goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

Get back on the horse, D said. It'll be good for you D said. Well technically it was better than diving into the bottom of a bottle and staying there though the temptation still lingered. One day. He let himself have one day a month to do that- it used to be one day a week. Baby steps. If they live long enough it might be once a year. But for now, once a month.

At least he had the sense to not have that one day a month right before he's supposed to hit the mat again. He's done it before in private, with Drew or Connie or David but it's not the same when it's out in public like this. Where the recruits are watching, are whispering as he shrugs out of his hoodie, scarring all along his left eye and side marking him as a survivor.

And as a failure- but they think he can't hear that.

"So. What forms?" This guy's not new- he's just been stationed elsewhere. This place is new- new faces, new procedures, new jeagers. New memories. Nothing to remind him of her. Of falling.

Malcolm does not initially pay this fellow much attention, between the wannabes moving on out or lingering, and him jotting on his clipboard. At the question, he glances at the injured former pilot, flips a page, and hums. As if he doesn't already know who's scheduled at this time.

"That depends, Mr. Murray," he says formally, "on what you're already trained in. We could start with something new, or we could brush you up on the basics of what suited you best before."

"Honestly?" He'd- well he hadn't hated what he'd done before. it was good. It was vicious. It was quick on the feet and all lightning jabs that went for joints and the vulnerable underbelly. It was a quick laugh and a sharp spike of bone deep pleasure after every kill-

It was also so knotted up in her that he hasn't managed to do it right since. More than missing the sight in one eye he's just- missing half of him. "Something new would be good. Been awhile since I picked up new techniques, some of what you were showing them looked pretty effective."

"All right," he says, setting the clipboard aside by his shoes, "let's see if we can teach the pilot something new."

They're supposed to be trained in multiple arts of the kill, but nobody can master them all. You just have to find someone that moves with your flow, mirrors and perfects your preferred style. "Files indicate that you're more of a boxer type, yes? We can try to incorporate something with more flair, if you'd like. Grace, even. But, ah, we'll see how we settle then, hm? We will have to work on your defense especially."

Shoes- right. God it's weird to be barefoot on this map and have people hovering to watch him with- whoever this guy is. The trainer. He's good, D said. Efficient. Impersonal. Keeping their trainees on their toes and their pilots alive and that's all well and good but something has him just a little more tense than he really should be when he settles in place on the mats.

Maybe it's the audience. In fact that's what he's gonna blame it on. This guy's doing his job. "Gotta cover my bad side, right."

"Let's see what you can do now so I have a baseline to start from." Malcolm notes a line of tension through their new-old pilot, and he can't say he blames him. That he's willing to try and get back on the horse--or in this case, the giant robot--is respectable. "Standard first to three pins wins." He rolls his shoulders and settles into a ready stance, something wider and more fluid. Not his usual, but Mr. Murray did indicate a willingness to broaden his horizons. "Begin."

"Fair enough." And he manages to drag up just a little of the old swagger, the edge of a smile as he brings his hands up. Good posture, light on the toes, the guy's shorter and slighter but York is the last one that will ever discount an opponent because of that. Braced for the word he comes in swinging, darting low and to the left, his bad side, his blind side, trying to get a hook in at Mr Sotic's side.

No good to start on the weakest side. Could be reflex, something to break dear Mr. Murray of. Malcolm could show off, wheel himself to York's right and inadvertently present a better target for himself. Or he could mirror the move leftward, bending himself just out of range of the hook. Enough to entrench himself in that blind spot and whirl in an elbow strike.

Bad move. As soon as he's got the hook going he knows it was dumb, knows he's left himself wide open because he can't fucking SEE that side and she's there with a sigh and a shake and she's muttering that he can do better, ghosty fingers tapping his elbow up and the smell of her damn shampoo-

all knocked out of his head, literally, by the elbow to the temple. He stumbles and catches, twisting to get his right up and out where he can see, where he can actually aim and goes for a second lunge. All that power- no direction. He never did learn how to temper it.

That attack is almost even easier for Malcolm. That kind of power is easy to use against someone, so long as you don't get hit by it. Malcolm grabs Taylor by an arm and twists, just so, to try and use that momentum to get his opponent on his back.

"Get out of your own head. Try to get into mine."

That- now. That's a little familiar. Doesn't come with the same kick to the gut but he gets ONE foot under him instead of the usual two (he's tired he's aching he's blind he's broken) and tries to haul Mal close. If he can't hit he sure can grapple. Maybe. Unless he lost that too.

Half crouched is NOT the best way to do that but- yeah. Not really caring about that right now. "I dunno, you got room for me in there?"

That at least comes unexpectedly. So Murray isn't just a useless stooge. There's skill in there; it just needs to be retrained. Malcolm can change tactics to grappling, and given their positions, he still has an advantage even without brute strength. He tries another twist. Get on the bloody floor and get pinned, ex-pilot.

Leverage is in Malcolm's favor. Brute force in York's. The twist has them dropping but Taylor tries to roll through it, roll past it and get over Mr. Reed for at least half a count. It won't be long enough to pin but long enough for him to know he can still- he's still capable. He can still do this.

Course it puts them close together and, damn, blue eyes. "You are deceptively sneaky, Mr. Reed."

A puff of exertion. Yes, Murray can still do this. Just needs...refining. Tweaking. He aims a jab to York's left side, just under the ribs, to change this back to his favour, regain control, pin him down. "Am I? Funny. Haven't done much sneaky yet."

Clair hadn't worried about refining. About polish. She wanted him raw and raging when they were in the drift, ready for anything. Maybe if he'd been more polished he would've saved her. Maybe he'd still have his eye. But he held Reed down for half a second till the jab comes unseen and they roll again, his back on the mat and his smile wide.

He can still do this.

He's not all broken. "Guess i gotta see more then, huh? Your point."

Ready for anything and polished don't contradict each other. Perhaps his partner had been more along his style. The point conceded, he rises and gets off of York in a fluid motion, offering his hand to help the pilot up. Can't treat him like a student, not really.

"I get the feeling that you and I will be seeing plenty of one another."

"That a promise?" He pulls himself up, a little more of the swagger, of the charm and it's not all broken. He's not all hollow and it's- nice. To be challenged. With him and Caro it got so damn easy but this is different. Different is good. "I'll need the help. Adjusting is- yeah."

He's not sure what to make of this. Is this an act? People, especially those he soundly shows up, don't tend to like him. Not off the bat, at least.

"I cannot bring your sight back, obviously, but you can be taught ways to compensate. And if you do happen to find a new partner," not absolutely unheard of, but then, it's rare for only one to survive on anyway, "you'll have to worry even less."

Being shown up never really bothered him. Being treated like glass? Did. Mal kicked his ass soundly and that's something he's kind of missed. "We can build giant ass robots to fight space monsters from the bottom of the ocean- can't do anything about a fucked up retina or cataract. Where are the priorities, man?"

He steps back into position, shoulders loose, hands up. "Let's try that again with me not fucking up this time."

"I'm sure if you searched for options, you could find a suitable replacement and a doctor willing to perform such a surgery. But I certainly can't do much about it."

He's so easygoing, this one. Malcolm settles into a ready position, a different one this time, more in line. "You won't sound my pride if you pin me. I'd welcome it."

"You'd think we'd get some kinda benefits package but not so much." health insurance? What health insurance. It was a thing but there's no specialist or surgeon he could find and he's still trying to wrap his head around having her missing as much as he is the eye.

But this. This works. "Alright then. Call it when you're good."

Malcolm starts off this time, not going for any obvious left-sided jabs, but steadfastly forward with powerful movements rather than his earlier floaty style. He's not a man of power but of form, but he should not be underestimated all the same. He drills a hand forward to strike, an aim at the solar plexus.

Small and quick, damn. York steps back and brings his hands up- the catch connecting with his wrist but the depth perception he's got limited so he skids and misses at the elbow, clasping at Mal's bicep when his eye finally gets with the program. Not enough force like this to stop the blow or even divert it, Mal's hand impacts with a grunt as he adjusts his grip to the initial attempt in the first place.

Putting his shoulders into it he twists, snapping a knee up at Mal's ribs.

"Use your periph--" The rest turns into a grunt when knee hits ribs, knocks some air out of him. He twists more, further into the direction Murray did, tries to get his back up to his opponent. Risky, but if he can lure him in, there might be a shot.

"Got it." Peripheral vision, okay. He's got some that'll make it useful but the whole of his left is one large blur of nothing. The back thing- it feels a little like judo, a little like akido, and enough like a warning for him to want to not. The rest of him is pretty confident if he gets in low and loops his arm around Mal's ribs that leverage is lost. So. He does that, comes in close and low, arm hooking around his ribs. Or at least trying to.

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