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« open » how does using your hands to fight even work

Who| Sollux & whoever!
What| Look at this nerd trying to train.
Where| The training center.
When| Late evening/early night? Like a day after his intro maybe.
Warnings/Notes| No warnings, but if you want me to not type out his lisp in replies to you, let me know and I can do so!

Believe it or not, you cannot sulk life's problems away. Sollux had tried after his initial, angry post to the network, having holed himself up his room for the majority of his time. Any trips out were quick, with district mates ignored (past the initial one Dave had drug him on), and to the point. He hadn't even left his floor yet. But the main problem remained.

He was stuck here, for worse - there was no 'for better' when he was subject to an impending murder game - and he had not the faintest clue how to get out of it. Had he his psionics, he was sure he could have blasted a way out and fled wherever the hell he wanted to. Instead, their absence left him with a cloying sense of weakness, of powerless futility.

It extended beyond his new living situation. Being stuck in a building with the other tributes was one thing, but what about when the so-called Hunger Games happened? He'd have nothing to fight with. No way to fly out of harm or catch anything headed his way, no lasers to blast or psychic powers to throw things for him. He'd have to rely on his own body, his own hands, and it felt fantastically hopeless to try to imagine them serving him well.

Still, if he went in without learning anything, it would help him no more.

It was that thought that on the second evening finally pushed him from floor nine. Grumbling, unhappy, he headed on down to the training center, where he... promptly shuffled around. He'd never used a weapon directly; he'd had no need. Heavy things were out of the picture. Projectiles might be easier, and under that line of thought he eventually found himself some throwing knives and a target. It was awkward: he was unpracticed, and aiming with an arm was a bit different from aiming things with his mind. It didn't help that being a psychic nerd didn't lead to much in the muscle department.

Ultimately he'd be hard to miss: grey skin couldn't be that normal, and even among trolls his eyes (one solid red, the other solid blue, behind matching shades) and double set of horns would stand out. Now and then a soft curse would hiss under his breath, sibilants marred by the lisp his large fangs caused.

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There's an odd sight a few targets down from him. Another nerdy looking guy is throwing things at a target, and hitting about one out of every three. After every miss, he knelt down and wrote something on a few scraps of paper at his feet.

He seems to be doing some sort of calculations, lost a bit in his own world. For now.

For the most part Sollux has been trying to ignore the people around him. Thinking too much on them brings to mind the thought of potentially facing them down, which is not the most comforting when he's trying to figure out the right force to throw with.

The thing is, the noise of someone else's knives thunking into a target or clattering to the floor is a bit distracting. He can't help glancing over once, twice--and noticing, on the second time, that the guy is actually taking notes. Would that help? He looks to his knives, then to his target, but really, where would he even start? All the nerdy things he could rattle off normally have very, very little to do with flinging sharp objects at softer targets.

And for a bit, he lets it go. He can keep trying his own way, right? Surely he'll... continue to feel completely lost, really. He lets out a sigh, pushes his shades up the bridge of his nose, and heads a target or two closer. It's further than normal conversation distance, but he'd rather not get too close to someone throwing knives around.

"Do you have any idea how to not thuck athh at thith?"

Joshua's startled out of his thoughts, the knife he was currently throwing embedding itself in the furthest ring of the target.

"Oh, um. Yes and no? I mean, I use perhaps a bit too much physics in trying to work it out, but I've studied projectiles and angles for years." He pauses. "And I know I sound like the world's biggest nerd, sorry. It's about all I'm really good at."

Yes, he knows he'll end up in a death arena, but at the moment, he doesn't care. "If you know math, I can show you some of my notes. No fucking clue if they're helping, but it makes me feel better."

He's babbling, trying to calm himself down.

Sollux snorts. "Thayth one nerd to another. If I could code a program to throw for me I'd have thith thing won."

Still, the apology combined with the obvious jitters set him at ease, swinging the balance the other way. If this guy's as unsure about this as he is, it makes it easier somehow. Plus, another nerd. He's in good company.

"Not my thpecialty," he says, shrugging, "but it can't hurt at thith point. At leatht you're..."

'Human', he was going to say, but he realizes he has no clue what abilities they naturally have.

"Actually, do humanth have thionicth?"

There's a bit of a smile on Joshua's face. "Hell, if I could just math it out, I'd be through before anyone else could even figure out the equations."

He shrugs. "Well, I can show you a bit, and if it starts going over your head, let me know. It's one way to do it. There's also the possiblity that I'm full of shit."

"Psionics? Not that I know of. We have some wierd shit back home that imitates that, but not anything real.

A pause. "I should introduce myself. I'm Joshua Donovan."

Sollux snickers, baring more of his teeth than what shows to begin with.

"If you're full of shit it can't make me much worthe than I already am. I'll have a look." He holds out his hand.

"But thee," he says, "that'th good for you. You're uthed to having to throw thtuff with your actual handth. I'm trying to map my weird brain powerth to my prongth and it'th not working when I can't keep control of the knife onthe it'th out of my grathp."

And at the introduction he nods. "Thollukth Captor. Uh, with an ethh, not tee-aich, tho don't copy my lithp becauthe I already had one athhole do that to me."

To say the very least, Eridan wasn't exactly happy Sollux was here.

Perhaps he mused over the idea of killing him in the arena, stomping out his oversized fangs, or finding some other gruesome way to kill him (it wasn't like he was exactly limited on ideas, he had quite the imagination when it came to violence!), but the fact that the worhtless sack of bile was still breathing was getting under Eridan's skin.

He didn't like the situation he had been tossed into regardless, but now that he had further foulness to stink up the place. It left an awful taste in his mouth, to be honest.

Then, as fate would have it, as he made a trip to the training center, Sollux was there. He didn't actually intend on training at all, instead just going for a walk, maybe he'd entertain himself watching some of the greasy humans trying to hone their skills, but no.

Oh fortuitous was this crossing of paths, and he could feel his digestive sack twist with displeasure. The only comfort he had was the fact Sollux looked utterly pathetic over there, tossing knives at a target with laughable aim.

And laugh he did. All the way over there, loud, obnoxious, and overbearing. True Eridan style. He only stopped the absurd guffawing once he was over there, though he kept a good distance. Sollux might not be able to throw to save his life, but he could very easily stab Eridan. A turn out Eridan wasn't too keen on having.

"What the hell are you doin', seriously? You think throwin' some shitty kniwes is gonna help you any once the arena happens?" He sounded so smug, the smarm was thick enough to cut.

"News flash, double horn: pathetic kniwes an' piss-poor aim ain't gonna sawe you."

Excuse you! Aim was not so much the problem, not entirely. He could envision the way it needed to sail just fine, and had he his psionics, it would be easy to prove as much. It wad the issue of making his arm mimic them that was difficult. Even envisioning from the rough height of his hand mid-throw took the process of making his arm throw right to get it all to work. Finding the proper force to use was another issue. It felt, at its worse moments, like being told to write a sentence using a spoon.

It was not a process improved by the addition of fish.

"I'm learning that I thuck and am going to die horribly no matter what I do," he deadpanned, before throwing another knife. It sunk before it could hit the target. "Fuck off."

Eridan watched as the knife left Sollux's prong, sinking to an inevitable crash against the floor, depressingly far from the target. Or hilariously. A little of both. Eridan's gaze went back to the double-horned troll not far from him. His expression smug as ever.

"So you're wastin' time chuckin' kniwes just for the hell of it?" He questioned, glancing at the target again, before looking back to Sollux. This was just sad, really.

"How about this -- since we both realize you're fuckin' doomed the second you step hoof into that arena -- I'll cull you. I'll ewen make it swift," his tone was saying otherwise, "that way you will at least get a more glorified death wia your hemospuperior cullin' your worthless husk, instead a you, I dunno, trippin' ower a rock an' dyin' from impact."

He could dice the target to splinters if only he had the power to. But he was getting closer! He was trying, in his way, to figure things out gradually instead of just chucking the knives as hard as he could. He wasn't here to hit anyone else with them, not yet. Trying to learn from his mistakes should have served better than just 'toss until it hit right'.

With a look around to check that no one was throwing anything nearby, he stepped out past his table to gather the fallen knives. "How about," he said, not looking at him, "I jutht go up to the nearetht perthon and athk them firtht? You couldn't kill me when you had a legendary lather rifle helping you. At leatht thith way I'll have a chanthe of dying."

Edited 2014-08-12 18:17 (UTC)

Eridan could do a whole lot with his powers too, but as it was, they were powerless, and Sollux was far wose off than Eridan. The benefits of not being a worthless lazy nerd who stayed in all night and day. Hope you're regretting your life choices, Sollux.

"Oh my god, Sol that was forewer ago an' I relinquished my legendary as fuck gun for my amazin' as fuck, kickass powers a hope. Which I used to totally serwe you your freakish dual-horns on a platter." He sounded as proud as he did pompous. In other words, the norm. How far back was Sollux, honestly? He hadn't thought to ask, but at least now he has a window of time to go by, to figure it out without asking.

"So beliewe me, Sol. Killin' you will be as simple as a lowblood's thought process. Won't ewen break a sweat."

Not really. He just took it as yet more evidence of how doomed he was.

Besides, regretting life choices was a subject far from mind when Eridan went on about shit he'd never heard of. Sollux's eyebrows scrunched in, and he stood back up to look his way.

"What the shell are you talking about? You never therved me anything but the waft of your chum breath." His knives all gathered, he headed back to the table. "You realithe making shit up ithn't going to intimidate me, right? And I wathn't kidding: I'd thooner have thomeone elthe off me than have it be you."

Eridan rolled his eyes at Sollux's retort. He wasn't surprised, but whatever. It meant he got to be the bearer of bad news. How exciting!!

"Wow, stupid, did it ewen occur to you that maybe I'm from further on the timeline than you? But I guess I shouldn't expect you to do critical fuckin' thinkin', since your sponge is polluted with that mustard slime you call blood." He watched Sollux as he moved to the table with the kniwes. He felt uneasy about Sollux being armed, but he was confident that Sollux knew better than to try to assault him. Eridan would stab those knives into his freakish eyes if he had to. The thought was tempting, honestly.

"Further down the timeline I kick your ass an' make a right fuckin' mess a some a you, if you don't beliewe me ask anyone else who's here from our group," but then it dawned on him only one such person was here from what he knew and... Terezi's in jail, fuck.

"Ask Ter when or if she gets released for bein' a filthy rebel. She'd be glad to tell you how 'awful' I am, an' amazin' I am at totally wreckin' your shit."

Edited 2014-08-12 19:49 (UTC)

That? That was it? Sollux snorted as he unloaded the knives, and from there the sound grew into full on laughter.

"Oh my god, yeth," he snickered out. "Pin your proof on the one perthon who ithn't here to anthwer anything at all. I'm shivering in my hoof cathingth already. How hard do I have to kithh your athh to win merthy? I'm completely terrified, bro!"

Now he took a knife in hand and aimed. This was completely pathetic, and the boost in mood gave a boost in confidence. If Eridan couldn't even make a convincing lie to scare him with, why should he be worried about him at all? Now then--he threw quick and sharp.

"Yeth!" It landed short again, but the arc of flight was better, and it fell closer than what he'd thrown before.

Edited 2014-08-12 20:06 (UTC)

"Ain't my fault that the only one who knows got herself locked up. Besides, who said I was tryin' to scare you with tellin's a what the future holds? Just statin' the facts, nothin' dramatic." He said with a nonchalant tone. Utterly unbothered by Sollux's reaction. What was there to be bothered by, really? Sollux was choosing to remain ignorant, so whatever. He'd find out soon enough.

"You know, though. You're relyin' on the fact you had a fluke against me with your powers to feel like you got any right to downtalk my abilities, but you don't got any now. An' I'we killed hundred, if not thousands a trolls who were far more worthy a their lot in life than you are--" he was interrupted as Sollux got owerly excited over missing the target again. How embarrassing.

"Anyway, point is this: there ain't nothin' protectin' you once we're in the arena, and I don't need a gun or powers to snap that twiggy neck a yours. No manner a trainin' will prepare you for what I will do, and what you'll be utterly helpless to stop."

Sollux only half-listened as Eridan went on. It followed the line of what he expected: a bunch of empty to crap to fill him full of hot air. He put greater attention on what lay before him, taking another couple tosses in the meanwhile. The second managed to clip the bottom of the target.

Only once it sounded like Eridan had finished did Sollux look up.

"Do you hear thomething?" he asked, cocking his head, looking around. Knife out of his hands, he reached up to pluck off his shades as though to clear his vision. "It thoundth almotht like thomething buthhing, like a bunch of beeth..."

He turned toward Eridan, looking down again to the glasses in his hands. "Becauthe all I hear," and he pushed them back on, "is a bunch of bee-ethh."

The grin on his face was no less than shit-eating.

Edited (forgot the lisp on a word) 2014-08-13 21:16 (UTC)

Eridan watched Sollux as he acted like he heard something, really put into the performance too. Enough to make Eridan glance around too, but he didn't hear much more than the other people in the training area.Which, it would be weird, he thought, for Sollux to pick up something before him. Not that Sollux was hard of hearing, but Eridan's ears were particularly sensitive to sound vibrations thanks to his fins.

So when Sollux looked back to him, turning really, Eridan stared at him expectantly, waiting for some explanation--

He should have known.

Perhaps he did, somewhere in the back of his mind, know Sollux was trolling, and yet he fell for it like a fucking chump. It was almost more sad than Sollux's knife throwing attempts.

Without much to say, Eridan stared at Sollux for a few silent moments, looking utterly unimpressed, unamused, and done. But perhaps he wasn't quite done with Sollux, even if he was done with his stupid puns. In the next moment, Eridan was closing the distance between them, and with a swift horizontal arc of his hand, he aimed an open-palmed smack to Sollux's ugly, overcrowded mouth.

That was clearly the mature response here.

Edited 2014-08-13 21:39 (UTC)

Sollux, meanwhile dissolved into snickering. That pun was spot on. Eridan couldn't even reply, could he? That only added onto the hilarity, and unfortunately meant he didn't realize what was coming until it was too late to avoid it.

His head turned to the side, eyes squeezing shut in a wince. Did Eridan seriously just smack him over a joke? Was his precious ego that fragile? It wasn't that bad at its base, more a sharp sting and some crooked glasses than anything lasting, but the scale of the response struck him more. A growl built in his throat, and as he whipped back it came with a swing of his fist, aimed for his stupid finned face.

"Go fuck yourthelf!"

Spot on for someone with a lame sense of humor, maybe!

Regardless, Eridan was expecting a retaliation, it wasn't like the smack was strong enough to stun Sollux, so it was only natural. When Sollux flung that fist at him, Eridan was ready to move, though not quite fast enough. It caught his cheek just barely (hitting his fin more than anything), but still enough to hurt. With an audible csssssttt through fangs, Eridan reached out to grab at the front of Sollux's shirt, his other hand tightly curled into a fist. Ready to swing it whether he made purchase with his snatch or not.

Sollux wasn't about to get away with punching him like that, it was about time Eridan got to kick his worthless ass. Not that there wasn't a voice in the back of his head reminding him about the threat of the power rangers, and that he might get locked up if he wasn't too careful. But in this fit of ~~boyrage~~ anger, he wasn't caring all too much.

Sollux didn't even try to dodge. As Eridan's hand closed on his shirt, he stepped forward, intending to slam his head forward in a headbutt. Instead he got a faceful of ring-bearing fist. He may as well have painted a welcome sign across his forehead for the good it did him.

The sound of pain was instant. His hands both came up, shoving, trying to push Eridan away as he pulled his head back. The rings had made the punch that much worse, giving more solid points of impact without accounting for the small cuts the sharper points had made. Worse, he could taste blood in his mouth from where his inner cheek had been forced up against his teeth.

"Fuck!" And for his trouble, Eridan might get sprayed with bloody spittle. "Get away from me!"

Oh how that hit was satisfying.

He was nearly grinning when his fist connected, not that it didn't hurt. A hard skull against his knuckles wasn't a good feeling for his hand, but it certainly fluffed his ego. Not that that needed any more fluffing.

As Sollux's hands came up, shoving at Eridan, he allowed himself to stumble back, getting a disgusting spray of revolting yellow blood on his shirt. He looked down at it in disgust, nose crinkling, but then he looked to Sollux, who had gotten out of his grasp.

Then he remembered the ~~peacekeepers~~ power rangers, and he decided that was enough for now.

"Fine, I got bigger ships to sink as is. We can finish this in the arena, where this sorta thing is proper." Kind of odd for Eridan to back down, but he knew the risks of continuing. He did know limits. Sometimes.

Sollux backed up a step or two and rose his arms, forming his hands back into fists. His stance was poor, that of someone plainly unused to fist fights, but it didn't matter much to him. What did was how Eridan - stayed away from him? He wasn't going to strike again?

His posture tensed, not trusting him, then Eridan spoke.

Ah.

The arena. Of course. If they got too involved here, then what? Sollux knew he was fated to die a second time, but that didn't mean he wanted to rush it. His fists loosened and his arms lowered, and though his posture changed it remained defensive.

"Fine. The arena, then."

"I hope you'll be more prepared for your horn-handin' then. Better train up hard," Eridan gloated with due arrogance, "see you then, slime."

He watched Sollux for a moment, enjoying the view of the mustard blood being so jostled. His mind wandering to what he might look like once in the arena, once Eridan was able to serve him proper. It'd be like fine art, he figured.

With a grip on his cape, he turned dramatically, whirling his cape behind him. God he was such a badass, Sollux had no chance against him.

Edited 2014-08-25 17:43 (UTC)

Sollux snarled under his breath, but said no more. The fight was on hold and there was no further reason to drag it out. Still, he held his glare for as long as Eridan watched.

Did he really have to do a twirl with his cape, though? What a tool.

Still, this meant he was leaving, and once he was gone Sollux could refocus on what he'd been doing.

Leah hadn't touched a weapon. Okay, except for the throwing knives, she liked those. Small and light and less messy when used from a distance. Eventually she noticed she wasn't alone in the training center anymore, someone else joined in.

A grey skinned boy with horns and glasses of a rather funky variety. One that probably has never touched a weapon in his life, hence the clumsiness and the frustrated hisses from time to time.

"You know that there are more deadly objects than just weapons, right?" Leah leans against the wall, her arms crossed, the expression on her face completely neutral.

Sollux had ignored this woman on the way in, and had continued to do so as he set to trying out the knives. If he had his way, he'd continue doing so up until his self-decided training session ended, but that didn't seem to be in the cards.

When she calls out, he lowers the knife he has in his hand and looks back. Humans - of course it's some human - and he can't tell a thing either way from her expression.

"Technically thpeaking, yeth, but not anything I have here to help me," he answers, looking back at the target. He squints, trying to better judge the distance of his last throw versus the distance of the target. "If you mean to help, enlighten me. Otherwithe thcrew off."

"Now don't be rude," Leah retorts, watching his practice with a fair amount of amusement. "I am told it would benefit my position to make friends here, thus I shall refrain from pointing out that you have no skill with knives whatsoever."

The boy has a lisp too, how unfortunate. According to the books she read such a thing would mean a one way ticket to bully-hell.

She points at the small place where they taught their tributes to make fires.
"Fire can be deadly. Spread it well and it might burn many."

"Go choke on a bulge," he snaps back. Being polite on command is not really his thing. "I already know I'm shit. That'th why I'm here, trying to learn, tho I can maybe die lethh immediately."

Now though he turns from the table properly. If she's going to trying to engage in conversation it's not going to help his concentration. Particularly if passive aggressive barbs are her deal.

Fire, though? He looks where she points, his eyebrow raised, only to frown. It may be useful to know there's a spot like that among everything - he hadn't noticed in his focus on weapons - but right now, he's only irritated.

"Do you think I'm a two thweep wiggler or jutht plain pan thtunted? I know what fucking fire ith, thankth, and I've made uthe of it plenty when it wath a natural part of the environment to take advantage of." His arms fold tight over his chest. "Are you going to offer any real advithe or ith thith jutht thome vehicle to inthult my competenthe?"

Have no fear, Sollux. One of your districtmates was here! Still practicing on the bow and arrows, and now, finally, he was hitting a bullseye more often than not.

It only took him two years. Two years. He was here for--no, no, he didn't have to dwell on it. The new troll looked like he needed help.

"...Hey. What are you doing?"

Sollux looked up as soon as he heard the voice, but what he saw had him staring. Was that... Was that a giant shellbeast? Did it just talk to him? But then again, who said humans were the only other species here? He knew full well there were more in existence; he hadn't come from a spacefaring race for nothing.

Still, being a turtle didn't account for lack of observational skills.

Frowning, Sollux motioned to the table and out, where fallen knives spotted the floor between him and a largely unscathed target. "What doeth it look like?"

Oh, he was watching. He crossed his arms and shrugged.

"Looks like you're missing the target. How are you throwing those?"

"With my handth," he answered, frown deepening. He wasn't stupid enough to think that's how this guy had meant it, but the interruption and note at his misses didn't endear him. "And I'm not blind yet, thankth. I can plainly thee my own fuckupth."

"That's the problem," Don replied, ignoring the sarcasm as he picked up a throwing knife. As with the bow and arrow, moreso than the bow and arrow, he'd been practicing with them for many months. "you're not throwing it right. Yeah, you use your hand at the end stage, but its not the entire apparatus. You're only using the strength of your wrist that way. You need to back up your throw with the strength of your arm."

With that, he raised his arm back, and let it release half-arc. Not a bulls-eye, but close enough to the center to make his point.

"Like that."

Sollux's lip curled at the reply, but he held off on any snarky reply when he saw the guy pick up a knife. If he wanted to demonstrate so bad, he was welcome to it. Still, he didn't expect an actual explanation. Watching the throw that followed proved the validity; his gaze followed the knife to its landing point on the target.

When he looked back, it was with eyebrows drawn together. "Why are you helping me?"

Huh. Why was he helping? The answer was simple, wasn't it?

"...I didn't see anyone else doing it. We need to help each other out when we can, right? Going it alone is...a bad idea."

Edited 2014-08-18 14:07 (UTC)

The answer he gets doesn't do a thing to smooth the look on his face.

"But I don't know you," he protests. "What do you get out of helping me when one of uth ith going to have to die anyway?"

Well, time to tell the truth.

"I don't get anything out of helping you," he admitted. "Only you get something out of it, honestly. Its just something...I'm able to do."

Edited 2014-08-19 19:15 (UTC)

"I don't get it." He looked back out to the target, to the spot where the turtle's knife had struck. "You realithe if you jutht go helping anyone who lookth like they need it, one might turn around and thtab you in the back eventually, right? And don't tell me life ith like that; thith ith different when we all have to kill or be killed like thith."

"I know," Don replied. "On the other hand...death is..."

He trailed off for a moment, before shrugging.

"Death is cheap, here. They can usually revive you after each arena."

Edited 2014-08-24 17:40 (UTC)

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« open » how does using your hands to fight even work

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he's such a grump

the grumpiest

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