morganknight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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.
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"I guess I should stop playing around just a little!" he said, grinning as he slid one foot back a pole to assume a defensive stance. He was enjoying this!
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For the first time since her arrival on the ship she felt like her old self. Blood and adrenaline cleared the fog from her mind, the voices were silent, her muscles were tense when they needed to be and loose when they needed to be. Her thoughts were racing a mile a minute as it sprang ahead in leaps and bounds plotting her moves.
"If you think you're any match for a Firebender of Royal blood then take your best shot and learn your place!" She encouraged taking a more defensive stance now. It went against standard Firebender practice which was more focused on Offense but she was a very flexible fighter.
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All right, then! He drew his hands upwards, then lowered them slowly as they wove a subtle and intricate pattern, much like a mandala. With this ritual to focus him, he abruptly pivoted his entire torso, hurling his open palm forward in what would have been a magnificent palm strike had he been anywhere close enough to hit her. Or maybe it was still magnificent -- his chi thrust out of his palm like an extension of his body, invisibly hurtling forward on the line of that arm towards Azula.
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Bracing herself she took the strike and used the force of it to inspire her into a stronger counter burst of flame. A pillar of blue heat raced at Morgan.
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He had just enough time to appreciate her selection of the poles as a battleground before the flames became an imminent danger. He had no desire to show off his strongest tricks yet, but Morgan thought he could dodge this one without the need....
As the fire roared closer he charged towards it, getting all of three steps in before he leaped. A magnificent leap that, to his credit, wasn't even augmented by his own more unusual abilities; he soared over the flame, over Azula, then landed perhaps a dozen feet away from her with a hard grunt as his feet caught the gaps between poles and forced him to a rough stop.
"You've been holding out on me!"
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Especially considering her age. Not that he was sure how young she was, but he'd guess she'd had at least five years less than he did, if not more.
"You enjoy fighting, don't you? You seem, if you'll forgive the term, very much in your element."
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And she looked like she needed it.
"Then I better make sure you get good exercise. Though I don't think I'd win if I put my mastery of forces against your fire directly... I think I'll even the odds some."
Morgan made a loose fist of his right hand as if gripping something, then brought it up to his left palm. Before, he had simply projected, manipulated, or controlled his chi, but this technique was much more costly; to gather the energy he needed, he had to spend the chi, drain a little bit of his life force. No great expenditure, mind, but if she watched closely she could see bruises rising slowly on his forearms as capillaries ruptured against the strain.
He yanked the fist away in one smooth motion. As if drawn from his very hand, a brilliant spike of energy, like a blade forged of sunlight, trailed the path of his hand. Morgan glanced down at it, idly spun it like a sword in his free hand, then smiled as he fell into a guard position, the blade lifted to parry or strike.
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But there might be a way to take those abilities and adjust them to her own powers!
Snapping into the moment again Azula's smile didn't waver and she shot forward bringing her hands together and drawing them away. Blades of flames like the tail ends of rockets were spewing out from her fists like knives made of pure blue heat.
She brought up her right flame to block the energy blade while the left blade was slashed towards his middle.
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When he straightened his legs, it was at an angle, rising up to push into her with the back of his forearm. No pressure from the limb's muscles; the push came from his mass and the much greater strength of his lower body.
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"I'm rusty." She acknowledged with all the self loathing she could muster.
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"Secret."
And with that she rushed him once more fire bursting from her fists to increase her speed, feinting at the last minute to his right so she could lash out with a foot
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...this was still just training right?
She back flipped and landed in a defensive stance (Unfortunately acknowledging to herself that Ty Lee could have done it more gracefully.)
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"Nice moves," he said, getting back to his feet. He spun the blade around as easily as someone might spin a pen in his fingers -- it weighed nothing, after all -- to keep her wary of it. "You can't keep secrets from someone you're fighting against, you know. Words aren't everything!"
Actually, he had to respect her abilities a great deal -- fire manipulation made a lot of holds and locks a lot harder to engage and maintain. That left him with external moves - not his forte.
But he certainly wasn't bad at them either! He darted forward, springing lightly across the poles between them -- then stopped much faster than it seemed anyone should be able to, leg snapping out with all the momentum of that rush behind it as he twisted to take full advantage of his height against her.
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Recovering her wits sharply through the pain she thrust a palm forward sending flames shooting an inch to the left of his face.
The old Azula wouldn't have bothered showing restraint like that against the guards she used to train with.
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"I do hope this is what you had in mind when you suggested training."
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