ataraxionlogs | FIGHT CLUB

[Jim has promised a few people some rounds, and while that was a couple months ago he hasn't forgotten about it. that, and he's finally in a position to take these people on without getting his ass totally handed to him due to sickness or injury. it was pretty amazing how quickly that cure had worked it's magic, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining. Jim had expected to be in medical for at least a week after.

he'll be loitering on the edge of the fighting ring, arms folded and observing the goings on. he does, however, look a little less stressed than he has been all month.]

[ It's her first fight club, though not her first fight on the ship. Her brother's switchblade and her earrings are stashed in her room, and while part of Jaye is scoffing at the whole "no ability" thing (what, can't handle it?), another part of her is all the more excited for it.

She's on the sidelines for now, braiding her hair (though she doesn't have a hair tie to secure it) so it'll stay mostly out of her face. Though she seems engrossed in it at first glance, it's not hard to miss the way she's watching the others move, studying them. ]

[Taylor probably shouldn't be here. At least, not as a participant. No strenuous activity was the rule, nothing that could pull the stitches in her back and shoulder. But the same rule has seen her half cooped up in her room, unable to do any real working out or even her shifts on security. The frustration from it is only getting worse, day by day, so when the call goes out for fight club, there's no way she's passing it up.

She's been here every time since the first, she knows how it goes. Waits at the side, two dogs at her feet (Gingersnap left back in her room, commanded into stillness while her legs healed), jumpsuit carefully zipped up to cover the bandaging on her shoulder. Watching the others as they arrive, new faces and old, waiting for someone interesting enough to approach, or for someone to approach her.]

[Josias is very much not a fighter. He's aware of the appeal in pain, but offering oneself up to be beaten - or to beat - is not quite he way he prefers to approach it, if he approaches it at all. Still, it's curious that the ship has collected so many people that would be interested in something like a 'fight club'. He's known thugs in his time, enforcers, violently inclined men and women, but the people on the Tranquility seem to have more legitimate reasoning. It's curious, and he is a very curious man.

He'd imagine it's obvious enough from his appearance that he is only here to spectate, but he keeps himself out of the way anyway, seeming really quite innocuous as he carefully studies everyone that enters and how they interact with one another.]

[Charles was not sure what he thought about the idea of a 'fight club'.

Training he understood and even supported but senseless violence? That was something he usually argued against not participated in. However, Erik had acerbically pointed out to him that this could be seen as hand to hand combat training and Charles needed to get his nose out of his notes and come investigate in some practical experience.

In other words, stop being a nerd and come check out potentially useful training.

There had been some bickering on general principle over why call it a 'fight club' which indicated a 'club' rather than 'training' but long story short, Charles came down to the holodeck.

Eying the mats, and hearing the rules, at least it seemed some safety measures had been taken which was only wise. Still, Charles retreated towards the benches, for now intending to watch, rather than actively looking for any sort of altercation!]

[ natasha is currently on the sidelines, waiting to see who shows up as she stretches out the muscles in her arms, legs, and torso. she's eager to blow off some steam and to make sure that she's back to normal physically and maybe pick up some new techniques from sparring partners and from watching other matches. ]

[ faith stakes out a corner to toss the bottle of used-to-be-full-of-space-whiskey she's repurposed as a water bottle, wishing for a second whoever dragged them here had thought to toss a pair of sweats and a sports bra into that locker with her stuff. not like going commando or tits out bugs her, but jeans constrict your range of motion a little. usually that's no big deal, but she's been keeping an eye out and there are a lot of people around here who make her want to keep everything operating top of the line. if she goes down, it better be legit and not because it took her an extra millisecond to get her legs where they need to be.

whatever, if it gets bad she can make do, or trade somebody for something of theirs down the line. on sleep with a dude who owns and pair and snake them on her way out the door, either/or. she's adaptable.

for now, she just keeps her eyes on the people around her, assessing who's here to play around and who's looking for the real thing. no shame either way, but she's still riding the high killing all those-- hybrids, wes called them, gave her. no need to seek out something hardcore when she's relaxed enough this is fun and not necessary, not yet. ]

[ Objectively, Arthur doesn't really give a shit about fight club. He does care about the organisational aspect though, the part where the projections function like individuals and not parts of a whole. Lately, it's more helpful to catalogue the differences rather than similarities between what is and what should be. God, he hates this place.

He's come to a few of these things before, seated on the sidelines and never staying for long because it only made him more antsy, the tension in his shoulders never straying far from impulse to action. Today, though, Arthur's come a little more bare-bones than usual; shirt sans tie and vest, sleeves rolled up without any trace of his usual cufflinks. The only thing he's got with him is a neutral expression and a copy of Hofstadter's Gödel, Escher, Bach, occasionally glancing up whenever there's a particularly loud thump.

Seems like he's just playing observer today. ]

Edited (i want to retitle this thread "mistook fight club for book club") 2012-06-28 20:55 (UTC)

[Here's the thing.

Promenade had a fight club, too. He can't remember who started it, but after the initial (bad) experience, Alex had enjoyed it. It had been a good way for him to release pent up frustrations, aggressions--to learn to control his abilities. To hold them back instead of resorting to them always in a fight.

Alex has a thing for control; to control his own body, his emotions, his reactions--it makes him a better man, and one safer to be around. If he can't control the situation, he can control himself.

And that includes fights.

So as the young man mills about the edge of the room, he's closing his hands into fists, opening them wide. He's taped up his knuckles already, dressed in loose, grey sweats.]

[Miles' mouth is curved down into a sour arch. His eyes are narrowed. His arms are crossed.

Yet he's here to watch as much as he is to disapprove. Which - admittedly, he's here to disapprove quite a lot, yes, but there's a sort of curiosity in his manner, in his face. He dislikes this - the fact that these people would deliberately court injury when their supplies are limited, the fact that they even indulge their base animal instincts enough to enjoy this sort of chest-thumping adrenaline-fueled idiocy rather than reading a book. Yet it's becoming increasingly clear that it's going to be useful to know who can fight, who can control themselves, who will be a danger.

So even as he judges, he's also scouting - collecting information, and, every once in a while, jotting notes down on his communications device.]

[Honestly, John doesn't even know why he came to this. Maybe because violence is something he understands (even though he hates the idea of violence against real people, he understands it, grasps it, lives it) and nothing else on this ship has made sense.

He's found a spot that gives him space to move, to watch, and to leave without causing a scene. Some people on this boat have powers, or wolves, or strength like Cameron's

(like a machine)

and John doesn't have any of that.

He has caution, instead.]

[ John's here as one of the volunteer doctors for the evening. He stays toward the wall arms crossed over his chest. Being a medic has granted him some perks: he gets a good view. There's a doctor's bag by his foot. He's in this for the long haul, and discretely eying the contestants. Some he knows, some he doesn't. ]

[Megamind liked fight club. Sure, he wasn't in a great state of mind the last time they did this what with demons and Roxanne being screwed up, but-- hey. He was there now, and he was doing much better.]

[He preferred to watch, though - not that he wuoldn't get in the ring if asked, but-- well, nobody wanted a 'friendly' bout with the ex-mutineer, leaving him sitting on the sidelines, watching everybody show their hands, little by little. It wasn't unlike the yard, before they stopped letting him go -- seeing who was speaking to who, who made alliances, who obviously had it out for each other in the ring.]

[So he sat, watched and listened, still grimy from his trip up from engineering. He'd been putting in a lot of hours there. Still was. But he could take a break, to learn a few things from his crew mates, whether or not they realized they were teaching him anything.]

[Joker wasn't really for this sort of thing. He was totally sidelined, and after recovering from the mess in the maze, didn't really want to get bumped, jostled beat up-- but neither did he want to be alone.]

[He used to know every little thing that happened on the Normandy. Who was banging who, who had the problems at home they were running away from, who was a closet racist, who was a closet-case anything. Here, he was out of tune with the ship. Didn't know it's pulse. Didn't know it's people.]

[Joker didn't like that much. So he people watched; wondering where his crew fit into the greater scheme of things. Maybe he'd been avoiding it -- seeing how little they mattered when at home everything was riding on them. Maybe it was because the ship didn't plain feel right.]

[But there were ghosts in the shuttle bay now and Joker didn't hang out down here near as much as he used to. He used to sleep in those shuttles. Now? Now he's up here, with the rest of the rabble, watching quietly.]

[ a fight is a display of character, sherlock believes. you can tell a man's life story in movements. he's here mostly to people watch but the physical rush of a fight, the chemicals behind it - the endorphins, the adrenaline - are stimulating. it's not on the level of casework, definitely - he doesn't even remember the last time he had a case (dartmoor felt like ages ago) and his current one - smiley is a long way from being solved. ]

[ it's something to take his mind off of things. ]

[ may as well put his judo degree to good use. ]

Edited 2012-06-29 02:57 (UTC)

[Being ill had been -- interesting. It had been more curious to watch how the crew managed to bind itself together into something that was determined to survive, and she'd been impressed with the determination with which many had wandered through the maze. This 'Fight Club' was just another place to see how people measured up.

No 'excessive use of superhuman ability' was something she'd have to pay special attention to, if someone happened to approach her. It had been some time since she'd been involved in hand-to-hand combat -- not since New Caprica, when it had been necessary for anyone who was a guard or an enforcer of any sort -- and with what had been happening on the ships, brushing up on her skills wouldn't be the worst idea.

She waits on one of the benches, watching the previous fights with keen interest. She's studying form and trying to make note of peoples' styles and habits.]

[Kay walks in with his arms crossed, casually looking around at people. Honestly, he loves sparring. Wants to keep his skills up. But at the same time? He doesn't know a goddamn thing about half these people.

So he goes to stand by the bleachers like that awkward guy at the prom that never knows how to ask anybody to dance, or makes himself look too busy with a piece of cake.

At least some of these people were putting on a good show.]

[ he'd been here before so this wasn't really anything new. even after fighting with those... whatever the hell they were—it'd barely curbed the bloodlust.

nothing ever does.

for eons thor can fight and fight and fight. he can be banished from his home and taught a lesson, but the song of battle still dances through his veins. he just likes it, okay?

as always, he's on the sidelines, watching, waiting to see who's good enough that a.) will put up a decent fight and b.) won't cower in PETTY TINY MORTAL FEAR at this brick shithouse.

all that being said if anyone wants to have a nice little chat about fighting or whatevs that's good too... ]

[who could say no to an invitation like the one kirk sent over the comms? it's almost like he's home again, in one of the training rooms for the games. which, while it should be bad, is the tiniest bit reassuring. at the moment, he's just watching. trying to size up the strength of all the other passengers aboard the tranquility.]

[ of course sulu is here. and he has his katana, but since the flavor of the day is hand to hand, he's bent over stowing it away in his boot. come at him bros ]

[ Uhura hasn't decided yet if she'll actually be fighting at all today, but watching-- Yep, she's got that down to an art. arms folded over her chest, expression even - not looking bored, or amused, or impressed. just observing. it could be considered creepy if her eyes weren't moving from one set of mats to the other, taking in the different matches going on. it's sort of a game to her right now, in a way. guessing who's actually had training, who hasn't. what kind of training they might have, if they're trying to learn from their opponent or just let off steam. she can see the appeal in all of these options, but physical stimulation was never her preferred way of releasing any kind of energy. mental stimulation, on the other hand, well.

these guessing games would suffice for now.

maybe, eventually, she'll decide if it's worth the physical exertion, and the mild annoyance that would come sparring someone that would likely preface the match with I'll go easy on you because she's a woman. hm. then again, she wasn't the only woman here. who knows? maybe someone would surprise her. ]

[ this probably isn't kingly.

but nevertheless, all come down to watch the bouts, and so robb comes down as well, stands at the very edge of things to watch. it reminds him almost of the times when he was a boy, when he and jon snow and theon greyjoy would scuffle in the godswood, mock battles that lasted until maester luwin called them home.

he does not seek out challenge, but if someone called him forth, he's already made up his mind to answer. ]

_{[ Sherlock has been bored. After rearranging his room to such an extent where it's barely recognizable any more, he's decided to check out this fight club. Because if nothing else, it's bound to be an interesting study - and honestly, he could do with a little bit of exercise, regardless as to whether he ends up actually fighting or not.

It's certainly worth his while to get moving, especially after that space sickness - being stuck in bed for days on end is enough to drive anyone crazy, so when it's Sherlock?

Well, let's just say it's a good thing he's decided to get out and about. ]}

[he figures it's their attempt at normalcy, this fight club thing. Tate shows up not because he wants to learn to fight (though maybe, with the way things are going, he should learn more than a wild haymaker) but because he knows it'd be better for him to be there. in public.

and maybe because he's looking for her.

but he folds himself up into the bleachers, leaning forward with elbows on his knees and watches the crowd with dark eyes; scanning each bobbing head for a short-cropped brunette.]

OTA

OTA!

open

open

OTA

OTA

ota along whatever point in the timeline

open | approach with caution #yolo

OTA , fighting or talking is good.

OTA; on sidelines; if anyone wants to challenge him they're in for an easy and rather sad fight