hadriel_logs | [Open] Friendly Fights

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[Open] Friendly Fights

Who: Amos Kamiya, Maketh Tua, and YOU
What: Amos offers to spar with Maketh. But maybe YOU catch him warming up and want a turn too? All in good fun, of course!
Where: The park
When: April 9th
Warnings: Mild violence? Swearing? Sparring.

Amos was waiting for Maketh to show up: she'd agreed to spar with him after he'd seen her practising with her sword. Amos sucked at swords, but he did need a sparring partner, because forms on his own were good for perfection but also somewhat boring. And he wanted to have a little fun. Plus it was a good way of building trust and teamwork...and he liked Maketh and wanted to be friends with her.

He was alone in the clearing in the park for now, moving through a long slow series of stretches to limber up. His baggy shirt and coat were laid aside for now, a thin white tanktop over his baggy jeans revealing that underneath the concealing clothes, Amos' compact frame was lean with muscle, like a gymnast or dancer's build. He moved with much the same unconscious grace as he stretched.

Hands up over his head, reaching until he stood on tiptoe in his boots: then he bent forward to touch his toes...and effortlessly slid the few inches further to place his hands flat on the stone between his feet, making a pleased hum at the pull in his lower back and thighs. A good stretch always felt so nice. He stood up again, arms overheard, then eeled over backwards until his palms hit stone again. He puffed a strand of hair out of his face, arched his back into an even sharper arch than the back end demanded. With a light kick, he pushed into a handstand, held it long enough to stretch his legs oht, toes pointed, before easing his feet back down to the ground and standing upright again.

Grinning, he rolled his shoulders, shook out his hands, and slid into a set of kata, the martial arts moves clean and precise and measured. The style was fluid and the basic moves came easily to him: he'd been a student in Aikido since he'd been small. He was no master but he was certainly proficient. He worked bare-handed for now; later he'd work with a knife or his needle-like shobo, as he doubted he and Maketh would use weapons for this first session. Best to get used to one another before accidental stabbings happened, after all.

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It had been a while since Maketh had sparred with anyone - there had been Cullen, briefly - and before that she'd trained semi-regularly with the officers on Lothal. With everything that had been happening lately, her mind had been stuck on other matters. She'd taken to training by herself. It was important to stay sharp, though, so she'd agreed when Amos had offered.

Besides, she'd been meaning to spend some time with him. Why not now?

She arrived at the park promptly, hair pulled up in series of tight braids - different from her usual style, that one meant to keep her hair from interfering. "Amos. Hello."

You know what they say – you always find the most unlikely things in the most unlikely places, and while he's not expecting to find something like a sparring partner in this place, when he sees a lean form stretching out like its owner is about to give it a hell of a workout, he can't not stop and inquire.

Especially since it's been a while since he's spoken with Amos, and he remembers their conversation being pleasant and informative – even if he'd found it a little jarring that the guy also knew about things that could ( and, more than likely, would ) go bump in the night.

Sam pauses just off to the side, watching the other's stance and form as he works through the motions, impressed with the fluidity of his movement, and only when it seems like he might not interrupt his concentration does he decide to speak up, voice low but friendly.

"Warming up, or just passing the time?"

Amos turned to grin at her. "Hey Maketh!" He bounced a little on his toes, already warmed up and full of eager energy. This was going to be fun.

"I like the braids, very practical. Any ground rules we need to cover? No grabbing you a certain way or it'll give you flashbacks or anything like that?"

Amos turns and grins at the familiar voice. "Hi Sam!"

He bounces a few steps closer for easier talking: he's full of energy and he's pleased to see Sam...even if he has to tip his head back to properly see his face. But Amos is used to almost everyone being taller than him. It's not very hard when he only tops out at five foot six.

"Warming up. A friend is gonna meet me out here in a bit so we can spar. Can't get rusty in a place like this." Amos shrugs. "How've you been, Sam?"

She pauses in the midst of unzipping her coat. That's a curious thing to ask. The Empire takes no such considerations. Either you will fight or you will die. "No? I'm not a field technical, though, so my combat skills are a tad rusty. Is there a particular style you prefer?"

"I was trained in a style that is mainly hand-to-hand combat. I use knives, not a sword, but I figured we'd leave that until we knew eachother's styles better." Amos shrugs a little and runs his hand through his hair. "Just try not to pull out my earrings, please, or hit me in the balls, an' we'll be golden."

His ears, pierced multiple times and decorated with small silver CBRs... The tongue stud and Monroe piercing he doesn't mention, because they're not readily available for snatching...well, as long as she doesn't hit him in the mouth just right. The Monroe piercing, near his left upper lip, is just a small matte black disk, and most people take it for the beauty mark it's meant to imitate.

Amos only mentions this because he has the scars on his chest to prove he'd once had his nipples pierced... They'd been forcibly removed, and not by accident, either.

Honestly, Maketh had expected him to name a particular style - but it occurs to her even as she thinks it that of course he wouldn't fight in the ways she's been trained. Different worlds. She could name ten different styles and Amos would likely know none of them.

This is improvisation, more than anything.

She shrugs out of her coat and sets her sword belt down on top of it, dusting off her hands when she's done. "All right. I'd prefer that you not pull my hair."

Just in case. That hurts, and she spent a good amount of time on the braids.

Maketh shifts into stance, hands raised in front of her face. "Ready?"

Amos chuckles and declares, "Gotchya. No hair-pulling." He waits until she declares herself ready, then eases into a waiting stance, weight balanced. There's still a smile on his face, but it's almost and afterthought, something in his eyes sharper and calculating.

"Ready," he tells her. "Come get me."

Of course, if she's too smart for that, he'll start with the attack, but it's polite to offer her the first move.

It's actually been a long time since Maketh has done any bare-handed sparring. Too long, she realizes now, and resolves to do better. She's decent with a sword, but can't rely on a weapon to do the job for her. That's short sighted. It will not do.

She does a quick jab at his face. Just a test, to see what he does.

Amos blocks with the back of his wrist, not so much stopping it as diverting the strike and its force over his left shoulder As he does he steps closer, reaching for her other arm with his right hand. He's quick; if he catches her, he'll pull her closer and flip her over his shoulder to throw her and pin her to the ground.

As much as his friend Kat chides him about being slow and puny, Amos is decently fast and strong for a totally unenhanced human. It's not his fault he mostly spars with Kat, who is demon-possessed and preternaturally quick and strong.

Oh, he's good. Maketh pulls back, shifting her weight so he won't throw her off balance. Instead she goes for a blow to his chest and then another to his knee. Maketh isn't especially creative when it comes to fighting - everything she's mastered is unfortunately textbook - but she hits hard and recovers fast. And for an Imperial, sparring doesn't mean pulling hits so much as it means avoiding the dirty ones. So while Maketh won't go for his eyes or groin or reach out and try to snap his fingers, she'll hit him just as hard as she's been trained.

Well. If she hits him. Amos is fast.

Fast and flexible, and her strike to the chest is diverted again as he arches aside, but the one to his knee catches in his loose jeans and staggers him a step.

The smile is gone entirely, his face intense and focused, something hard and bright in his eyes like the edge of a blade.

There, there, that's good, and Maketh feels herself grinning, bouncing on her heels. She landed a hit, one was diverted but one struck, and she needs to follow up. So she does, darting forward as Amos goes back to regain his footing. Strike and keep striking, that's the idea. She goes for his chest again - textbook but effective - and keeps pushing.

Ah, but she's shown him that move before, and Amos responds: he steps aside, catches and locks her wrist, and uses her own momentum to help flip her to the ground. Textbook move himself, but Aikido works well against more aggressive styles.

Rather than hold it, he lets go and steps back to let her recover.

Ah, but he doesn't follow up on the strike - mistake, Maketh thinks, and hooks her ankle up and twists. Bring him down, he should have hit her when he had the chance. She's always recovered quickly. Maketh isn't a creative fighter by any stretch of the imagination, but she can take a hard landing - much worse than this - and bounce right back up again.

Even so, she's smiling. Part of her missed this. The thrill of exchanging blows.

There's something about the energy the other exudes, encompassing the entirety of the area as easily as anything else. It's infectious, to say the least, and Sam feels himself growing a bit lighter for it. Something that he can be grateful for, when every bit of everything that contributes to staying light-hearted in a place like this seems to fall few and far between.

"Sounds like a good idea." And not one that had crossed his mind, which means he's slipping, and he should be ashamed of that. "Good, all things considered." Except for that whole wendigo thing. You know. When he made a horrible mistake and ate the provided food and ... well.

We're just not going to talk about that. "What about you?"

"Pretty good, can't complain," Amos answers, because really he can't. Much. Not about things that matter, at least. He's alive and in good health, after all, and that's generally what counts.

He's pretty easy to please in that respect.

"Yeah, I've been doing what I can on my own, but having a partner to spar with does a lot for reminding you where your flaws are."

Amos chuckles wryly. Usually the reminders are bruises: his most common sparring partner had been his friend Kat. Sparring with a demonically-enhanced human meant Amos collected a lot of bruises from his faster, stronger friend, who chided Amos for being so slow and weak. Amos tends to take the complaining as grumpy affection rather than insults.

"Good - I'm glad to hear it." Because he genuinely is, because if there's one thing that gives him enough strength of will to remind him that nothing lasts forever, especially the unwanted - it's that there are still people around that can keep a constant state of optimism. No matter what the situation, and the fact that it isn't fake optimism, either. It keeps him going, and it's more than one of the reasons he's always glad to run into Amos.

Though, at the mention of sparring - "Man, I can't remember the last time I sparred." He knows it had to have been with Dean, during some of their down time one boring afternoon or another, and if there's one thing he can say for both of them, it's that they always manage to keep each other on their toes.

It sure as hell is a good way to remind yourself what your flaws are; his brother always plays on his, his weaknesses, but then again so does Sam, and it's never anything more than a never-ending stalemate until one of them gives.

Amos's leg goes out from under him, and he twists and arches, using the momentum and a hand on the cave floor to turn a flip and land farther away, crouched and ready. He nods to her, a grim little smile flicking across his lips. A good one: but she's not going to play nice. Very well, neither will he.

Now to see what she'll make of his sneaky tricky ways.

Maketh feels the grin threatening to split her face. It's been a long time since she's really had a chance to spar like this - all motion and underhand trickery, with no threat of death. It's different from being in a fire-fight. Maketh has learned how to survive those moments, but she doesn't enjoy them.

This is different. This is simple in a way that she likes.

Maketh rocks back on her feet, then lunges for Amos - more aggressive than before.

"Oh? You a student of martial arts too, Sam?" Amos perks up. That could be fun, if so...Sam's got a hell of a reach on him, but it could be a fun challenge. Amos beams. "If you like, you could spar with me, dust the rust off."

Because here in Hadriel, they definitely need to keep any and all fighting skills fresh and ready. Who knows what the gods will throw at them next?

Direct frontal attack: well, she's certainly straightforward! Amos sidesteps, grabs a sleeve and pivots. The palm of his free hand impacts over her shortribs and right kidney, and he starts to sweep her legs from behind with one of his. If he'd had his balisong knife out, it'd have been a stab to her back, not a friendly thump.

And down she goes. It was expected, really. Maketh hasn't sparred bare-handed in far too long. She's out of practice and Amos clearly isn't. Maketh tucks into a roll and comes up in stance, grinning despite everything.

There's a certain joy in just moving like this.

"You're good," she says.

"Not martial arts specifically, but my brother and I used to spar all the time when we were younger." Not to mention that John had made sure they were trained in close-quarters combat, something that has more than come in handy over the years.

But his smile is still easy when he responds. "I wouldn't mind - if I'm not going to get in the way when your friend shows up."

That's something they can both agree on. There is nothing wrong with keeping your skills honed.

Amos's eyebrow kicks up. Not martial arts, hmm? Just rough-housing, then, or something more structured? Sam sounds and looks confident in the offer, though, so Amos brushes away his questions and gets ready to satisfy his curiosity through demonstration.

"Sure, it won't be no trouble. I've been a student of Aikido for a few years now."

Off and on, mostly. He hasn't visited a dojo for a year or three, now. He makes a mental note to change that when he gets home again. If he gets home again. No, when. He's being positive.

He grins at Sam.

Amos has danced back to widen the distance, hands splayed open and ready, and a brief flickering grin answers Maketh before fading back into the steady concentration. "Decent 'nough to stay alive," he answers back, because that's the truth. He's not the best but he's no slouch.

"I can see." Maketh grins again, adrenaline snapping pleasantly through her. She likes fighting, though she's no natural. Too stiff, her instructors said. But that hardly matters. She's survived this far.

She moves forward again, more cautious this time.

Ah, better, and Amos chuckles a little. Caution is better: straightforward often gets you killed. He feints at her, not yet taking the offensive, measuring her. Will she dodge, attack, see his false attack for what it is? Oh so many options and it's fun guessing game.

Maketh moves back easily, dancing around the feint. She's getting back in the rhythm of things the more they spar. Amos is faster than she is and far more experienced, therefore she can't keep doing the same thing over and over again. A straight attack had no effect the first time around.

Well, she'll try something a little different this time.

Maketh goes in low this time with a feint of her own. Mime a strike to the legs, then counter to the face with the true strength.

Oh. that's good, nice and tricky, and her thumb clips his ear and stings viciously as he skips aside a step, pushes in and catches that outstretched wrist from the outside. He twists, pulls, and slaps a palm to her shoulder, forcing her arm to lock and the pressure warns: Amos is being very careful not to actually sprain or break anything, but he knows it'll probably still hurt!

Well, that's definite. Maketh hisses out a curse and goes limp. She's not in the mood to really fight - not the kind that would break either of them - and not in a position where she can afford injuries of her own.

Amos lets go and steps back. "You've got good groundwork. Very solid footing." Which is quite true. It's obvious she's had good training, and that will stand her in good stead. Especially here. He nods to her and without the immediate fight, grins cheerfully again. He has to concentrate a good deal to fight properly, especially just sparring. Carelessness makes injury, and Amos is not a fan of hurting his friends.

Maketh nods, stretching out her arms. It's important to stay loose. She tends to get stiff and that slows her down in the long run. "The benefits of attending a military academy. You're talented yourself."

"Been taking Aikido lessons since I was little." Amos chuckles. "My grandmother wanted to keep me busy. I was an energetic kid. I don't think she ever dreamed I'd actually fight anyone, but I'm grateful."

The required discipline and meditation had helped lay the groundwork for keeping his head in crazy situations, and it had saved his life quite a few times.

Maketh nods. Her mother had taught her a few things, less about actual fighting and more how to read a situation - how to size people up, how to figure out what they wanted. Quite a feat for a blind woman. "It certainly comes in handy here."

"Here, an' almost everywhere else I've been," Amos chuckles, and stretches his arms over his head in a lithe motion, like a cat. "But honestly if I can avoid a fight, I will. I don't like it."

Fighting was distressing. But it was a necessary evil.

"No?"

That's interesting. Amos clearly has skill and practice - Maketh knows very well that he's better than her - but he doesn't enjoy fighting?

A man who doesn't enjoy fighting, but who knows his survival depends on it.

Not for the first time, she wonders about his world.

"Nope. It's much nicer when we all get along," Amos answers her, with a little shrug. He knows very well how rarely that works out. Still, he can't help but advocate the most peaceful path whenever he can.

If he hadn't become a yakuza member, Amos thinks he probably would have lived a far more peaceful life, and had so much less grief.

Maketh nods, watching him curiously. "It rarely works out that way. But the people here have surprised me. Perhaps there's hope for us yet."

"I know!" Amos laughs. "Been surprisin' little fighting or bickering. It's nice. I'm figurin' it's having the gods to oppose. Though I'm not sure being mad at all of 'em is the answer."

Because Hope has been very helpful, as has Rage. Delight, marginally less so, but she's at least been kind. Fear, not so much.

Maketh frowns at him, though she's curious despite it. "You feel no ill will towards them?"

"Well, I ain't perfect, so sometimes. They're an easy target to blame." Amos shrugs: it's human nature to blame and be angry about things beyond control. "But Hope says us being brought here was an accident an' not his choice. He's worked to keep us safe, an' they have all honored promises of exchange for supplies."

"They don't have to spend energy keeping us alive, trying to make us comfortable, or keep bringing the dead back to life. But they do, and even if they're awkward about it 'cause I don't think they even knew what humans were until we came along, they are trying to help."

That and frankly, Amos is going to shamelessly kiss up to any deity involved, because he doesn't want to get his puny self smited, thank you. When living with gods who can make your life a living hell, Amos is going to play nice and mind his manners if it keeps his life pleasant.

"And you believe them?"

It's asked with genuine curiosity, not malice. Maketh has made no secret of her feelings on the matter. Not everyone shares them, of course.

"Since they've honored their promises an' Hope's been pretty straightforward with his answers, well, for now I'm believin' they tell the truth. Whether they actually are, I've got no way of knowin' yet. But I'll take it on faith 'till they prove me wrong."

Amos spreads his hands and rolls and elaborate shrug. Hell if he knows who's telling the truth or not. He has no way to tell. But the gods don't have to honor promises, and they are. They don't have to answer questions or interact with them, but they do.

Maketh considers this. "I suppose it's hard for me to take anything on faith. I assume they're lying. Why wouldn't they? They're not clever, but they want things."

They'll do whatever it takes.

"Everybody lies, baby. But go through the world expectin' the best outta people, even knowing the worst is more likely. You get the same response from people as to how you treat 'em, see? If you're respectful, you get respect. If you're honest, you'll get honesty."

That and while Amos knows human nature is wicked from the start, he prefers to believe people can act above their nature. It's too depressing otherwise. As for the gods in question, well, Amos will continue to hope for the best. What else can you do with gods?

That's an odd way to go about it, Maketh thinks. "I suppose it's worked well enough for you."

Amos grins broadly.

"So it has, darlin'."

He's alive and that's what counts.

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[Open] Friendly Fights

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