going native

[agnominal]

Who| Locus and YOU? Open.
What| Newcomer to the Legion finding his feet.
Where| Wandering around Legion at large. Locations will be notated.
When| /coughs vaguely and gestures randomly
Warnings/Notes| n/a


It was difficult, even now, to part with the armor. He'd born its weight, its visage, its name for years now, rather than his own. If this was truly meant to be a new start, he should start by leaving it behind. He was no longer meant to be simply a weapon, a gun, but a warrior earning worthiness.

But some habits are difficult to break. He's not ready to show his face. Not yet.

So, on the initial walkthrough of what is expected to be home base for some time, Locus does so in full armor. It does much to ease his sense of discomfort in finding himself in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by strangers, alone. But the way that helmet turns to side-eye people who pass speak volumes about that unease, even if his expression isn't visible.

It's easy enough to find himself on a self-guided path. Past crew quarters, through the mess hall, past the training room and holodeck, before halting briefly on the observation deck for a time. This, at least, feels familiar. The vast emptiness of the black void, dotted with cold, distant lights, and the looming shape of a planet beneath that would be satisfied to drag them down to its surface in a fiery heap.

So he's in a cheerful mood, in other words. Surely not too intimidating a figure to be spoken to.

Comments

[goddamngrenades]

"I can work with enhanced." He drums his hands on the railing for half a second, rolling the numbers around in the back of his head. "Feel'n stir crazy?"

Best solution for that is a round or two on the mats and honestly? Staring out at the void makes him itch under his skin more than a little. A lot, really.

[agnominal]

"After you."

And Locus steps away from the railing, nodding back in the direction of the training room. He sees the invitation for what it is, and honestly? Few things feel better than hashing out insecurities and anxieties on the training room floor.

Shoot things until shit makes sense. It's worked up to this point.

[goddamngrenades]

Hell yeah. York pushes away from the railing with almost a spring in his step- this isn't the worst first impression he's made. A+, way to go self. Had a civil conversation, felt some empathy, now they're gonna pretend to shoot things or do some hand to hand. Awesome. Walking Locus down to the training area doesn't take much time at all, though he does pause in the locker room. "Gimme five to suit up? Pick any scenario you want or set it for hand to hand."

[agnominal]

"Understood."

He'd like to keep it basic, to start with. He wants to know what Locksmith is capable of on level ground, before he starts making adjustments. And there's something honest in the way you learn about people through how they move, how they fight.

Anyone who'd seen Felix fight and not known what he was had gotten what they deserved. Himself included.

Soon enough, he's waiting for York inside one of the training rooms, standing there expectantly.

[goddamngrenades]

It takes him about five to slip into the power armor undersuit and all, settling in like a comfortable shell. There's the usual pass of his hands over the upper left chest looking for bullet holes that aren't there as all systems go live and, yeah, everything's in order. Aside from minding his left D settles in the background, letting York handle this one on his own.

Easy enough.

He enters the sim with a jaunty strut, all tan and silver as he waves. "Do me a favor and don't take it easy on me."

[agnominal]

"I have no intention of it."

He surveys the armor type before nodding, apparently approving in his way, before stepping up and falling into a ready stance. It's solid, tight, braced for a burst of quick movement or blocking, while he determines his first attack.

It will depend on where Locksmith's strengths lay. Time to find out.

[goddamngrenades]

York, on the other hand, settles into something loose, almost flippant. All ease of motion, no visible sign of serious intent- up till he sprints in hard at Locus' left, snapping through a quick combo that worked on Maine. Not all huge soldiers are alike but it's a good way to figure out Locus' baseline. Two jabs and a knee, aiming to test reaction times.

[agnominal]

Note: Don't underestimate due to lackadaisical attitude. Felix had used that as a smokescreen before, so nonchalant that his skills might be taken into question.

The similarity irks him.

York has speed on his side, but Locus chooses to let the jabs land on the armor plating before blocking the knee, cocking back a fist, and bringing it down with the full intent on catching York straight in the crook of the neck.

No plating there.

[goddamngrenades]

Hard, efficient, vicious. It sparks that old competitive edge that has him roll with the hit and come back with a high swung kick, hooking for the mid. Aiming high on this guy won't end well, too big, got too much reach.

Like Maine and North but actually knowing what he's doing. Toss a little Carolina in there and it's a whole new dance to learn.

[agnominal]

Again, his forearm comes up to block, pushing his leg away before following through with a one-two punch combo, intent on forcing him back.

Sustain the attack, see what he does then.

[goddamngrenades]

Hold his ground, roll with it- or go over. Delta rattles the numbers around in the back of his mind between one moment and the next before he hooks a hand somewhere and hauls himself up ans over, vaulting till he can roll and gain some distance.

[agnominal]

Interesting tactic.

Locus grunts as York vaults over him, turning to follow and bear down on him before he has time to reset. For a guy his size? He moves pretty damn quick, and it's not a second later before his throwing another volley of punches.

One, two, three. Keep an eye on the way he pulls in, anticipate where he'll strike out.

[goddamngrenades]

Pulls in on the left, keeping his right and good eye on and near Locus (as is expected), keeps dodging and ducking and bobbing, light and easy while he tries to circle. Find an opening and exploit it. So far, a whole lot of nothing.

[agnominal]

He works hard to keep any weakness that could be used against him hidden, but York has to already know the weaknesses these suits posess. That's one thing he has to stay mindful of as he follows, drawing up a knee to strike at the back of his thigh.

[goddamngrenades]

Joint plaiting, but this Locus model? seems to be geared light and tight. Meaning the guy inside is just as big and just as broad as he seems. It means going for the kidneys, going low when he gets a half a second to do so.

[agnominal]

Nice try. Would have been a solid hit if he didn't think to expect it.

He drops, swivels to take that blow on the plating instead, and that coiled position gives him room to wind up another devastating full-bodied punch, this time drawing up straight for the chin.

[goddamngrenades]

Nothing to do but take it on the chin and try to roll with it-

Less a roll and more a flip, coming back up on his feet afterward and staggering cuz-

"Jesus damn." All appreciative and a little dazed. "You are something else, huh?"

[agnominal]

That...he's not sure what to do with. Take it, he supposes, with a nod of acknowledgement.

"You're not doing badly yourself."

He's quicker, definitely. Relies on feints, trickery, takes the cheap shots when they present themselves. Nothing to resent in someone taking advantage of their strengths on the field.

[goddamngrenades]

"I am rusty as all hell so I'm just glad I can keep up." He rolls out his shoulders, shakes the dazedness from his head, and puts his hands up for one more go. "Best two outta three? Loser buys winner coffee?"

He's pretty sure that'll be him- and he's okay with that.

[agnominal]

Locus just stares at him a moment, as though trying to discern what else there might be for him to garner here through a win. Or even continued sparring. When there appears no apparent ulterior motive, he gives a brief nod and settles back into a ready stance.

Before stepping in swiftly with three sharp jabs, followed by a sharp kick towards his hip.

[goddamngrenades]

On the defensive, ho. He keeps his hands up, tries to keep those fists in his field of view. Two blocks and a roll with that hit, grunting before he dips down to try to swing in with his own series of punches. Two high and one mid, dropping down to a leg sweep.

[agnominal]

The midsection punch hits, halts him just long enough for that sweep to cut his legs out from under him, and back he goes with a grunt.

Of course, a second later he's rolling his back and hauling himself forward onto his feet, retaking that ready stance as he catches his breath. Not bad at all.

[goddamngrenades]

Not bad at all. He doesn't push, waiting till Locus is back on his feet and breathing before he swings in again, triple combo, shades of Carolina, shades of Wash. They all picked up a little from each other in the program.

The dip and shove of his shoulder? All Maine.

[agnominal]

There's enough of a height difference for the shoulder check to catch beneath his shoulder, to knock him back a step or two. It's not as easy to block as the punches -- which are not easy to block, fortunately for York -- but Locus digs in his heels.

He wants to play that game? Fine.

One brute, solid shoulder check coming right back at you, York.

[goddamngrenades]

Three steps forward, one knock back.

Flat on his ass. Two one, Locus to York. He stumbles, tries and fails to catch himself before he's laid out on his back. Stays there for a moment just. Breathing.

"Okay. Not how I should've played that."