combat training mingle log

[policier]

characters: everyone
location: the village gymnasium
date/time: every wednesday & friday throughout october
content: at the town hall last month, javert offered to set up a place for combat training. this is him making good on his promise. as he mentioned in his bulletin ad, these sessions are open to absolutely everyone, not just those who want to learn how to fight. partner up with someone and spar. do whatever you want, just don't hurt each other too badly—or javert will have words with you.
warnings: violence

setup

The gym's certainly seen better days, with it's crumbling walls and lost ceiling tiles. Javert doesn't need it to be pretty, though. He only needs it to be functional. In the last week, he's been doing what he can to clean it up, washing the floors and making some minor structural repairs.

Once the first day of combat training begin, the day after the ferry sinks, it's as clean as it possibly can be without any sort of overhaul. There are mats set up along one end of the gym, for people to stretch or otherwise use for sparring, and a collection of swords near the door. Some are blunted and old, perfect for training — though they may still hurt — while others are sharp or unwieldy, and will need to be handled with care. Use them, Javert says, but return them when you are finished.

There's a tiny collection of knives, too, though there aren't any targets to practice throwing them at. It's a work in progress. For light, there's a torch set up along the wall, illuminating the room and allowing combatants to spread themselves out from one another.

meetings

For the sake of not being micromanagey, there isn't going to be any formal structure to these practices. Javert is available to teach hand-to-hand combat and swordsmanship, should anyone wish it. He's also enlisted the aid of Jason Grace, who will teach hand-to-hand and swordsmanship, and Bucky Barnes, who is proficient in knife fighting as well as hand-to-hand combat. Anyone else, of course, may teach others as they please. Just this once, Javert's not going to be a stickler for formalities. He just wants to see everyone making productive use of their time, in some fashion.

Training will run from seven o'clock to nine o'clock in the evening. Arrive promptly, or Javert will berate you for being disruptive. No one is required to come to every single meeting, so come as often or as little as you like. If regular exercise is supposed to help combat the effects of total darkness, why not give it a try?

Comments

javert | ota

[policier]

setting up

( Javert's there early before every class, getting everything set up and making himself available to those who wish to speak to him beforehand. He looks far less imposing dressed in only his shirtsleeves and trousers, his greatcoat and hat tossed to the side along with his lantern. He still cuts an intimidating figure, though, watching everyone as they come in, examining their appearance, and frowning at anyone that comes close. )

Yes? What is it? ( He may have volunteered to run these training sessions, but he's still not any good at being social, sorry. )

training

( He doesn't start each session with a speak or anything grandiose as that. He only asks if everyone has a partner or a group, and once it's confirmed that everyone does, he then orders everyone to get started. Javert may be on the sidelines watching, making sure no one's getting too rowdy. Other times, though, he may be partnered up with someone. In the case of the latter, he turns to the other fighter and asks, )

Do you wish to train with a sword or with your hands? ( It makes no difference to him. As it has been his entire life, he's only here to serve others. )

cool down

( Javert lingers long after training is over, collecting his things and sitting down on the bleachers to scribble down some notes. It's all written in French, with a pen and notebook he's taken from the general store, but it's information about each participant. What they're good at, and what their weaknesses are. He has notes of this sort about almost everyone in the town. It was his duty of his as an inspector to keep a detailed record of business owners and merchants, of vagabonds and suspicious men. He has not given up on this practice, even in death.

When someone draws nearer, he snaps the notebook shut and looks them, his brow scrunched together quizzically. )

setting up - first day

[worthallthis]

[The Soldier may not beat Javert here (or it may, who knows), but it shows up pretty early, and whenever it spots Javert it immediately approaches.

And stops just out of arm's reach, ducks its head, and waits. Like it's waiting for Javert to do something. (Technically, it's waiting for punishment. It fully expects punishment out of Javert for its part in the ferry crash. Even if Javert doesn't actually know about that part yet. Handlers are supposed to be all-knowing when it comes to mission actions like that, all right.)

You got a weird one, Javert, sorry.]

[policier]

( It doesn't take long for Javert to acknowledge him. He was just in the middle of laying out his swords, pulling them one by one from a makeshift bag. He looks up and gives the other man a questioning raise of his brow. )

You're here. Good.

( He has no idea that the Soldier was involved in the ferry crash. He hasn't had much time to investigate it, preoccupied as he was with trying to save supplies and people. And then later, trying not to relive that night on the Seine. He gets back up to his feet and smooths down the front of his shirt. )

I believe there's something you can help me with.

[worthallthis]

[Of course he doesn't know. That would honestly be hard to do, given the mess, how recently it happened, and how the Soldier doesn't talk much. But it still somehow thinks he must have found out. Perhaps the Soldier expects a little too much out of Javert, here.

It looks up a little through its hair, expectant. A little wary, because that doesn't sound like a punishment, but tasks are better than punishment, anyway.]

What can I do to help.

[policier]

Assist me in setting out these mats.

( He motions toward the thick plastic mats rolled up on one end of the gym. Javert normally wouldn't mind if the other man simply stood there silently. But this task will be easier if the two of them work together, in coordination. As he leads the Soldier over, he asks nonchalantly, )

Are you uninjured from the crash yesterday?

[worthallthis]

[Having defined tasks to do makes interactions easier, and helping is what the Soldier's here for. It doesn't need much instruction on laying out mats, at least, it's a fairly simple activity.]

I am unharmed. The arm shorted out after a few hours of diving, until someone could make repairs, but it is currently back at full functionality.

[There is the remains of a cut on his cheek, but it looks like it's been healed for three days rather than one, it's almost gone. Everything else was protected by the tactical gear or by being made of metal.]

Were you injured, sir?

[policier]

( That's good. Javert isn't so much worried about the Soldier's well-being as he is his ability to fight. It would do him no good to reaggravate his injuries. When he asks about Javert's wounds, though, the inspector looks down at the wrapping on his hand and huffs. )

I was, but it is nothing.

( It's more of an annoyance than anything. It will make holding a sword a bit more difficult, but that's nothing Javert can't handle. Before the Soldier can ask anything further, Javert interjects with, )

You shouldn't risk your life so, for just some supplies. We'd find a way to manage without.

cool down, idk some random day

[pure_havoc]

[Cao Pi only drifts in once or twice, not to practice and definitely not to learn, but to observe and calculate. There's an interesting spread of age ranges and skill levels around here, he likes to keep tabs on readiness.

He naturally waits until Javert is done and not busy before wandering over to chat.]

Your style is interesting. Very light on your feet, compared to some I've seen.

[policier]

Thank you, sir.

( He lowers his head, mostly out of respect but also partly because he wants to hide the prideful smile that spreads across his face. It might've been easier to do so had he had his hat. He reaches for the brim instinctively, stopping once he realizes it isn't there then continuing, unaffected. )

It is a discipline known as fencing. I learnt it when I was a young guard, at the bagne, though I never had much occasion to use it. It is good to get back in practice.

[pure_havoc]

[thanks to his sojourn in Orochi's world, Cao Pi has experience with things most of his countrymen would never even hear of - things that happen far in the future. Being here only stacks that experience.]

Is there a particular reason? Perhaps you've become more accustomed to firearms, or is it that you're lucky enough not to need a weapon on the streets of your land?

[policier]

I carried them with me, certainly. My pistols, my club, my sword. I just never much cared to use them.

( That's one of the things that set Javert apart from his cohorts — he never tried to hurt anyone. He got rough with them, certainly, dragging children by the ear and men by the collar, but he was never cruel. )

Words, I find, are often times more useful than a blade.

( As is scaring the shit out of people. That seems to work for even better. )

[pure_havoc]

Ah, yes. If only more conflicts were capable of being solved with words.

[sadly, when the neighboring kingdom really wants your land, talking isn't going to stop them]

How is the training going? Are you finding people capable of picking up the instruction?

[policier]

It is as you saw.

( He waves a hand toward the gym, which is steadily emptying. There are some that still linger behind, either to tend to their wounds or to converse, as they are. Javert pays them no mind, his attention fixated on the other man. )

There are not as many beginners as I had thought. I do not know if that is because we are, as a whole, more experienced, or if the inexperienced are simply not showing up because they are afraid.

( Maybe a bit of both. Javert doesn't seem overly bothered by it, though, shrugging it off by saying, )

Those that are here have shown promise. That is all I can say, for now.

cool down;

[originallutece]

[There are very few things that Rosalind is not instantly good at. It's not really her fault. She just absorbs things, soaking in new knowledge eagerly, always hungry for more. It was worse when she was younger, honestly, because nothing simple could keep her attention.

But now they've found something she's not good at. And it's honestly a bit of a bruise to her pride.

But it's physical, and she's never been good at that, not really. Oh, she can dance, and she's light on her feet, but she's no athlete. Her stamina is virtually nonexistent. So practice was . . .

It was a learning experience, and let's leave it at that.

Clad in trousers and a tank top, her hair tied back in something practical, she comes to sit near him. It's in part to wait for him to walk home, and honestly in part because she's still catching her breath.]

Je pense que nul autre que vous et moi parlons français, inspecteur.

[I think no one but you and I speak French, Inspector.]

What are you writing?

[policier]

( It's a skill that will come with practice. Javert has almost certainly assured her of that, should she ever find herself despairing about it. He's honestly a little afraid to see what she's going to be like once she does get the hang of it.

When he looks up and sees that it's her, he relaxes a bit and tosses his notebook open again, writing something down. )

Observations. ( He answers, and then, ) Il est utile de savoir de quoi les gens sont capables, si quelque chose se passait.

( It is useful to know what people are capable of, should something happen. He pauses a moment to look at her, and mutters softly, )

Your technique is improving.

[originallutece]

It would have to be, considering my baseline was nonexistent.

[It's wry, because she's well aware of her failings. But she'll learn. She knows she will. It's just the first time in a long time she wasn't instantly good at something.]

What notes do you have on me?

[policier]

( He flips back a few pages, searching for the sheet that bears her name. It's toward the beginning somewhere, as she was one of the first in Beacon that he'd met. )

Rosalind Lutece. ( He reads, flatly, ) Scientist. Proficient in quantum physics, but knowledgeable in any manner of science. Manages a laboratory in Bonfire Square, working on an indefinite number of projects I scarcely understand and therefore do not ask about. She has experience with first aid, specifically that of wound treatment and caretaking of the sickly.

( He looks up at her, then, almost as if he's trying to gauge her approval before continuing, )

Combat skills, both unarmed and armed, are lacking, though she is determined to better herself. Has been attending training regularly. Low stamina. Better than average footwork.

( There's more, but that's the basic jist of it. Nowhere on these pages are there any personal notes, or secrets told in confidence, as Javert would rather keep those close to his chest. )

I thought it best to keep a record of people's skills. You approve of it?

[originallutece]

I do.

[It's flattering in parts, but not falsely so. Matter-of-fact, which is always admirable, and certainly not dishonest. Wryly, then:]

I'm thirty-six, if you'd like to add that.

[policier]

Are you? ( He wonders. Sometimes women lie about their age, God knows why. Javert simply looks at her, then answers dryly, )

That would make you sixteen years younger than me. Perhaps more, if we're going by a timeline. I was born in 1780.

a late pre-event thing, don't look at me

[darkeyed]

<sub>[He'd been making use of the rec center long before an idea to hold fight school solidified into an organized effort, so to see the gymnasium portion gradually cleared and filled with novices is a mildly interesting process to observe.

At the town meeting he hadn't offered to take part for a reason, but watching from the sidelines is no great commitment on his part, and it allows him to see who actually seems serious about doing the work. Only after watching several of these sessions does he circle around the outskirts so as not to interrupt the people on the floor and stop by Javert.]</sub>

You told me you could fight, before. I think it's time you finally proved yourself. What do you say?

_{[Who needs casual hellos when there are casual challenges instead.]}

[policier]

( Javert's never been one for exchanging pleasantries, so that suits him just fine. He's seen the younger man hovering in the corners of the gym, watching the students, but until now, he's never had much of a reason to approach him. The question draws a terrible smirk out of him — indeed, he does remember making such a claim, and he's certainly willing to back it up. )

I assure you, I would not lie about such a thing.

( Which is to say, yes, he'll fight. Lord knows he could use the practice, and the challenge. And because he can't help being cheeky, )

Perhaps we shall see if you can live up to your words as well.

( That he is a better fighter than Javert. If that is true, then perhaps we won't have any need to hold back. )

[darkeyed]

<sub>[He snorts dryly. That's funny, coming from someone he doubts would last two minutes against the kind of senior clipper who'd normally be giving these lessons to colts back home, let alone an activated dark one.

It's not Javert's fault; he's found himself thinking it more and more of the people he's mentally catalogued as belonging to the old world. The people who seem entirely ill-equipped for hardship, who complain about the Invincible not having their favorite food, who walk around with soft hands and--of all the things--guns in their holsters, but claim the most authority to build a community. Soft, spoiled, naive people.

Arrogant? Maybe. But he's had plenty of time to make his own observations about Beacon and the people who've washed up on its shores, and next to the average skill level in the Badlands, anyone looking to make the majority into a comparative fighting force would cry.

He nods to an open space, backing into it so that he faces the man with a suitable amount of distance between them for maneuvering.]</sub>

Talk is cheap. Most of the spirits are little better than wild animals, and anyone can skin an animal. An actual fight is different.

_{[Then, as if reading Javert's mind, with a trace of needling amusement:]}

Don't worry, I'll hold back.

_{[Okay, maybe a lot arrogant. But he's in the mood to pick a fight and he doesn't like the thought of unskilled warriors teaching others. He'll despise Sunny until the day he dies (for good this time), but he doesn't question that Sunny's ruthless lessons have kept him alive. Sunny's still one of the best fighters he's ever seen.]}

Hands or blades? Your choice.

[policier]

Is that going to be your excuse for when you lose?

( He flashes the younger man a terrible grin. Arrogance, it seems, is a trait that they both share. Javert may not be confident in much these days — not with his mind still in torment, uncertain about the difference between right and wrong — but he is confident in this, at the very least. He knows what he can do with a blade, and how he can defend himself with his fists. It's familiar, and that makes him comfortable.

He takes up one of the blunted swords and tosses a similar one toward M.K. With the blade pointed at him, he circles him, that smirk never once leaving his face. )

I wish to see you at your best. There is little point in us doing this otherwise.

[darkeyed]

<sub>[Blades it is, then.

He snorts, as one does when someone fibs for a jest--like saying the sky is green and the grass is blue. His conceit is such that he doesn't even consider it a serious remark. Nothing so far has suggested he could rival Sunny, the Widow, or Pilgrim--and they had been hard. Hard teachers. Harder opponents.]</sub>

Someone using dull swords doesn't have room to talk.

<sub>[Training swords for training purposes, as makes sense when working with novices. But still. The Badlands had run on a very simple philosophy--the quickest way to make your point is to do it at the end of a blade that you intend to use. Anything less than fighting to draw blood is just playfighting.

But playfighting will do. He's not aiming to hurt, so when he snatches the blade from the air, it's with a shake of his head.]</sub>

You couldn't handle me at my best. Besides, it's your best I'm interested in.

[policier]

Very well.

( He doesn't intend to hurt, either. Killing each other, injuring each other, none of that serves any purpose. If the spirits were to attack them again tomorrow, Javert does not wish for them to be encumbered by such needless pain.

But if the boy wishes to see him at his best, then Javert shall not disappoint him. Perhaps it may humble him, being smacked around by someone he deems beneath him. The inspector takes his stance, feet planted and sword extended toward M.K. )

We shall have to find out.