morganknight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
morganknight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trans_92011-08-07 03:18 pm
morganknight) wrote in trans_92011-08-07 03:18 pm
Training, in various ways...
After a few days -- weeks -- however long he'd been here, Morgan had finally settled into what he considered to be an adequate training regimen, for those times when he wasn't needed in Medical.
As a general rule, he began his day in the Sensorium, shaping it in the image of the mountaintop dojo he favored. One lone building atop a peak in the midst of a mountain range, lacking walls so the cool, thin air could drift through as he ran through forms and katas. A path wound its way around the peaks, and the frigid springs that formed small lakes and streams that poured off the edges in grand waterfalls. Next to this path ran a series of poles on which he ran, or jumped, when his regimen called for that sort of exercise.
Training in a simulated environment like this was old hat.
After he finished there, it was off to the river, where he (with some effort) persuaded his plantsuit to retract till it resembled closer to a bathing suit than anything. For what felt, at least, like an hour or two, the Akashic stood motionless in the river, submerged up to his neck. Legs spread, arms out, and hair streaming behind him in the current, he meditated. Harmony and moving in tune with the universe were key to his philosophy, after all. The currents, the flow of water around his fingers and limbs, and the silence were magnificent for that sort of understanding.
Then, off to the W.I.T.C.H. bus! Since Kaya had so kindly allowed him use of its training facilities, he made good use of that offer. This section of his training he devoted to melee weapons -- primarily his sword, of course, but he allotted time for other swords, staffs, daggers and knives, and tonfa as well.
And last, perhaps the oddest of all training exercises if one didn't know that to the mind of an Akashic, all things are martial arts: Morgan returned to the sensorium, not to fight or exercise or run, but to play. Electric guitar in hand, voice lifted in defiance of his one-held belief that he simply sounded terrible, and whatever backing was necessary conjured by environment, he rocked out, mixing up from simple guitar covers to lead guitar and vocals in full songs.
That lasted until he was exhausted, satisfied, or -- admittedly -- hit hard enough by nostalgia that continuing became prohibitive. Then it was time to clean up, relax, and see what else he had to do.
As a general rule, he began his day in the Sensorium, shaping it in the image of the mountaintop dojo he favored. One lone building atop a peak in the midst of a mountain range, lacking walls so the cool, thin air could drift through as he ran through forms and katas. A path wound its way around the peaks, and the frigid springs that formed small lakes and streams that poured off the edges in grand waterfalls. Next to this path ran a series of poles on which he ran, or jumped, when his regimen called for that sort of exercise.
Training in a simulated environment like this was old hat.
After he finished there, it was off to the river, where he (with some effort) persuaded his plantsuit to retract till it resembled closer to a bathing suit than anything. For what felt, at least, like an hour or two, the Akashic stood motionless in the river, submerged up to his neck. Legs spread, arms out, and hair streaming behind him in the current, he meditated. Harmony and moving in tune with the universe were key to his philosophy, after all. The currents, the flow of water around his fingers and limbs, and the silence were magnificent for that sort of understanding.
Then, off to the W.I.T.C.H. bus! Since Kaya had so kindly allowed him use of its training facilities, he made good use of that offer. This section of his training he devoted to melee weapons -- primarily his sword, of course, but he allotted time for other swords, staffs, daggers and knives, and tonfa as well.
And last, perhaps the oddest of all training exercises if one didn't know that to the mind of an Akashic, all things are martial arts: Morgan returned to the sensorium, not to fight or exercise or run, but to play. Electric guitar in hand, voice lifted in defiance of his one-held belief that he simply sounded terrible, and whatever backing was necessary conjured by environment, he rocked out, mixing up from simple guitar covers to lead guitar and vocals in full songs.
That lasted until he was exhausted, satisfied, or -- admittedly -- hit hard enough by nostalgia that continuing became prohibitive. Then it was time to clean up, relax, and see what else he had to do.
no subject
Both of these motions were to try and obscure as she raised her right leg and aimed a solid kick at the thigh of his forward leg. Not the knee, although it was a tempting target; but not all species had knees that could be broken with a kick, and some of them had spiky kneecaps. Old habits.
She was hoping to land the kick and then get her foot back down and pivot; so long as his weight was still on the forward leg, she might manage it. If not, she might end up falling over onto him.
no subject
But then, she'd cited her unconscious belief in winning and her conviction that other people had been aiding her as part of those flaws. So he needed to see what happened when he overwhelmed her.
When she grabbed his leading arm, he shot into motion much faster than he'd moved up till now, twisting so her punch hit his obliques, then lifting his leading leg to catch her calf with his shin and nudge that kick aside. Then he extended his leg, catching it under her armpit before turning fully around, so that his foot traveled over her back to force her down.
no subject
The urge to bite, to turn her head and batten on his calf was strong. She was stronger - for now. Instead she turned on her three points, both hands and right foot, and kicked back and up with her left leg. She was hoping to knock him off balance, but if she hit him anywhere, she'd use that force to move herself out of range.
no subject
no subject
Again, though, her training failed her. She did the best she could, critically aware of his hands on her foot and her tongue still between her teeth. She was expecting the twist that would mean a broken knee as she shoved hard against the dojo floor with her hands and free leg, moving sideways rather than up, trying to get slack into the captured leg and hopefully knock her opponent off balance.
no subject
When he felt her starting to push up, he grabbed the back of her plantsuit at her neck and pulled, both to compensate for her sideways motion and to throw her off-balance. If she reflexively tried to pull herself out of his grip, the pull would become a push to turn that motion into another pin, this time of her upper-body. If she moved sideways or against it, he'd plant a knee in her back and bend her like a U around it.
He had no idea that she was more accustomed to fighting in freefall, so thus far, Morgan thought her self-control and refusal to surrender was quite effective and she had nothing to worry about.
no subject
One of the disadvantages of her thick, muscular neck was that it didn't bend quite as far as a human's; this was good for Morgan at the moment, because it meant she couldn't turn and sever the tendons in his forearm. Instead she reached forward and up, laying as much of her arm along and around the one holding her by the scruff of her neck as she could. She twisted, hard, clawing for a grip with her fingers, torquing her torso, kicking off with the foot still on the ground, aiming a punch at his side; the lower ribs and diaphragm.
no subject
no subject
She was sliding over his back and suddenly her whole body convulsed, slithering along his spine like a reptile, grasping with her free hand and knees, her teeth reaching up and around and-
Stop. STOP! she told herself - too late.
'SORRY', she broadcast through the comm ring, letting herself go limp and hoping he wouldn't shake his head and sever an artery. 'Sorry, sorry, rot it all, this is what I was talking about!' She couldn't talk because she had the back of Morgan's neck clamped in her razor-sharp teeth, and at full gape she couldn't let go easily.
And it's rude to talk with your mouth full.
no subject
When she gripped his neck in her mouth, he had gone perfectly still save for one hand, which he'd left in contact with her body. He'd trusted her not to follow through, but left himself that touch as a safeguard. Just in case.
"I see what you mean," he said quite calmly. "I felt the change. Don't apologize, though, this is what I was trying to get to."
no subject
'I can't bite through your neck, and I risk getting my teeth caught in your vertebrae. It would make more sense to bite the shoulder and cut the muscles, then slide down and attack on the weak side. But I don't do that; I bite whatever's in reach. And if I don't disengage at once, I just keep biting, completely losing track of anything else.'
She frowned. 'And I also go mute, because my tongue retracts.' She waggled her jaw, but her tongue remained stubbornly hidden.
no subject
He rolled onto his back, then kipped up easily. "I think," he said, crossing his arms, "that you're in excellent shape in terms of combat proficiency. It took some real effort on my part to push you to that, and you didn't lose control until I had you really pinned."
no subject
She bowed her head briefly. "I appreciate that, coming from such a skilled opponent. So, do you have an opinion on what I should do for future training? Is learning a new style necessary, or should I just learn how not to panic? Or how to react appropriately when I panic?"
no subject
no subject
"Well, I did have some time to prepare my mind. I came to see if there were any fighters practicing today, to ask their opinions. And before I came to Stacy, I was stranded on Earth for a year. I had to learn to mimic the humans around me, or else be captured, probably killed. I learned to - break away before the panic-point, when I could." And when she couldn't, well, people got hurt.
It helped that she'd eaten a big breakfast this morning.
"I suppose I could drive myself to panic against virtual opponents, and try to control myself? That way no one would get hurt."
no subject
no subject
"Blood," she finally decided. "Smells can throw me off. My species is carnivorous until age ten, and after that we're omnivorous, but requiring more protein than humans. In a fight I had time to prepare for, I'd probably wear nose filters. Or have someone who can watch my back when I flip out."
no subject
no subject
Easier than asking people to practice with her while liberally smeared with blood.
"I suppose it could be a little disconcerting for people with sensitive noses...well, I can always put a sign by the door. Thank you very much," she bowed more formally, hands spiraling in courtesy-patterns, "for your time, and your knowledge."
no subject
no subject