Nick Gautier (
malachai) wrote in
all_inclusive2013-10-18 01:38 pm
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After nearly two years of living human on a desert island that was disconnected from reality as it was possible to be and still sustain life, Nick had learned the meaning of "roll with it" pretty well.
Hell, his whole fucking life had been an exercise in rolling with it.
Coming to terms with doors to nowhere sitting right next to doors to horror movies didn't even raise an eyebrow. It just was and that was that.
Finding the martial arts studio for his sparring match with Thor had been perfect. So perfect he'd expected it to disappear when they went back through it, both of them limping and aching a little but grinning from exertion that had actually challenged them both.
Then he'd found it again the next night. When it had still been there three nights later, he decided to start making use of it as long as it was here. Two years of nothing but a heavy bag were fine, but he'd let his form get rusty. Something the fight with Thor had proven in spades.
He was there again tonight after leaving a note on his personal training sign in the gym indicating where he could be found if anyone was looking for him. He left the door propped open and took a spot on the center of the mats, loose cotton drawstring pants and t-shirt moved like there was a light breeze in the room as he moved through forms.
OOC: Find Nick in a martial arts studio that probably has some cosmetic damage from a god and a demon in hand-to-hand combat. The door is off one of the main hallways and propped open. If you frequent the gym, you've seen his sign advertising personal training.
Hell, his whole fucking life had been an exercise in rolling with it.
Coming to terms with doors to nowhere sitting right next to doors to horror movies didn't even raise an eyebrow. It just was and that was that.
Finding the martial arts studio for his sparring match with Thor had been perfect. So perfect he'd expected it to disappear when they went back through it, both of them limping and aching a little but grinning from exertion that had actually challenged them both.
Then he'd found it again the next night. When it had still been there three nights later, he decided to start making use of it as long as it was here. Two years of nothing but a heavy bag were fine, but he'd let his form get rusty. Something the fight with Thor had proven in spades.
He was there again tonight after leaving a note on his personal training sign in the gym indicating where he could be found if anyone was looking for him. He left the door propped open and took a spot on the center of the mats, loose cotton drawstring pants and t-shirt moved like there was a light breeze in the room as he moved through forms.
OOC: Find Nick in a martial arts studio that probably has some cosmetic damage from a god and a demon in hand-to-hand combat. The door is off one of the main hallways and propped open. If you frequent the gym, you've seen his sign advertising personal training.
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The gym kit she was able to buy in her price range was bright pink, not to her taste or particularly flattering on her skin tone, but she headed for the gym anyway. Not much point in caring about how she looked if she was going to get sweat all over whatever she was wearing. She'd learned to wear what was practical, looks be damned, in that year.
Of course, that was the image of herself she still had in the back of her head. A soldier, toned by necessity, lean in lean times. Probably not healthy--
And she wouldn't have cared too much had there not been someone in the training studio. Damn. She poked her nose in, brow furrowing. "Sorry, didn't know someone would be here. I can come back later..." She could just go to the gym instead. Running was always a good skill.
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First, though--she walked over to the man, extended her hand. "I'm Martha, by the way. And you're not allowed to laugh at my form."
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He couldn't help but add the last, just like he couldn't help grinning wider with it.
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She'd meant to learn more formally than the Special Forces bits and pieces she'd picked up that year; when she was in Brazil she'd seen capoeira, and in London you could take a class in basically anything. But shift work sort of messed with any good intentions, and she'd been...maybe a little withdrawn since things with Tom.
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Nick was still surprised, even now, that Takeshi hadn't killed him in that first year just for his mouth alone.
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She cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow at Nick. "But I think you sort of get what I mean, at least. Doing it right versus getting it done."
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"And that's what this is for," he said with a wave around the studio, indicating the dummies and heavy bag in the corner, "using the downtime to work on what didn't work in the past so there's less chance of it not working to an epic scale later. You know," he said after a pause, "I do personal training here if you ever want someone to train against and not just foam and rubber dummies that don't move or hit back."
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"Thanks," she said, setting her towel and bag down, brow furrowing a little in thought. "Though I'd have to ask you to go relatively easy on me." He was a big guy, after all, and she was a little out of practice. "What are your rates?"
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He set the bottle down and moved to the center of the mats, beckoning her over. "There's a fine line between going easy and coddling," Nick responded, but the teasing glint was still in his eye. It only got worse when he set the water down. "But I promise not to give you more than you can take."
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Despite herself, she was a little charmed by the teasing, and she continued, "I'm pretty sure we can work something out," with a steady smirk, as she came over to meet him.
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For now, he was going to have fun sparring, verbally and physically, with an extremely attractive woman. "To start, I want to see where you are. So, come at me like I've just stolen something and the fate of the free world depends on you getting it back." He reached into his pocket and manifested a set of dog tags which he slipped over his neck.
Then he raised his arms in defensive stance and crooked a finger.
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"You had to do come at me, bro?" she asked, but it was only just a little bit of play; the dog tags only reminded her of the TARDIS key she'd worn, and she was able to talk herself into the imaginary situation fairly quickly.
She strode forward, definite in her movements but leaning towards defensive, circling Nick for a moment before she went in, low. The fighting she could do was mostly instinct, tooth and nail.
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When he broke free a few steps, he held up the dog tags and shook them. "Come on then. Nice and shiny."
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Pouncing, she swept in, going high this time to catch Nick under the jaw and knock him backwards. She clasped the chain of the dogtags in her hand as she shoved him off balance by a knee to the solar plexus and took him down onto the mat for just a second. It was long enough to wrench the tags free and roll off to one side, though she was certain it wouldn't have kept him down for much longer.
((no worries!))
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He looked like his jaw was fine, though, so she didn't go after him with a million doctor questions about whether any teeth felt loose, or if his jaw socket was a bit off. It was tempting, but she figured Nick knew well enough how to judge where he was after a fight.
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He shook off the dark thoughts quick enough and indicated the dog tags. "You up to defending your shiny prize there?"
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"Sure, let's go," she said, and offered a gentler smile.
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As he fought, he used the practice to hone another skill - keeping the demon's whispers muted in his mind and ignoring the images it threw at him. The double effort had him breaking a sweat and expending a little more strength into his strikes and kicks than he intended.
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And then down she went.
"See, I would have tried to talk my way out or booked it out the door a while back," she said, looking upwards at the man. "And I'm out of practice."
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Once he had his mind back to himself, he opened his eyes again. "Ah. Yeah. Sorry about that. I didn't do anything weird there, did I?"
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Which was, frankly, the first weird part.
"No, but are you sure you're all right? I'm a doctor, if you need any help."
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Nick likely got the sense that this, to Martha, was an entirely plausible occurrence.
"What kind of circumstances? If you don't mind my asking. Fights, I suppose?"
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"Fights will do it but not often, and only if whomever, or whatever, I'm fighting has a chance of doing damage. Self-preservation," he added and then exhaled. "High emotions will do it, especially the darker ones. Fear, anger, pain, desire, lust, that kind of thing."
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Her cheeks heated when she figured out what he was obliquely referring to, in a professional way, at least.
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The teasing smiles were a little harder to come by now. "If I don't keep control of that side, it'll start doing all it can to make the dark emotions stronger. Increase the fear, the pain, the anger, and so on."
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She didn't really want to, she liked Nick. But she didn't want to cause too much of a problem.
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She smiled, even if her cheeks still felt a little warm.
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He held out a hand to her. "Then that's what we'll do."