I know it's necessary but.." She tilts her head slightly; she was obviously distracted. "Maybe we should spar. I learn better from actual.. doing. I guess."

Tilting his head to the side, Alexander sort of looks at her for a time. "If you're certain, but some of it comes naturally. In training…" He gets to his feet slowly, a hand lazily reaching behind him for one of the practice blades, the wooden edge of it rasping a bit on the cloth of the canvas sack. Out onto the hard steel floor of he war room he walks, the sword coming up to rest upon his shoulder easily enough.
"You get these little epiphanies as you go along. Sort of revelations where you go to yourself, 'wow, so that's why I do that.'" He takes up a place before her, but still seems very at ease. "You have a benefit in a way I suppose in that you're not going to study any sort of formal approach to this. I imagine you just want to learn what is effective and what will save your life or help you perform better." The blade comes down with a faint whir as it slices the air.
"So you won't have to unlearn anything. So that's good. But…" He holds the sword out, "Look at the weapon and tell me what you see, why is it made this way? Single edged, the cross guard, the long hilt?"

"But this is training." She wasn't being difficult, she just wanted to understand. In television, there are huge montages of training scenarios, which she thought that she could do here. She even thought that she could just create an app and be automatically aweseome. (Which she did, was not awesome, coded with bugs.) Or just slag off and be the wild card that no one wants to use. But during her time here? She's gotten well toned. Her arms had muscles, and she looked and felt really great. If not seemed a little bit skinny.

"So instinct." She states, nodding slightly as she watches him, taking that slight step back as she tries her best to not look him in the eye. "I just want to learn, period. Maybe if need be, I can save others. Or.. maybe, just have a focus on something other than.." She gestures around, then lifts the wooden blade to hold the hilt with both of her hands.

She tilts the weapon upright as she studies it, her eyes gone blank as she gives a shake of her head. "I'm guessing.. the grip. So it could be held and not slip, single edged maybe for critical hits? I.. have no clue what a cross guard is, is it this thing?" She points to the wooden circular object at the top of the hilt which leads to the blade. She was truly a nerd. But not in this sort of way.

A step forward is taken and he lifts his own blade, his chin coming up as if silently asking her to do likewise. If she does so he brings his weapon to touch hers, side of the blade to side of the blade. "The crossguard is to protect your fingers, otherwise someone could just slide their blade down…" The wooden sword drifts down the length of the other wooden weapon until it clicks faintly with the crossguard. "And cut your fingers off."
He holds it there, the two weapons against each other gently, "The hilt is that length so you can use it with one hand, the pivot being your wrist right there below that crossguard. But also so you can add your other hand over the pommel." He places his hand upon the extended grip, showing her different placements as to get different direction and power. "It allows you a greater strength and speed."
Then the blade slides upwards, "What many people do not know, if they've only used a blade to watch, is that if you are trying to parry another blade you do not want to do so with the edge of your own. The weapon can break or splinter depending on its quality, also that is a weaker point of the weapon."
He brings his bokken around to strike at hers lightly with a faint clack. "If you wish to stop your opponents blade you try to do so with the back of yours or the side."
His lip curls, "The rest of it… is geometry. Which you should excel at."

A step forward is taken and he lifts his own blade, his chin coming up as if silently asking her to do likewise. If she does so he brings his weapon to touch hers, side of the blade to side of the blade. "The crossguard is to protect your fingers, otherwise someone could just slide their blade down…" The wooden sword drifts down the length of the other wooden weapon until it clicks faintly with the crossguard. "And cut your fingers off."
He holds it there, the two weapons against each other gently, "The hilt is that length so you can use it with one hand, the pivot being your wrist right there below that crossguard. But also so you can add your other hand over the pommel." He places his hand upon the extended grip, showing her different placements as to get different direction and power. "It allows you a greater strength and speed."
Then the blade slides upwards, "What many people do not know, if they've only watched swordplay in the movies, is that if you are trying to parry another blade you do not want to do so with the edge of your own. The weapon can break or splinter depending on its quality, also that is a weaker point of the weapon. Naturally if your blade is of a special variety you have more freedom of that. Which is why sometimes you might see me using Grass-Cutter's blade edge to edge."
He brings his bokken around to strike at hers lightly with a faint clack. "If you wish to stop your opponents blade you try to do so with the back of yours or the side."
His lip curls, "The rest of it… is geometry. Which you should excel at."

"Aha. Okay. That would really be unpleasant." Even though her words were a joke, they were meant. She didn't even smile after saying so. She pulls her sword back a little to keep his own blade near the middle, bracing herself just a touch, her hands moving upon her own weapon where his does, twisting.. tilting. She's had that stance before.. but now? It's a little bit more comfortable. Understanding, it goes a long way. "I got it.."

"Grass-Cutter. Where did you get a blade like that from? I noticed back with the cats, you didn't break it at all even though you used it with a large amount of force." Her own blade slides down, tapping the cross guard briefly, even tilting it so that she could lightly smack the back of her blade against his side. The clacks weren't as loud, but she was obviously still a touch stiff.

"I should. Yes.." She confirms, then lightly smacks his blade away.

As she smacks the blade away he brings it around through a smooth arc and lightly clacks it back against her own blade, letting her smack it away again and casually giving her these half-speed attacks for her to get used to the feeling and some aspect of the basics of such interplay. Yet as he does so he speaks with her calmly, leisurely.
"It's a long story. Belonged to a god. He gave it to me. I killed him and kept it." Which, really, is the core of the tale without all the frilly Homeric poetry. "Sort of like Japan's Excalibur, naturally some people don't like that I have it. But they can go screw."
He picks up the pace slowly, almost like a child's game, forcing her to get used to the transmission of intention that she might be able to sense from the tension in the sword just before he moves, or the narrowing of his eyes, perhaps even the shifts in his stance. Just small subtle clues before those blades meet again with a 'click-clack'.

Her blade shifts a little too easily. She was strong, sure, but she still held a light grip which almost makes her drop. She affirms her grasp, then swings her blade again, slightly defending her stance with a little step back, pressing in with her own attack, attempting to match the leisurely speed.

"Aren't you some sort of god yourself?" She asks, dropping her blade low to swing upright, clacking her blade against his with the silent hope of catching his fingers. Though, it wasn't a game, she just wanted him to step it up. She seemed to perform well when she was in danger.

But once he picks up, she slightly panics, drawing the blade back to swing it forward towards his middle with a considerable amount of force. Being meta-human; she had the strength of a fully grown man. Though it was rare that she pushes herself to that extent.

There's a smooth turn of his wrist, and that stroke meets his counterstroke, the two wooden blades sliding across each other and then hers is pushed away and out of line. Just enough for him to force her back onto her heels with his counter movement. She is strong, true, but he is also rather gifted by his blood. The pace of the game is maintained, the decision removed from her. It's only after a few more steps in the leisurely movement that he picks up the motion slightly.
"Yes," He answers her, easily as that. "I am."
And that's all he offers in return to her question. He lifts his chin, "Don't try to get ahead of yourself. Give yourself time while we have it. Get familiar with the weapon. I know that Deathstroke might throw you into the deep end and try to foce you to swim, but it does not have to be that way."
He steps in, pushes her back slightly with the pressure of his blade against hers, then steps to the side to accept her counter. "When I was two years old my father taught me the basics of swordplay simply through the use of an old slap game. We don't have the time to begin so easily but still…" His lip twitches, "The world will not end if you take your time."

As it stands, Melody held onto the wooden sword with both hands. Her stance was something you could shake a flimsy stick at. All awkward and ill poised as she tries to battle along with Phobos. An hour earlier? She learned what a cross-guard was. She also learned that this guy that she 'fought' against was something of a God. She didn't know what type, but the effect was cool that she didn't care.

There wasn't really a philosophical discussion between the two, just teaching one to hold a blade, to knock it against the boxing bag that was in the middle of the floor. But now? The click-clack of wood against wood, Melody attempting to spar off against him while holding a conversation to relax herself in the interum.

"Give time? I know.." *CLICK-CLACK* "..that it doesn't.." *THWICK* "..have to be that way.. but you're.." *THOCK!* "..a God."

She stumbles backwards, attempting to raise her guard as she was shown earlier, then rushes foward with an overhand hold to try to swing down upon his own. "…You got all the time in the frickin' world."

It's all in the wrist. For the most part the only part of Alexander that moves is the supple turn of his wrist as he brings his blade in line with Melody's. The wooden blades clack resoundingly in the metal training room, short sharp punctuation to their motion. On the one hand Melody does seem as if she's trying her hardest, but it's clear to even a cursory glance that Alex is holding himself back to just keep the pace and continue pushing her.
"I'm twenty one… two now I think. I may have missed my birthday." He says this off-handedly as his bokken swirls in a corkscrew motion and pushes her blade out of line and off to the side. The tip of his sword comes forward close to her throat then back as he continues. "Though you are correct, I am technically immortal."
The blades drop for a moment and he gestures with his own towards the gym bag that was left off near the wall. "Hydrate." And once she's moving to do so he adds, "I was more meaning you should not feel in a rush to learn all you can. If the fate of the world rests on your skills in swordsmanship then it's already too far doomed." His lip twitches, "But perhaps it could save your life… so I can understand some measure of urgency."

Wrist my ass, Melody was going for the power, keeping her arms stiff and only bending when it counts, relaxing when impact hits so that it wouldn't jar her too terribly, but for wood, and her supposedly (outwardly) flimsy arms, it looks as if it was doing just that. "I'm.. twent five.." Her blade draws off to the side and she nearly follows it, right until the wooden tip is extended and nearly pressed to her throat. Her hands draw up and relent, her head slowly shaking as she tosses the bokken to the side to head for the bag.

She worked up a sweat, but thank you modern miracles, she doesn't smell like crap. People actually put on deoderant, and take baths here, it is a requirement. "Barring my head being chopped off or my heart being cut out, I think I'll be fine in the survival department." Though anything can happen now a days.

She reaches down to grasp the bag, remaining at a crouch to rifle through it, drawing out one bottle of water and then another, tossing one back towards him with a flip of the plastic container over her shoulder.

He pops the top of the bottle and tilts it back, taking exactly two swallows before closing it up. He holds it in his off hand and walks over towards her with an easy gait. A glance is given at the bag, then back towards her. "I imagine that if we face the variety of individuals that our employer has in mind then total body obliteration might be more likely than simple dismemberment. But whatever the case, if nothing else he'll have planned well for it. And our funerals most likely."
That's enough of a given for now so he casually slides the bokken back into the canvas sack that had contained it, a glance given to her as he murmurs. "It's at this point that I'd most likely assign you a variety of drills for you to perform until you're suitably exhausted or have them under control. I somehow don't think you are an individual to practice often, however."

"Total, body.. obliteration.." Mel took those words and laughed at it, a cynical laugh that gains a shake of her head. "Even assholes come back from that and don't say hi." Those last words were murmured, her own cap squeezed off as she settles back onto her bottom. She doesn't drinnk just yet, but she does take the moment to wipe the sweat away from her brow with the back of her hand, overall dabbing her face with her fingers.

"No, not really." She admits, she was just a nerd who sat in front of a computer. She really wasn't sure what he job was going to be, the full scope of it. "Though since here?" She glances around. "Daily. Non stop. At least we're allowed to sleep the full eight even though I've resigned myself to get five."

A nod is given as he folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall, gaze distanced to the far side of the training area. He looks at her sidelong and gives a nod, "That is good. Your initial performance left me viewing you in an unfavorable light." He scritches a fingertip along the curve of his jaw, still not having shaved that stubble that's grown there though it's more of a fine small downy beard than anything prominent.
He rolls a shoulder slowly through its range of motion, then addresses her again. "But you should know that training can only go so far. Much of being an aggressor and a combatant is mental. The desire for such and a certain… exhiliration as it were."

Finally she allows herself a drink, taking a few swigs to only cap the bottle as she looks towards him. "My initi.. oh!" She snaps her fingers, then points towards the air. "My initial performance was that way because I've never been in a live or die situation like that before. I've been shot. I've had my throat slit. I even took an arrow to the knee." One would think that she was joking, but she really wasn't.

"But in some.. weird.. four dimensional death trap that was.. brilliantly made I might add.." She could laugh about it now, and she does.. ".. totally different. Besides, I'm a cryer by nature." She pauses. "Unless you're talking about the turrets.." No excuse there, she was going to leave them high and dry.

She nods nod slightly, her own shoulders shrugging. "I've.. got nothing else." No truer words were spoken. "Okay, I got something else but.. personally.. no. I have no whimsy of my own."

The young deity lifts his hands palms upturned as if telling her he doesn't have the answer either. He gives her a small shrug as if to add onto it then replies, "You just did not display that you were… an asset at times." He gives a small shrug, and to be fair he's being nicer than his father would be. He can imagine the huge god of war raging and roaring, Patton had nothing on him.
He pushes off of the wall, and Alex tilts his head towards her curiously. "I don't feel fear really, since I knew that was not the place where I would die. So perhaps I have difficulty understanding what you went through. But such is life for your ilk." That having been said he starts to move towards the door, "I'll email you some of the drills you can practice on your own for a time and then we can return to this."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License