Harold Krebs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lifewithnoconsequence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-08-15 03:12 pm
lifewithnoconsequence) wrote in thecapitol2014-08-15 03:12 pm
Entry tags:
Washing off the rust
Who | Harold wants YOU for the Marines
What | Attempting to train
Where | Training room
When | After everything quieted down from the arrests/at night
Warnings/Notes | Possible bad memories
Harold knew he needed to get into better shape than he currently was. Just sleeping and walking would do absolutely nothing for him if he didn't add practice to it. The only problem was that he did not want anything to do with fighting, weapons or warfare anymore. Krebs just did not; such things left a very horrendous taste in his mouth.
But he was expected to fight, to survive. Otherwise there maybe dire consequences. Now Harold himself did not necessarily fear Death anymore. All men must die, and everything always comes to an inevitable end. But he also knows that there are far worse fates than just death. So, he came to the training area at a time when he figured next to no one would be there. He couldn't deal with people, especially not now.
Even if the targets were just imaginary people, the weapons and tools felt all too real in his hands. The last thing he wanted was to have someone see him hack apart a training dummy. But what to choose? There were no rifles available. Sure the spear was close to a gun with a fixed bayonet, but it still did not feel right in his hands. Not the way that a rifle does, spears just don't have the weight to them.
So he went on towards the knives. Something he was more familiar with. There was all kinds on display, but one did stick out to him plain as day. A "Knuckle Duster", that brought back memories. To see such a knife here was rather shocking, they were becoming increasingly rare to see back home as production was halted after the war. Sure he had seen a few veterans keep one as a souvenir, but to see them here? Quite the shock for Harold.
Reaching a shaking hand forward to grasp the knife, it fit just like a glove. The familiar weight of it came back to him, as well as the many implications of it's use that he had been taught.
It was time to see if the memories stuck with him.
Approaching a nearby dummy, he sank into a combat ready stance, with the hand holding the knife being used as the one to strike forward. And strike forward he did. With a resounding smack that echoed throughout the room, causing the dummy to almost be tossed back and fall over from the weight of the blow. A clear indentation was now visible on it, along with a series of smaller ones where the spikes on the knuckle had impacted.
"To slow, not enough strength." He muttered to himself. Still, that was why Harold was doing this.
What | Attempting to train
Where | Training room
When | After everything quieted down from the arrests/at night
Warnings/Notes | Possible bad memories
Harold knew he needed to get into better shape than he currently was. Just sleeping and walking would do absolutely nothing for him if he didn't add practice to it. The only problem was that he did not want anything to do with fighting, weapons or warfare anymore. Krebs just did not; such things left a very horrendous taste in his mouth.
But he was expected to fight, to survive. Otherwise there maybe dire consequences. Now Harold himself did not necessarily fear Death anymore. All men must die, and everything always comes to an inevitable end. But he also knows that there are far worse fates than just death. So, he came to the training area at a time when he figured next to no one would be there. He couldn't deal with people, especially not now.
Even if the targets were just imaginary people, the weapons and tools felt all too real in his hands. The last thing he wanted was to have someone see him hack apart a training dummy. But what to choose? There were no rifles available. Sure the spear was close to a gun with a fixed bayonet, but it still did not feel right in his hands. Not the way that a rifle does, spears just don't have the weight to them.
So he went on towards the knives. Something he was more familiar with. There was all kinds on display, but one did stick out to him plain as day. A "Knuckle Duster", that brought back memories. To see such a knife here was rather shocking, they were becoming increasingly rare to see back home as production was halted after the war. Sure he had seen a few veterans keep one as a souvenir, but to see them here? Quite the shock for Harold.
Reaching a shaking hand forward to grasp the knife, it fit just like a glove. The familiar weight of it came back to him, as well as the many implications of it's use that he had been taught.
It was time to see if the memories stuck with him.
Approaching a nearby dummy, he sank into a combat ready stance, with the hand holding the knife being used as the one to strike forward. And strike forward he did. With a resounding smack that echoed throughout the room, causing the dummy to almost be tossed back and fall over from the weight of the blow. A clear indentation was now visible on it, along with a series of smaller ones where the spikes on the knuckle had impacted.
"To slow, not enough strength." He muttered to himself. Still, that was why Harold was doing this.