[ 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.

[mindtricks]

[ a brief nod constitutes acknowledgment of the introduction.

( anderson is smaller. the reminder not to kill is noted; she doesn't point out that she may be difficult to kill. )

instead of attacking immediately, anderson circles, watching caprica's footwork as much as the woman herself.

when she hits, it is with neither full strength nor speed, but nor is she visibly holding back. a right hook, simple but not telegraphed. ]

[xerampelinae]

[ Caprica's movements are economical. She seems almost lazy. But there are tells that someone like Anderson can see -- the poised tension up the back of her legs where heels barely rest weight on the floor, the articulated curve of her spine.

The hit comes, as it must, as requested. Caprica rears back like a snake to avoid it, pitching Anderson's momentum into a void. Nothing that a good fighter can't recover from, but all the same -- Caprica brings a palm flat and hard to land sharp high on Anderson's sternum.

(She, too, denies her own full strength and speed. It isn't about holding back. It's about concealment.)

There's a light gone on in her eyes, now, a leopard that is playing instead of only hunting, but the motions are the same. ]

[mindtricks]

[ it's interesting to see — anderson has been trained in various styles and with various weapons, but so did every other judge and rookie. caprica moves differently than most.

anderson's momentum carries her forward, but she twists and blocks the blow to her sternum, doesn't yet counter, letting her movement carry her forward and past caprica.

( if the thought of concealment passes her mind, anderson will know at least that she is trying to hide something. )

caprica seems to be enjoying this; anderson can't deny that she takes a certain pleasure from sparring as well. still, it's training rather than fun, for her. ]

[xerampelinae]

[ A foot goes out, reaching to hook ankle to ankle, and tug.

For now, concealment is merely instinct; the details of her thoughts are the pure white focus of combat, still strange in their sharpness, logical, pristine. Where Anderson gets her strikes in, each time Caprica is off-balanced, mental correction snaps into place and is made manifest in physical follow through. She is snakeishly evasive in her defense, handsy in her offense, prone to grabs and releases, schoolyard shoves that are still tactically sound.

And then an opening: a twist of her foot, balance thrown, an overzealous punch thrown off course by a block of Anderson's arm. A body strike will send Caprica crashing for the padded mats. ]

[mindtricks]

[ caprica is good — but anderson wouldn't go so far as to say that she's better. she sees an opportunity and takes it, striking hard and with her weight behind it. it's a risk, yes — if the weakness was feigned, if caprica is not as off-balance as she seems, it'll be anderson crashing into the mat instead of the other way around.

but she doesn't think so. ]

[xerampelinae]

[ Anderson is right.

Caprica falls -- she falls well, landing on a knee, twisting to roll rather than pitch face first, all gangly limbs and a gasp of a breath expelled from her lungs. On her back, she lifts her hands splayed, as if anticipating further attack and surrendering early. They would both have to fight longer to be worn out properly, but all the same, she's breathing high and quick, eyes bright from adrenaline.

She displays her teeth in a smile. Not a sore loser. ]

[mindtricks]

[ there's a certain satisfaction and pleasure to be found in victory, even one as temporary as this, but anderson isn't in it for the ego.

she holds out a hand to caprica, to pull her up. there's no hint of gloating or pride in her expression. ]

All right?

[ do you want another round, or are we done is implied. ]

[xerampelinae]

Yes. Thank you.

[ Caprica, or Natasi, takes Anderson's hand, reliance more cursory than necessary, and grip broken once she's on her feet. Fingers rake her hair from her eyes, straighten her shirt -- a matter left unsaid still hovers as a buffer between the moment and a fare well, although she does go to step off the mats.

Before Anderson can supply either herself, Caprica pauses, turning back to her-- ]

You have a position in Gunnery? I saw the, uh. The recruitment announcement.

[mindtricks]

I do.

[ the confirmation is accompanied by a brief nod, business-like more than brusque. anderson is one of the leaders, if there are any at all in gunnery. her and jax have taken it upon them to largely run the show, but anderson isn't going to mention that. ] Are you interested?

[xerampelinae]

I am.

[ Business-like more than brusque as well, but with an added dose of a strange sort of mousy politeness that doesn't quite match the throw down they just experienced, or her rangy, huntress shape. But there, all the same. ]

I'm interested in helping, and I have some experience in spacecraft artillery. And small arms, hand to hand. I'm not exactly sure what kind of threats this place expects, but--

[ Her hands open, showing her palms. But. She's willing. ]

[mindtricks]

[ anderson can appreciate business-like; her training means it's the norm for her more so than politeness. ]

If you have experience in spacecraft artillery, we could use you.

[ a slow nod. ] Most threats are internal, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared for external ones. They happen.

[xerampelinae]

[ Caprica -- Natasi -- tips her head in assent.

They do happen. ]

What do I need to do?

[mindtricks]

I can give you a tour of gunnery later. Tell me what you know about spacecraft artillery then.

[ consider it introduction and assessment interview at once. ]