[Training] when the sun goes down

"What do you know about hand-to-hand combat?"

Alys stood before Deimos, her arms crossed over her chest, her weight resting on one foot. She'd waffled for hours before coming to find him, hating herself for taking him away from Halo's recovery efforts but knowing no one more adept at combat them him to teach her. And with things going as they were... well, she figured she'd need the help sooner rather than later.

Despite the various daggers she'd taken to wearing - two at her hips, two strapped to her thighs, and even one tucked into her boot - and the bow that never strayed far from her side, Alys knew that if she was ever disarmed, she was well and truly fucked. She also knew that Deimos was basically a combat machine, and if anyone could give her some pointers, it would be him. So here she was.

She revised her question. "Actually - never mind. I'm sure you know plenty. But do you have time for a quick lesson?"

ALYS GLASSE

Deimos

The inquiry made him snort; perhaps the most normal reaction he’d given in hours. Otherwise he’d been accustomed to keeping a very stoic and reticent atmosphere, relief coming in brief snippets and seconds, for the rest of his people. Perhaps it was the exhaustion coiling behind his eyes, because for all their efforts he hadn’t been sleeping, had snagged only a few bites of food here and there, and was presently running on little more than fumes.

And some manner of guilt, for not persisting in rampaging through the streets, urgently handling whatever the next mess or bout of restoration clambered for his attention. While he knew most of it had been covered by other citizens, Evie, Noah, and the like, his focus had to slip back to the Barracks too. An unordinary circumstance, but such were the times and seconds at hand.

Soldiers were scarcer now, most on patrol or committing to another action or duty for their land. The few remaining within were on their own tight schedules, fitting in routines where they could – he nodded to them in turn, just as committed to his own goals, and he stared back at Alys eventually, brow arching. He wouldn’t require an explanation; he knew better than most what it meant to defend oneself and not needing a reason for it. “I have a little time,” and he gestured towards one of the dummies. “Show me what you know first.”

you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight

Alys felt herself relax when Deimos said he had time, shooting him a tired smile... which quickly slid from her face when he bade her to show him what she knew. "... uh..." she said dumbly, staring at the training dummy. She came from a family of merchants, and had spent her last year as a seer. There was no part of her that felt prepared to demonstrate anything other than the skills he'd already taught her - and that wasn't what she was here to learn.

Gods, this was laughable. Maybe she should have asked Tal for help instead. But no - she hadn't been able to bring herself to land a solid hit on him last season, and she doubted she'd be able to do so now. Nor was she sure that he'd be able to help her without pulling his punches. And that wasn't going to do either of them any favors. At least Deimos wouldn't take it easy on her.

She vaguely remembered a conversation with her father in her childhood where he'd explained how to make a fist. She couldn't remember the context of the instructions, but she held up a hand, curling her fingers in, thumb held outside of the fist to avoid breaking it on impact. "I can make a fist?"

ALYS GLASSE

Deimos

He’d figured, but hadn’t wanted to presume – knowing Alys’s notions of weaponry had been minimal, that the semblances of combat at all might soon follow. The Grounds had been renowned for survival, but not much in the wakes of armaments or defenses, and though he’d tried to instill multitudes there, it clearly hadn’t angled to everyone. So he stopped himself from laughing at her blank expression, barely, so that it muffled into a tightened expanse of his mouth, and he looked away quickly.

Once he’d regained some composure, with a swift breath, he stalked over to the dummy, standing just in front of her. “All right. We will start with the basics. First, your stance.” He maneuvered his own form to one of natural grace and ease, formulated over years of training and muscle memory; years and years before, when he’s been given the same lessons. “Distribute your weight evenly over your legs.” No leaning. “Stay on the balls of your feet – if you remain flat-footed, you will move slower.” He waited for her to do so, before prompting primordial thoughts, wanting her to think for herself rather than consistently and constantly taking direction – independent beliefs and concepts for when he wasn’t there to holler. “Where should you target someone?”

you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight

The Grounds may have been renowned for survival, but it wasn't through Alys's efforts. She could have sworn she saw something like amusement in Deimos's face as she admitted just how hopelessly incapable she was, but it was gone before she could do so much as stick her tongue out at him. She pursed her lips instead, eyeing the dummy with distaste. She hadn't thought she'd need to defend herself, young and naive as she was. Now she regretted that choice.

She followed Deimos's instructions about her stance, shifting her weight so that it was distributed evenly and balancing on the balls of her feet. At least she'd gained some level of control over her body from practicing with weapons, so this, at least, wasn't too hard. "Depends. Are they a man or a woman?" she asked, arching a brow. Then she refocused on the dummy. "Also, am I trying to kill or wound? With a weapon, I'd aim for center mass or the head. But without a weapon..."

ALYS GLASSE

Deimos

“Depends,” he answered in echoes and accord with the briefest glimmer of a smirk again. “There are many instances for fighting hand to hand.” Someone could be trying to steal from her. A duel could’ve been instigated from petty feuds and arguments. Another enemy or opponent craved demolition. “In this case, we will say they are a man,” pointing towards the dummy, permitting her to utilize it for her own benefits in anatomy. “And you are trying to live.” There could be chances where she would rather escape, flee, depart from the fray. There might be no chance for such evasions. It all coincided with others, unfortunately, but he’d be willing and able to render the calculations and machinations for her in these instances – granting her the ability to defend. “All the maneuvers I will teach you today can also be used with weapons.”

The hint of a smile reappeared, head tilting, waiting for her to unfurl information and thoughts. “But what if you had none? Where could you target effectively?”

you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight

Alys resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Deimos tossed her own words back at her. She was all too used to the phrase it depends from her work as a seer, which was an entirely subjective occupation. But then he told her that she was trying to live, and she sobered quickly. How many people would fail to survive the coming days? How many had they already lost?

She shook herself, a frown on her face as she considered the dummy. "The groin," she responded immediately. She chewed on her lip, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to imagine a real person in place of the training dummy. An image from her nightmares appeared in her mind: a faceless hunter who somehow managed to wear an insidious grin. She shivered. Focus, she told herself. Where else were people weak? "Joints?" she asked, glancing up at Deimos.

ALYS GLASSE

Deimos

He wasn’t surprised by the immediate answer – for it was incredibly effective, but there were other portions to a person’s body that could be easily displaced, marred, and wounded, permitting someone time to escape. So the Sword nodded at her initial answers, before providing some of his own. “You want to think about where you can injure while not harming yourself in the process.” Assaulting and sieging upon another’s bones could end up with cracked portion of their own, which was never the point in his line of instruction. While there was no fail safe in fighting and combating, he certainly would teach them how to be the most effective and safe. “Hair, eyes, temples, base of the skull,” pointing to where it lingered on the dummy. “Nose, ears, chin, jaw, and mouth, throat, sides and back of the neck, clavicle, ribs, small of the back, solar plexus, knees, and top of the foot are other decent areas.”

Content with those knowledgeable qualities, he turned back towards her. “We can try the front stance first.” Returning to the prior position, he demonstrated, modeled, and provided examples. “Face your opponent,” in this case, the target, “with your feet shoulder width apart. Take a half step backwards with your dominant leg. Raise your hands in moderately tight fits shoulder level,” and he provided the same image. “Dominant hand in back, recessive in front, with elbows slightly bent.” Deimos remained in said pose, until Alys could reflect it back.

you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight

Alys considered the long list of places one could inflict damage on an opponent, committing it to memory, making a mental list of the places Deimos mentioned, noting them on the practice dummy as he continued. She'd never considered that there were so many vulnerable places on the human body before. She would have to become more adept at protecting herself, she thought, as the list dragged on and on. She considered the long, dark curls she'd tied away from her face. Maybe she should cut her own hair to make it harder for someone to hurt her...

Then Deimos was instructing her on the correct stance, and as he took her through the basics, she tried her best to copy him. Balancing on the balls of her feet, shoulder-width apart, dominant leg back; hands lifted to shoulder level, dominant arm back. She wondered, briefly, if anyone ever had a different dominant leg than dominant arm, and how that affected their stance, but dismissed the random thought quickly enough. By the end of Deimos's instruction, she had managed a passable imitation of him, and she glanced his way expectantly, waiting for him to correct any mistakes she might have made.

ALYS GLASSE

Deimos

Humans were vulnerable beings – but it was why he’d taught, day in and day out, means and measures of ensuring they could protect and defend themselves. If they were fortunate, some would never have to utilize the efforts. But given the world they lived in, and the amount of chaos construed across the wake, Deimos thought it far more likely individuals would have to learn and value shielding processes. He’d watched her face to gauge her reaction to the long credentials of possible maiming areas, and when there was a lack of reaction, he kept the inward laugh to himself.

There was always more to witness from his vantage point as instructor; and his piercing stare examined her movements and motions, ensuring she’d copied and mirrored from his demonstration. When those seemed solid and defined, he moved along to the next portion. “From here, you may decide if you want to punch, kick, grapple, or defend. Since you currently do not have anything to safeguard against, try one of the other three,” and he pointed towards the dummy once more. The effigy could take the brutality.

you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight

It was a short list of actions, but it felt immeasurably long as Alys considered her options. Where was she to even start?

A punch: at least she knew how to make a fist, and knew that in theory, there should be a shift of the weight from back to front, a twist to bring the fist forward to land a blow upon an opponent. But knowing that and being able to put it into practice were two very different things. A kick was similar, though she theorized that offering one might put her off-balance and, thus, make her an easier target. And grappling? Well, she wasn't even sure where to start with that one.

So she took a deep breath to steady herself and then punched forward. It wasn't a very good punch, but at least she hit where she was aiming... even if she had no concept of breathwork, even if the shift of her balance as she twisted was all wrong, and even as her off hand slipped out of position, leaving her vulnerable to her imaginary enemy.

ALYS GLASSE

Deimos

It may have only been moments and seconds of calculation, but Deimos watched the wheels turning, as Alys worked through the process. Her punch was aimed squarely for the effigy’s chest, though lacking in power and foundations. “A decent attempt,” he noted, for it was – though if it were a real enemy, all the time she’d taken to decide would’ve landed her in jeopardy. But this was why they practiced; for the concrete measures to take hold, and for the muscle memory to take shape.

He maneuvered back to her side, snagging back to residual stances – another opportunity for her to watch and learn. “Make sure you use the power in your body. Keep the stance the same.” He demonstrated once more, and though he was aware of such potentials in his own frame, he didn’t maim the effigy; simply snagged and claimed at the air – over and over again, for her to pick up on the motions. “Try once more,” he nodded towards the target. “Head for the jaw or the neck.”

you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight

For all that Alys knew little of combat, she was at least aware of the reason for training: learning how to hit, where to hit, and then repetition to turn the knowledge into muscle memory, to make it so that landing a punch or kick was as simple and instinctive as breathing. So while her first attempt was not, perhaps, the most impressive that there might have been, it was at least a starting point from which she could grow, and she took Deimos's reassurance that she'd made a decent attempt in stride.

Alys watched as he demonstrated again, noting where he seemed to hold position and which parts of the body were permitted to move. She picked up the stance where she'd left off, taking her time to ensure that she started, at least, in the right position, and then focusing once more on the training dummy. She focused in on the jaw and punched, hard. Again, her off hand dipped, but this time, she at least managed a passable - if not very powerful - attempt.

ALYS GLASSE

Deimos

He grinned at the attempt; for though her hand slipped off the jaw, it had made contact. “At least a bruise,” the Sword joked, pondering if she’d laugh or wave him away if he suggested some weight training or days upon the climbing wall. Strength wasn’t just for barreling down the world, lifting, or barraging; she’d want to leave an impact.

Maneuvering on, because he didn’t want her to begin thinking combat was standing still and taking turns, he shifted. “You also need to think of always being in motion.” It could assist in unpredictable notions, making it difficult for an opponent to surmise where one was going and targeting, and didn’t waste time or opportunities. He demonstrated again, long strides sweeping around the effigy, not unlike a predator stalking his prey. For modeling’s sake, he also ensured the dummy rotated using his Air magic, so there was sinuous art to the design.

And then he struck, landing a punch somewhere around the makeshift enemy’s neck, and pretending he didn’t notice when the effigy’s head was now tilted somewhat and looked slightly broken.

Taking a step back, he encouraged her to think, muse, and snag at action once more. “Decide where you want to target, and how you are going to achieve that.” All while it turned and shifted and altered course.

you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight