[ open ]

[mindtricks]

CHARACTERS: cassandra anderson + you
LOCATION: gym
WARNINGS: none as of yet
SUMMARY: anderson offers self-defense classes. people who need no classes are welcome to come spar.
NOTES:



[ anderson divides the vast majority of her time between gunnery and the gym, where she gives self-defense classes both to people that she has a standing appointment with as well as to those who just wander by and express an interest.

in the moments between lessons, she can be found stretching, or having a go at a punching bag. ]

Comments

[xerampelinae]

[ Sometimes, Caprica just likes to watch things.

And she is not subtle. Tall, platinum blonde, built a little like a praying mantis took up a runway career, and new, she may not necessarily attract attention, but she probably does not go missed. She leans forearms against a weights rack and watches this self-defense class, equal parts blatant spectator and shy uncertainty, as if waiting for her turn to be asked to play.

Her legs are clad in stretch denim, but the black tank top is close enough to gym gear, arms and shoulders bare, the numbers that name her group and one of two hundred potential slots start against her pale forearm.

This time, when Anderson has dismissed her latest student, Caprica continues to watch, on the cusp of approach. ]

[mindtricks]

[ the curiosity and uncertainty both are there, at the edge of anderson's mind. her training alone means she is constantly aware of the movement of others around her, those in her peripheral vision, those outside of it by extension of other senses. her mutation means she is aware of everyone in more ways than one — not just their position in the room, but also a vague sense of their emotion, their surface thoughts.

so after her latest student leaves, anderson turns to caprica. her expression is neutral. ] Would you like to try?

[xerampelinae]

[ Caprica's posture doesn't change, as if she were still observing Anderson through a sheet of glass even when she is hailed -- but then she moves, unfolding from her lean, moving around the weights rack. Her feet are bare, picking their way across the floor.

Her smile is practically sweet, if toothy, fleeting. No particular thought gives this away as insincere. ]

Sure. I might be a little rusty.

[ Her thoughts, instead, have shifted to a sizing up of Anderson. They do not sound rusty. ]

What's your name?

[mindtricks]

[ everything indicates that this will be a spar rather than a lesson. anderson is very much okay with that — she enjoys teaching, but at times it is good to measure herself against someone else who knows what they're doing.

it keeps her on her toes. it's training herself, rather than others. ]

Cassandra Anderson.

[ her posture is relaxed, but no less straight for it. she's watching caprica, seizing her up just as much.

what's yours? goes unasked. it's implied. ]

[xerampelinae]

I'm Natasi.

[ It doesn't come across as a falsehood. An option chosen of a few possibilities. Familiar. Revived.

She steps up onto mats, looking down at them, getting used to the adjustment of softer give under her feet. She comes an inch under six foot, rangy limbed and limber. Through the calm, uniquely precise thoughts cataloguing the threat before her, impressions and details winding sharper through her mind than the fluid progression of the average civilian, there is a reminder to herself: Don't kill her.

But beyond all this, a simple and restless need to fight. To be physical. To be close. It's what she's good at.

She stops. Invites; ]

Hit me.

[onetouch]

[ the gym isn't somewhere ned often goes (no really) but people kept implying he wasn't useful. that he had to do more. and so when he'd seen the gunnery post, he'd fast-tracked it here to get another lesson from anderson. maybe he'd be better at this than he had been in their gun class.

he approaches her in sweats and chuck taylor sneakers, but other than the shoes the clothes don't seem broken in at all. ned offers an awkward little wave as he stands alongside the punching bag. ]

H-hi Anderson. Do you have an appointment, um. Now?

[mindtricks]

[ it's been months since roy's departure, but seeing ned is still a visceral reminder each time. they look so much alike — except ned is walking, and his demeanour is entirely different.

she puts it firmly out of her mind. ] I have time.

[onetouch]

Oh... good. [ he smiles, looking characteristically nervous. ] I don't really know how this is supposed to work.

[mindtricks]

[ the smile isn't returned — it's nothing personal. it isn't even because he looks like roy: there's an air of professionalism to it. ]

I usually start people off by trying to hit me.

[onetouch]

Trying to-to-to hit you. [ god he feels weird about this, looking her up and down before flushing at his own antics. ] Where?

[dogbane]

Oi oi. You in charge of this fucking opera then? [There's a young man heading toward her, dark-haired, a pair of wildly anachronistic running shoes combined with a T-shirt and cotton pants. It's adequate, for sparring.

He glances at the punching bag she just nailed with her right hook.] Very nice. [He's just going to stand over here. :)] Apart from teaching people how to twat a bag one, you do anyfing with firearms?

[mindtricks]

If by opera, yo mean the training? Yes.

[ anderson steadies the punching bag with both hands, looking him over. ] I do, but not here. [ there's a weapon's range, and anderson has plenty experience with firearms. the gym isn't really the place for those, though. ]

[dogbane]

Brilliant. [He folds his arms, glancing past the punching bag that she's stabilizing, and over at the rest of the facility. It's somewhat ironic he got to know the medbay before he made it in here. Just a little.]

Commander Shepard's putting a magical adventure together, and she's mandating a refresher course in all the basics. You probably heard. [He smiles at the telepath, benignly. There are all kinds of soldiers, shapes and sizes, but he's no frogman for sure.] Reckon footwork or a wee pistol's going to help, when everyfing goes tits up full of manticores and psychotic symptoms? I defer to your expertise.

[mindtricks]

I've heard.

[ she was half-tempted to join in; it might make a difference — or it might get them all killed. anderson doesn't want to die. she does want to make a difference, but there's more than one way of doing that.

the lessons might. ]

Both. [ if he needs a refresher on the basics of both footwork and shooting — but perhaps he won't. ] Which can you do better?

[dogbane]

[Excellent question, actually. William contemplates this momentarily.]

Shooting, [he decides. He'd had a good drill instructor, who'd observed he was considerably more confident when people weren't close up enough to see how he was faring-- that was, how he was healing, and bullets do have the advantage of distance. Even if confidence will get you only so far, nerves will fuck your combat right up.] Took to it better, somehow, and the tests was always on about our marksmanship.

Best to stick to my strengths, then?

[sorrycharles]

[ Medicine ball. Erik has one in his hands as he approaches. Once he has approached, he passes it to Anderson abruptly.

Catch.

There’s no doubt in his mind that she will.

He’s already slick with sweat, heart rate elevated and breath short under the stick of his shirt to his sternum. Jump sickness is a week-old memory -- he’s sleek as a fox and grinning about the same, freshly freed hands out and open. ]

Ready for round two.

[mindtricks]

[ she catches the ball.

of course she does — the intention of his throw was there even before he thought the catch at her. it means shifting away from the punching bag, catching, blocking the punching bag on its back-swing with the side of her arm.

erik is not very considerate. ]

What if I have another student?

[ she doesn't, but he's being presumptious. ]

[sorrycharles]

[ As neatly as that, it occurs to Erik that the best way to incapacitate Anderson might be through moving parts. Chain reactions orchestrated by physics rather than specific intent: the swing of the punching bag must be seen and accounted for in real time. Mens rea could be a catalyst rather than a recurring spark in a note-for-note exchange, where every individual strike must be calculated and so anticipated.

His expression doesn’t change.

He looks blithely optimistic. ]

...Do you?

[ His hands are still out, inviting the ball back. He’s open, and so on. ]

[mindtricks]

[ she told him before — she is reacting rather than anticipating, just like anyone else. it's just that her mutation gives her the means to start reacting to intent that need not translate into muscle movement already. it means she can start reacting earlier, it doesn't mean anything else than that. ]

No.

[ and she passes the ball back to him, with perhaps more force than necessary. ]

[sorrycharles]

[ She could tell him a thousand times in a thousand different ways and he’d warp and worry each of them into an exercise in speculative murder. Three months later, her judgment is still fresh in his mind. Not as a source of ire, but of persistent fascination.

Not just that she said she’d kill him, but that he believed her.

He’s delighted when she stiffs the ball back to him as hard as she does, teeth shown in a wicked arc -- half grimace for the effort involved in stopping it short of a punch to the gut. She can feel the way adrenaline seizes through him in time with a shrill shutter at his eyes, breath caught and forced out through his teeth. ]

I’ll behave, [ he promises, once he’s straightened upright. Earnest. The medicine ball rests easy at his middle, his hands splayed wide at the ice caps. ] No funny business.

[deagle]

[ chris typically comes down to the gyms a few times a week to workout on his own or along with allison. they normally don't spar too intesively—she's still learning and most of his time is spent on instruction—so anderson's offer for a little one-on-one is welcome.

besides, he's been getting a little too reliant on weapons lately. hand to hand would be nice.

he shows up in the plain workout clothes the ship carries a little later than he anticipated. ]

I know it's getting late. [ relatively. this place's time is still strange to chris, but it's his own fault getting caught up. ] You have time for another?

[mindtricks]

[ anderson has only limited munition left for her primary weapon. even with access to others, that is sufficient reminder not to get complacent, not to rely too much on the weapon over herself.

every weapon needs someone sharp and focused to pull the trigger, or it won't do much good.

she's in the ship's uniform; she usually is. it reminds her of the judge's uniform back in mega city one, even if it is less padded. ]

I have time. [ she prefers activity, and she has been giving lessons more than sparring. it'll be good for her, too. ]

[deagle]

[ chris would argue that a hunter—or a soldier, be that the case—is only as good as the tools at their disposal. cunning, tactics, their own bare hands: it all falls into the same category to him. ]

I have to ask, does your ability give you the edge in combat or is it just as susceptible to being overwhelmed as anyone else's mind?

[ it's not accusatory, just genuine curiosity. and, maybe, checking to see if there's a tactic to approaching fighting a telepath. ]

[mindtricks]

Those things are not mutually exclusive.

[ it does give her an edge, but that doesn't mean that it is any less susceptible to being overwhelmed. her mutation means she has more data to go off on, not that she has a greater capacity to deal with it. ]

feel free to do what you need to!

[deagle]

[ chris makes a thoughtful hum at that response, rolling his shoulders and neck a few times. there's a chance he should stretch but in real life situations you don't have the luxury so he doesn't bother. ]

So that's a yes to that latter?

[ it's a bit of a rhetorical question as he steps over her, not giving much time before he swings a fist at her, quick enough to be more or less real but light enough for him to pull if she can't manage to block. ]