2012-11-18 Sparring in Smoke

Thanks to the funding of a certain non-profit organization, the D&P Import Export warehouse has been getting some, shall we say, retrofits. Without anything remotely close to a steady job, Kwabena Odame has had plenty of time to do what must be done. Much of the space has been cleared out, and an entire section of the warehouse has been upgraded with sound-proof and special ballistic-resistant walls.
A weapons training facility.
Inside this room, Kwabena has been sparring with Domino for the past thirty minutes. He's chosen to adopt simple clothing; a pair of shorts, a tank top, and no shoes. The reason is clear, for as they attack each other with heavy, bow-like staffs, the occasional lucky strike from Domino causes parts of his extremities to morph into black smoke, to prevent injury.
Notably, the injuries sustained in Jersey have still not healed completely. There are still two sets of claw marks on his chest and shoulder, each leaving ugly black scars that may never fully heal without some kind of outside assistance.
Kwabena ducks below a strike headed for his face, then comes up to block Domino's staff with an upward swipe of his own. "You know," he breathes, "I think I'm getting the hang of this." Pushing her staff away, Kwabena pads backward upon the slightly springy floor, and resets his stance to defend against another attack. "Not the sparring, but, the turning into smoke thing."
Monochrome remains the name of the game for the albino, having finally left the customary armor behind for the tasks laid out before her. They had a lot of ground to cover and little time with which to do it in. Today's ground is covered in a black lycra sports bra and shadow camo pants, though for the moment she's left the steel-toed boots clear of the mats. With arms and midriff free there's no hiding the myriad of scars that cover that porcelain-like skin, some of them still showing some shades of red and pink as they heal in their own time. Whatever she is, she doesn't have accelerated healing.
"Oh, good," she mutters while spinning the staff around in her hands. "I was starting to get a little worried."
The sarcasm is as acute as the blows, Domino crouching and sweeping low with the staff to try and knock your feet out from beneath you. Not content to keep things so straightforward, the backswing comes around and up to try and catch you beneath the jaw. She's small, she's quick, and there's obvious muscle tone within that ghostly frame.
The ironic thing is, while Kwabena has spent a fair bit of time trying to dodge or block Domino's efforts, there are other times where he intentionally does not. The swipe against his legs goes ignored; instead, Kwabena seems to become momentarily distracted. He's picturing the staff not as a relatively harmless sparring device, but rather, an extremely dangerous and well-sharpened blade, such as one that Psylocke might carry.
It works.
For a moment, his legs turn to black smoke. The reaction crawls up his body, for science is not without its faults, and with no support his upper body runs the risk of collapsing onto the ground. However, the reaction ripples up through his clothes and stops at his neck, where it simply fizzles out into nothing.
Unfortunately, his concentration was not strong enough, and she catches him square in the jaw.
"Fuck!" spits the African, as he backpedals and reaches up to grab at his jaw. "Damn it, damn it." He lowers his hand, flicking some blood off onto the floor, then resets himself and advances upon her. He doesn't have finesse in the way he attacks, but he does have brute force. His experience is with brawling, dirty combat, which has its own advantages and disadvantages. While it may be easy for Kwabena to overpower his opponent, it's also just as easy for his opponent to find flaws and weak points in his defense.
Domino could step in here, ask if you're okay, but she lets the moment pass. Your physical response is all the evidence that she needs, you're still in this fight. You may hold a grudge now, but you're still in the fight. "Looks like you've gotta work on your one-two follow-through there, Shiftkit. Attacks rarely come at you one at a time. Just wait until we get to the live fire exercises," she warns with a tiny smirk.
"Also, let me know if any of your teeth start to feel lose. Our dental plan's still being hammered out."
"Keep your head in the game. Don't think, -do.-" Once more the stick whips through the air with the heavy sound of displaced atmosphere, heading downward at the base of your neck across your ribs. She's doing it again, following up with a snap back around and a bare foot coming back at you only an instant after the first swing. Good things come in pairs, blocking one won't do you any good if you can't block the second.
In this case, good things come in threes. That blur of motion ends with an open palm driving straight forward to your sternum. Because she's mean like that.
"Oh, I'm sure -that- will be a lot of fun," retorts the African. Live fire exercises? Sounds like a good excuse to use himself as a real life moving target. He moves quickly, whipping the staff about to block your incoming attack. The staff whistles through the air as he uses its own deflection to free his hand, which swipes around to block your incoming kick. There's an expulsion of noise from his lungs in the form of a single syllable.
"Huah!"
Only he misses the third attack. He walks right into it, but the oddest thing happens. Instead of finding the hard touch of bone, your hand smashes right through his shirt, for his chest has turned into smoke.
Kwabena looks down, surprised, and tries to mouth some witty response. Unfortunately, his lungs are not solid right now, so only a croaking sound comes out. Looking back up with a scowl, he swipes his hand toward your wrist, hoping to knock it free so that his flesh will reform again.
When at last he can speak, Kwabena spits out a response. "I -have- to think if I am to control it. Otherwise it is always instinctual. I -can- be hurt, you know." He swipes a free hand past his bleeding lip, as if to demonstrate that fact.
"Be lots of fun!" she states with a toothy grin. "I'm going to love it." Things are going alright, really. Up until Domino's hand is quite literally -inside of you,- about where your heart should be. She just has to stare for a moment, dumbstruck by that turn of events. "..Alright, that's kinda creepy."
She allows you to knock her hand aside, though she takes it upon herself to shake it out as though it might be covered in an invisible film of ..well, -you.- "This is going to take some getting used to for everyone involved, kiddo. No question."
Pause. "So..how'd it feel? Because it was weird on this end." Fudge, and now she's not sure if she should launch another attack or give you a chance to sort your own thoughts on the matter. The latter wins out, not many 'real' opponents are going to give him a chance to catch his breath!
This time the staff comes from her left, aimed low at your hip. Once more it's followed through, this time with a kick from the right. "If ya gotta think, do it fast!"
"How does it feel?" asks Kwabena, momentarily confused. "It, uh, well, it -doesn't- feel. It's like-"
Whoops. Time to shut up. Blinking, Kwabena quickly drops the staff to block the attack from Domino's left, then darts his eyes toward the attack coming from the right. If he's gonna think fast, then he has to learn how to do it. In a flash, he imagines that it's not Domino's leg. No, it's a giant chainsaw!
A chainsaw?
Well, it works. Kwabena may not be sure -why- exactly he imagined his opponent's leg as a chainsaw, but her leg passes right through him. The reaction of flesh to smoke and back comes quicker this time, but he still staggers to the left at the sudden differential in his weight. "Augh!" he sputters, and loses his balance, collapsing to the floor. The staff clatters off to the side.
"What the hell!?" he curses, and throws himself back to his feet, angered. "Oh, this is going to get old, very fast!"
Dom may have given you some words of praise right then and there, but (speaking of thinking fast...) you don't give her a chance to. On the floor, yelling out loud, then back to your feet before she can do so much as offer you a hand up. "Congratulations! You've reached the anger portion of our adjustment period," she says as though trying to taunt you. "If you think you're ready to move onto bullets, you just let me know. I've brought my ladies along just for the occasion."
Of course, if she had any idea you were picturing her leg as a chainsaw then she might go and find herself one to continue the training with. Or a fire axe. Or maybe one of the resident ninja's blades. Is it easier when the threat seems more critical? She can always take things up a few levels!
"Now, do you want -it- to get old, or do you want your own chance to get old? You can't expect any sympathy while out in the field. If you can't handle it, you're done."
One thing she is noticing, you've handled phasing around the staff better than you have her bare limbs. With little extra thought she tosses her staff aside and comes back at you, now with nothing more than tiny, hardened white fists.
"You don't want me to get -too- angry," retorts Kwabena. "It seems the opposite of black smoke is something like hardened steel." As if to demonstrate, he cracks his knuckles while snarling, and there's a tell-tale crackling sound to go with it.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Kwabena steps back and prepares to defend himself again. His fingers soften to their normal consistency, and he begins throwing up a series of blocks to combat her advances. "It would seem that the changes are linked to my thoughts and feelings," he retorts, while batting away one of your advances, only to follow through by swiping a fist toward your jaw.
Regardless of whether it connects, he allows himself to be pushed back toward one of the sound-proof, ballistic-resistant walls. A smirk begins to grow at the corner of his mouth, and he throws a few more attacks your way, before backing closer to that wall. "Fear causes the smoke. Anger causes the other thing."
Rare is it for Dom to overlook a good opportunity! You're backing yourself into a wall, telling her that it's based on two critical emotional states. Fear and anger. Both of those she can play with. In fact, she intends to do just that. Now she's wondering which one is going to to present itself first... Genuine fear, or anger that a supposed comrade in arms is about to pull something cruel and unexpected as you put yourself into an ever worse situation against her.
"Kid, I wanna see whatever you've got to show," she verbally counters. "You need to know what you can do. So do we."
With the swing sent toward her jaw (nice, unexpected, shows initiative,) the albino ducks, rushes forward to drive you back against the wall with her shoulder, then reaches behind her and flicks out an impressively large folding knife. It's out in her hand, extended and locked with the point held down in a flash of motion.
It's also going straight for your throat. Silent death at the hands of a trained killer.
Fear or anger. She doesn't care which.
Kwabena had intended to use that wall -against- Domino. He's just a hair too slow to react when his opponent's shoulder drives him backward, and he collides with the wall with a meaty sound.
"Urrgh!" he vocalizes, but the latter half seems to be choked off. Seeing the knife coming at him, his eyes widen with... anger.
The dark skin of his neck crackles and hardens, but its still more instinctual than anything else. With a screaming sound of metal against metal, the knife is deflected from his hardened flesh, and ends up stuck in the BR wall behind him.
"That was unexpected." His voice comes across differently, much deeper and guttural. Seems the hardening has an effect on his vocal chords as well.
Mustering his anger, Kwabena crouches down somewhat against her, and that hardening effect begins to spread through to his arms, chest, shoulders, and more. Then, with a growl, he pushes against the wall and collides against Domino with much more force than he naturally wields; like a wrecking ball swinging against its trapping wall.
Bingo! Domino's calling this one a huge success. That, and Betsy would never forgive her if she killed one of the team off. So, it's a good thing that your survival instincts are good enough to do ..whatever the hell it is that you just did.
"I'll say," she mutters in agreement to things being unexpected. Here she was expecting more smoke, or a need to pull her attack at the last minute so as not to hack into your jugular. Now, thanks to those fancy new wall coverings, she's down a blade. And facing a whole different wall, one that's all too interested in colliding with her.
There's a heavy "Hurgh!" as the air gets slammed out of her lungs, the smaller, lighter woman getting slammed over like she isn't even there. In another instant the 'teacher' of this run is sprawled out on her back across the mat, uncertain of whether to be grinning like a fiend or looking concerned for her own sake. "N..ice..."
"I can see that coming in handy!" growls Kwabena. His chest heaves with deep breaths, each motion causing a bit more of that crackling sound to form. Then, he reminds himself to relax, and as he does, the hardened shell of his body begins to relax as well. He reaches out a hand to help her up, and begins to smirk.
"I'm beginning to get the hang of -that-. The smoke though, that's still a real pain in the ass." Once Domino is on her feet, he scampers back somewhat and raises his hands into the air in a sign of surrender. "Okay, give me a moment to try and... and process this." He steps back twice, eyes closing as he considers what just happened. He seems to be mouthing something to himself, as if recounting the steps and committing them to memory. A confused look spreads across his closed eyes.
"Yeah..that..sounds good," Domino wheezes while getting her breathing back under control. "Take ten. Or. Yeah." Now's a great time to get herself something to drink, once she remembers how that whole breathing thing works. "Now I have to wonder..if that trick works while you're being shot at." Here stands Little Miss Ricochet, imagine the possibilities of bouncing her shots right off of you in the middle of a fight! Even bluffing with an opponent about her pulling the trigger on her own teammate, it opens up a whole new world of very unique and outright bizarre opportunities.
This will all fit into her next major branch of training quite nicely.
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