Coulda

FEBRUARY
Coulda
1 February 2019
Sydney, NSW, Australia
The beginner's class leaves the gym in a procession of jazz hands, thank yous, and Scott Hansen.
"Ye bin testing in the sim, yea?"
Pietr nods, suggests they go over to his kit, retrieves his notepad.
"What's yer score?" Scott gulps from his water bottle.
-17 / 17-
"All with Chuck?"
Pietr nods again.
"How much of that y' figure is him?"
Pietr shrugs.
Scott snorts. "What makes ye think yer good enough t' pilot,
washout?"
Pietr blinks. -Graduated-
"Barely."
-Still did-
Scott shrugs. "Not bad fer someone like ye, I guess."
-Like me?-
"Handicapped." Scott waves dismissively.
Pietr's jaw tightens. -No problem fighting-
"Din't my brother pin ye when ye din't hear 'im comin'?"
-He beat you & you could-
Scott glares.
Pietr glares right back.
"Ye know what? Kwoon. We're settling this."
-10 mins?-
"Y'd better."
p_a_vos: keep chuck outta kwoon
h_hansen: why
p_a_vos: me vs scott
h_hansen: i'll sit on him
p_a_vos: thx
h_hansen: kick his arse
p_a_vos: do my best
As Pietr finishes stretching, the large—and growing—crowd goes still, and Scott ambles onto the floor. He pops a hanbo from the rack and catches it lazily.
Pietr, unimpressed, picks up his own. He bows.
Scott doesn't; aims for Pietr's head.
Pietr blocks and steps back into a low guard.
Scott leers.
They trade strikes and parries.
Neither scores.
A ripple disturbs the crowd.
Chuck shoves to the front.
Herc elbows into a position behind him.
Pietr sighs.
"What's th' score?" asks Herc.
"Nil all," reports Ata. "Vos is just defending."
"Driving Ranger Hansen straight up a wall," adds Rama.
Herc watches the action for a few beats.
Pietr leaves an opening.
Scott exploits it.
Pietr blocks at the last moment.
Scott turns a darker shade of angry.
"Clever bastard," Herc murmurs.
Chuck nods. "Like watchin' a cat play with a mouse."
"Risky, though. Times it wrong 'n Scott cripples 'im."
Chuck crosses his arms.
More strikes.
More parries.
Still no points.
Pietr leaves an opening.
Scott exploits it.
CRACK
Pietr crumples.
Chuck charges—
Herc grabs him before he reaches the mat.
Scott lets loose a vicious swing—
Pietr rolls out of range, lashing out with his hanbo—
Scott trips.
Pietr clambers to his feet, places no weight on his knee.
Scott hops up, smirking. "One-one, Helen. Wanna yield?"
Pietr shakes his head and grins.
Scott blinks.
Pietr's grin widens.
Scott lunges.
Pietr pivots on his good leg, dodging Scott's strike by a whisker.
Pietr leaves his back wide open.
Scott thumps him across the shoulders. Hard.
Pietr hits the mat face-first.
"Two-one!" Scott presses his advantage—
Pietr turns onto his back—
—and closes in—
Pietr unleashes a flurry of low strikes.
Scott retreats.
Pietr pushes onto his knees and then—
Scott slashes overhanded.
—not to his feet. Checks a swing and taps Scott's knee.
"Two-two," snarls Scott, winding up another overhand strike.
Pietr blocks. And blocks again and again and—
Scott lands a shot on his shoulder. "Three-two. Stand up."
Pietr nods, levers himself up. Takes a high guard. Waits.
Scott waits. Doesn't bother to guard.
Pietr's motionless.
Scott shifts his grip on the hanbo, slides his feet farther apart.
Pietr's motionless.
Scott twitches his hold again.
Pietr's mo— shifts his weight a fraction.
Scott lunges—
Pietr spins, reaches out with his hanbo and—
—aims a blow—
—crashes to the mat as his knee buckles.
—and taps his fourth point against Pietr's elbow. "Four-two," he grumbles. He turns and stalks out of the Kwoon.
Pietr rolls over, flexes his knee, waves off Chuck's anxious offer of help, pushes to his feet.
Tests his weight on the injured joint.
Limps to his boots. Ties them.
Heads for Medical.
Slowly.
::How're you?:: signs Chuck.
::Been better.::
Chuck nods. ::Bring you anything?::
::No. Thanks.::
Chuck sits on the arm of the sofa, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His eyes keep sliding to the ice pack on Pietr's knee.
Pietr sighs. ::Go train. I'll be fine.::
Chuck grumbles, but goes.
"Why'd y' do it?" Herc hands over a mug of coffee.
Pietr nods 'thanks.' -Pissed me off-
"Ye coulda pounded him straight inta th' mat." Herc sits on the coffee table.
-More satisfying- He sighs. -No difference-
Herc nods. "He jest doesn't like ye."
'Can't win 'em all,' Pietr shrugs.
Herc chuckles.
Scott slouches onto the sofa next to Pietr's propped-up foot.
From the floor, Pietr raises an eyebrow.
"Y' wanna know why I don't like ye?'
Pietr nods 'sure.'
"Yer what me 'n Herc coulda been if ... that damn thing hadn't turned north. Angela'd be ... an' Chuck ... We'd 'a retired like we planned, got li'l houses. Ye've got that already."
Pietr jots, then waves his notepad. -Here fighting like you tho- he scribbles. -Trying to get back alive-
Scott snorts. "Good luck wi'that." He pushes to his feet and stretches. "Vos?"
Pietr's eyebrow says 'yes?'.
"Ye got brothers, right?"
::Two.::
"Don't trust 'em."
Scott walks out.
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