mental link, day 32

[headinjuries]

[ Sam crashed hard after the vigil, because between all the lies making him feel like he was going to puke and trying to pick them apart giving him one mother of a headache, staying awake felt like something you only do if you really hate yourself.

Do all newfound psychic powers suck this bad? He was fine with just flying and blowing things up, thanks. ]

( By the way, just figured everybody should know: Seong-Hye Ngazi is full of crap, the Public Safety Commission isn't half as gung-ho about bringing the bomber to justice as she makes it sound, and I'm like ninety percent she actually knows who did it, but that part I'm not quite positive about.

So, you know. In case anybody wanted to break into her office or stalk her or something. I hear some of you guys are actually good at the cloak and dagger stuff.

You're welcome. )

[ He can be found in the common area of the Bearings, scrolling through news reports and radiating pure frustration, if anyone would rather comment to his face instead of over the link. ]

Comments

[headinjuries]

[ - whoa, he's falling he's falling he's -

Ow. Come on, ground, he needs that face. ]

[batmotif]

[Sam will definitely be hearing Bruce's criticisms while he's pulling himself off the ground...]

Too predictable. Rushing in without thinking isn't going to work against someone who can read you like an open book.

[headinjuries]

[ He's grumpy. And frustrated. It's rolling off him even more intensely than usual. But he doesn't argue as he gets to his feet, even if he looks like he'd like to. ]

So how do I not be predictable.

[batmotif]

[Bruce can definitely feel that. He's having to make a mental effort to deflect it, walls coming up just enough so he doesn't borrow some of that frustration for himself. He even goes the extra mile to offer a bit of calm and focus to the boy, even though it clashes with Sam's impulsiveness.

He steps forward once Sam is to his feet, shaking his head.]

You learn to read your opponent, learn how they fight, learn how they expect you to react. [But that sort of higher level cognition is only achieved by mastering the basics, and so:] Let me see your stance.

[headinjuries]

[ He shuffles his feet back to where he had them before he tried to move in - left forward, right back, weight carried a little more backwards than forwards. ]

[batmotif]

[A right-handed stance, then, which would fall in line with Sam's previous punch. It's a good start, but only half of one.]

Arms up, knees bent. [come on dude]

[headinjuries]

[ sir yes sir

He gets his arms up and bends his knees. He's not quite sure how far, but there's a point that definitely feels more comfortable to stop at, so he'll assume that's it.

And hey, if he's off it's not like he won't know in like the next point five seconds anyway. ]

[batmotif]

[He'd be right about that, at least. Bruce doesn't hesitate to reach out and adjust Sam's arms; fists a little higher, elbows a little closer to his body, left forearm extended slightly more than the right. He gives the boy a moment to take in the adjustments, allow it to settle into memory.

But the moment is brief. Bruce steps back, shifting his weight and raising his own forearms, intending them to take the brunt of his next command.]

Now, hit me.

[headinjuries]

[ He's not sure it helps much with telegraphing what he's doing, but the change in his stance does help with building momentum, and it's noticeable to him the moment he starts moving.

Doing this with Nova's speed behind it could get pretty ridiculous.

But he doesn't have the helmet on, so he's only got his own speed - decent, he's more built for that than power, but not superhuman. ]

[batmotif]

[The telegraphing is a problem for later; let him get his form down first, Bruce thinks, and worry about something a little more advanced for the future.

Bruce's forearms certainly sturdy enough to take the hit, and every punch is silently critiqued in both weight and form.]

Is that all?

[Come on, Sam, he felt that frustration in you; redirect it, comes the thought, spilling past Bruce's mental barrier, free to echo in the teen's head.]

[headinjuries]

[ His forearms are probably like the size of Sam's thighs; he definitely doesn't need to worry about holding back.

And he's not, consciously, but then, he's had this conversation before, hasn't he? With the first clone, when he was sure the second one was stronger than him, and -

No, he's not. Stop holding back.

Nothing makes his temper flare up like thinking about that thing with his father's face, and in the next punch, it shows. ]

[batmotif]

[He doesn't have to even try for the image of... something, a face he doesn't recognize, flickering through his mind. Behind the self-imposed shield of his arms, Bruce frowns at an image that clearly isn't his.

At nearly the exact same moment, Sam's forceful punch connects, and it's a hard hit. The kind that may leave a bruise, but that's exactly what Bruce had been going for, for the teen to twist some of that carried frustration into motivation, to sharpen it into focus.

Granted, they're a long way before achieving that, but it's a good start.]

Good. [gasp, a compliment Bruce straightens from his defensive position, shaking out his left arm a bit, which had been hit by the brunt of the force.] Whatever it is you're keeping bottled up in there, turn it into something that you can use, like just now.

[headinjuries]

[ There's a flicker of surprise; he didn't think "good" was in Bruce's vocabulary.

But hey, he'll take it. ]

So, everything, basically.

[ It's delivered like sarcasm, although the underlying feeling is...actually fairly serious. ]

[batmotif]

[Bruce is observant enough to hear what's underlying that layer of sarcasm.]

Everything? [The smallest quirk of a brow, which says "explain". Talk about your frustrations, tiny Sam, else he may think you're exaggerating.]

[headinjuries]

Oh, right, I guess the parts where I'm tanking in school and and I've probably destroyed my social life kind of get cancelled out by the part where I might never see them again for that to keep being a problem, huh?

[ YES, EVERYTHING >:( ]

[batmotif]

[A brief pause follows as Bruce parses out what to say. These conversations aren't exactly always his strong suit.]

...How old are you, Sam?

[headinjuries]

Fifteen.

[ The perfect age to be prone to overdramatics, even if...yeah, there is an awful lot that's been going horribly for him. ]

[batmotif]

[Fifteen and overdramatics do seem to go hand in hand, even if Sam's situation may be a little out of the ordinary than most teens his age.

Still, it's hard not for Bruce to attempt to put it all in perspective.]

Everything seems worse than it is when you're fifteen. Everything feels more... out of control.

[At least that's something he can relate to, however long ago fifteen was.]

You'll grow out of it.

[headinjuries]

[ There are about a dozen flip retorts that come to mind, and that means Bruce can probably pick up on a few of them whether he says it or not, but Sam is trying to give that a fair shake.

Trying.

But sure, aliens cloned his dad and he nearly got expelled last year and his mom has two jobs but they still can't make a mortgage payment. Everything's under control.

What finally comes out isn't sarcasm, though. ]

When did you start doing it?

[ The vigilante thing, he means. ]

[batmotif]

[There's a marked hesitation before he responds, as he recalls mentioning not wanting to dwell on the subject. But, just as Sam beats back the temptation to make sarcastic remarks (he can feel every pulse of it), Bruce returns the effort with a sincere enough response. He knows exactly what Sam's asking.]

It's barely been a year and a half. At fifteen, you're certainly better equipped than I was at your age.

[And that's not Bruce trying to quell Sam's frustrations. It's mere fact.]

[headinjuries]

[ A year and a half. So he'd started when he was already...well, old, however old that is. Maybe that helps? Not that adults don't have obligations to handle too, but he's pretty sure if he were skipping out on a job instead of school, he'd just be getting straight up fired instead of the principal knocking on his door and asking pointed questions.

Although that doesn't really sound much better, when he thinks about it. ]

How do you keep it from getting in the way of everything else?

[batmotif]

[wow r u calling him old

Bruce's answer to that is simple, though likely not of much help.]

That isn't how it works. [Everything else is what gets in the way, comes the thought, too unyielding in its resolve to come from anyone other than Bruce. But that was a personal decision of his own, and he doesn't expect a fifteen year old to adopt it the same way he has.

And so, he tries again.] I have the rare advantage of being able to make my own schedule, often on my own time. [It doesn't always work out that way, but more often than not it provides a fair amount of leeway when it comes to vigilante work vs actually managing a business.] In the end, you just need to decide which is more important to you.

[That explains work, but he makes a point to not tread upon the discussion of family, hoping it's explanation enough for the boy.]

[headinjuries]

[ Sam always figured he didn't want to be a dropout like his dad. But he wants his dad back, too.

Is graduating really worth it if his dad is still stuck in some alien prison somewhere?

Would his dad want him to gamble his future on Earth to find him? ]

...that's like asking which foot I'd rather cut off.

[batmotif]

[There's a long silence. Bruce really isn't good at this kind of thing -- the advice he can give is too wildly skewed to his lot in life, to the cards that have been dealt to him throughout the years.

That, and Sam's thoughts are projecting, focused in on thoughts of his father. He sets his jaw. Family is a trickier notion, but Bruce finds it makes the answer even simpler. Would Sam be able to live with himself, not knowing the result of trying? Was a normal life worth the risk of losing a parent?

(A memory. Blood soaking through the cracks of pavement, against the backdrop of a cold, starless night. Bruce cuts it short, reels it back in as if on a leash, snapping it back into place. That does not belong outside of his head.)]

You... [A hitch in his words -- he tries again.] Would you live in regret, knowing that you didn't try?

[headinjuries]

[ That's an easy question, at least. ]

Yes.

[ He doesn't even have to stop to think about it. He'd regret everything. If it were only about finding his father, that would be easy.

But he's pretty sure his mother is starting to rethink her support of him trying, after one too many nights she never got to sleep worrying about what he was doing. His sister has cried all over him that she doesn't want him to go and not come back like their dad. They need him around to do his part to keep the household together, with their never-great income taking a hit from his father's disappearance. There are too many places he's needed and not enough of him to be in all of them.

And he's had enough close calls that he knows they're justified in worrying about it. ]