RP Open Post

[goddamngrenades]

Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything.
PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, whichever
Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with
Tag and go, baby!

Comments

[tactical_alert]

Oh the staff work is coming. This is just a quick warmup match. Some days are quick, some days are a struggle, but at the same time it feels like it's all getting easier, smoother between them. That they're flowing between moves better. Reading one another better. The first pin is hard won, and it feels good. It even feels good to be this close to him. A heat, closeness, moving together with each other. Malcolm barely remembers to get up and offer his hand. Don't get distracted now.

[goddamngrenades]

Better. He's better every day, taking each hit and rolling into the next and there's a moment when he almost has Mal before he's pinned. Laughing just like the first time. Laughing and grinning because this? This feels good. This fits like they had on the dancefloor. "godamn. One day I will see that coming, you cheat."

[tactical_alert]

"I think that day is fast approaching, young grasshopper." So much for super stern and strict teacher. He still has a loose feeling from the night before, but only around Taylor, apparently. Thank god nobody else is here to see this.

Maybe he's getting soft. No, that's not it. He's just a little tired and distracted, and that's why York pins him down next. It's a nice dance they have going. Call and reply. He's slightly dazed for it. "Excellent form," he compliments all the same, because it's true.

[goddamngrenades]

The next round is quicker- both of them pretty well warmed up, both of them loose and easy. But it feels right, every move, every form, the trick he pulled one he learned from watching Malcolm, actually. "It should be."

Drawling as he offers Malcolm a hand up. "It's your form."

[tactical_alert]

"Seems you've actually been picking up a few things from watching me, and I am not, in fact, teaching thin air." He laughs a little. "Maybe we should skip straight to the stickwork, see just how you are with a versatile melee weapon, since I know how good you are hand to hand."

[goddamngrenades]

"I told you my skull wasn't that thick." Hauling Mal up leaves them a little closer than normal and sure, he lingers but- he kind of. Wants to linger. "Um...sure. Stickwork."

[tactical_alert]

"I don't know, we still might want to get an xray to make sure of that." Malcolm pulls himself away, feeling like he can breathe a little easier once he does, to retrieve the short poles. "We could always try fencing sometime. More strict, more finesse, not your style at all. Maybe I just want to laugh at you to make me feel better about myself." He tosses one over.

[goddamngrenades]

"I dunno, I might surprise you." He steps back and strips off his tanktop, mopping his forehead with it. Never let it be said a few rounds with Malcolm isn't a workout. "Now that's juts mean, man. I thought my improving spoke well of you."

[tactical_alert]

"It does, but I still have my pride. Easily bruised, you see." He feels the weight in one hand, slow dip one way, then the other. A short twirl.

"Obviously the point isn't to smack each other silly. I don't think I have to explain how this works to someone as experienced as you. I certainly wouldn't let some of the kids try to fight with these yet when they still can't quite grasp the idea of physical communication rather than absolute dominance. Ha, although, given our conversation, it sounds like I haven't quite learned that, either." Good thing terribly bruised egos is just a joke.

[goddamngrenades]

"Nope. It's a dialogue, not a fight." So he'll have to dial up into whatever Mal's thinking of. He takes the stick as it's offered and it's like he'd never put the damn things down. For half a second he's twirling it on his hand, slipping back into a stance that's not his. Lighter, leaner, hips cocked just so, head and shoulders braced.

Carolina's stance.

"It's different when you're teaching than when you're looking for a partner, you'll be fine. I trust you."

[tactical_alert]

He has to stop and watch Taylor slide into a somewhat feminine pose, something that doesn't really look like his, as easy as breathing. It's impressive, and he knows the answer before he even asks the question, but it comes out anyway. "What is that all about?"

[goddamngrenades]

"what is what?" He's not even thinking about it- this is what feels right. The balance, the weight- none of it is how he'd normally hold himself but it-s

It just fits.

[tactical_alert]

"...Hm." Well, if it fits, he can't knock it. Malcolm would rather York gain a posture and style of his own, but he'll work with what he's got. "Very well. Hit me with your best shot."

[goddamngrenades]

He didn't need to be told twice, darting in and swinging the stick high and hard. Carolina never held back with him and neither, honestly, had Malcolm. It's something he's always appreciated in the man.

[tactical_alert]

No matter whose pose that is or who it is attacking, Malcolm goes for the block with a hard slap of wood on wood. "Not your best shot," he breathes, part tease, part chastisement. The wood slides away, and he makes a turn, graceful, to put distance between them before lashing out at York's legs with the entire length of his rod, hands on one end for the sake of reach.

[goddamngrenades]

"How do you know?" But Mal was right. It'd felt like the best way to start but he could've gone low and hard for the sternum, hit Mal at his core. Now he's sliding back for half a second to get his bearings, shift his feet and snap his rod down to block the sharp crack of Malcolm's swing- shoving forward.

[tactical_alert]

Now that is a good shot. He spins the opposite way he had before, faster and tighter, to come up to his feet and pull his stick up horizontal to try another block, but it comes angled just wrong, a little too high.

[goddamngrenades]

Right for the sternum, jaw tight and darting in as much as Mal moves away, the give and take and synching of his heartbeat comfortable in it's familiarity. Just like the night before in the club and he sees the block as it comes, slides the tip of his staff just under and stops shy of Malcolm's skin.

"One zero." There's an odd cadence to his speech, softer, more clipped. Shades of Carolina everywhere like this but the smirk is all him. "Get your head in the game, Mal."

[tactical_alert]

It must be the shades of his partner showing. Echoes and ghosts. He's almost (almost) envious, but Malcolm huffs out something of a laugh and acquiesces, returning to a starting point.

He'll start this time. Slow to start, balancing equations, figures in his head, before he moves in, aiming for a series of quick strikes midsection, trying to push York back and wear him down. It's almost like he can see what's coming to block before it happens, but that's just what he'd do in his head if their positions were reversed, obviously. York's learned well.

[goddamngrenades]

Slow till Mal ramps it up and he knows the pattern before he starts swinging. Something they covered before but- they haven't done staff work before. he hasn't watched Mal at it. Not that he's got time to think about how he knows what he knows he just brings his own staff up to bear, blocking and skittering backward step by step till his angle's just off, his weight not centered and he's left open.

[tactical_alert]

Of course he weakens, right where he thought he knew he thought York would, and takes the shot they both know is coming. It doesn't feel like much of a victory, weirdly enough, but he shakes it off, pulling his staff from York's neck. "One-one. Don't worry about my head."

[goddamngrenades]

"Even if it's pretty?" The smack talk is as comforting as the rest of it- and this time when he slides back, hands on the end of the staff like a sword, held up close to his chest, weight on the balls of his feet. Not a Carolina stance. Something lighter, more playful. All him.

[tactical_alert]

"Mm, but then all you're doing is paying attention, not worrying about it." That seems more like York. That's York. Malcolm rolls his shoulders, relaxing. "Maybe worry more about your own pretty head."

[goddamngrenades]

"Oh, so you think I'm pretty?" All lifted brows and easy smiles as he darts in hard and fast, bringing the staff down sharply.

[tactical_alert]

He has a reply ready, but he isn't able to. The effort goes to following York's lead. He thinks of it more as a lead, like a dance, like the dancing they were doing before during the night to thrumming beats, rather than a fight. It feels like a dance, blocking, then counter attacking, around the mat.