station72 | mental link

[ someone's up and awake again. Not so tired sounding, though. This time, she's remembered to go and eat before she reaches out to the rest of the hive. ]

( Is anyone in the Bearings that can give me an update on what I've... missed? As much detail as possible.

If it were safer, I might suggest we start keeping more accessible records for these... interludes. )

[ She's not fond of this not knowing everything all the time ever. Which on the note of: she sighs, little echoing tumbling thought that is edged with frustration. ]

( And... does anyone what kind of tricks lions should do? Are they meant to be predators? Are they meant to be tamed?

.... Actually, does anyone know what a lion is? I'm starting to realise I don't know very much about animals if they aren't trying to eat you. Which isn't particularly useful, right now. )

[ ... and for anyone looking for Angel, she will be with a strew of mechanical parts around her that is half in her room, half in the corridor for her shiny new, tackely bright gold performing robotic lion. ]

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[She arrives sooner than he'd expected, but it isn't an unwanted interruption. His saber's locked away in Hux's secure cabinets (Anakin's remaining at his hip) before he moves for the door to Hux's apartment, unlocking it only for the sake of moving past Angel out into the hallway itself.]

To the roof. Away from interruption.

[A distance to at least separate them from the cacophony that is the Nest in part if not in whole. When he moves, it's clear enough that he expects her to follow.]

Sure.

[ Waits for him to finish what he's doing, and lets him go ahead of her - or rather, tall as he is, the length of his stride outstrips her easily. Just as bad as Hux really, and she skips the every couple of steps to keep up him easily. He wasn't the kind to slow down for much, either. ]

[He wasn't, and he never will be— at least not for anyone that isn't Cathaway herself. It takes him little time to climb the stairwell leading up, purposefully bypassing the lift: they'll likely need the warmup if she wants to physically exert herself, and knowing her (as he does by now) he imagines she does.]

We'll start with hand-to-hand combat.

[Simple enough, even for her.]

[ It is, and alright so maybe a month sleeping hadn't exactly left her as being particularly fit. But she makes sure to take the stairs at speed, even if it does leave her out of breath. Going up them as quickly as she can before they reach the top and catches her breath.

Flying definitely was quicker than that. ]

Yes, sir. Are we starting with strikes again?

If you remember them.

[Said, unsurprisingly, as a challenge as he lifts his fists to guard the sloping set of his features. They'd only covered simple strikes: jabs, blocks, a sparing uppercut or two. If she's to press forward in her training, she'll need them settled squarely in her repertoire— and not just the mental database she keeps within her skull.

And then, just as he closes in, he corrects (gently):] Lord Ren.

[ There's a stiff nod, and she - between the lessons with Lexa, and now with Ren, it is starting to piece together. It's not smooth at all but, even so, her feet find their stance, her arms come up, her movements finding themselves if - unsure, nervous, but there and for once there is not her fumbling endless apologies when he corrects her. She just takes a deep breath in, as she does when she gets ready to dip into a machine and: ]

Yes, Lord Ren.

[ and she moves with the first blow. Neither force nor speed behind it, not yet at least ( one day, she promises herself ) but its aim is direct for his throat as she taught. ]

[Dodging comes easily (with the Force at his back in addition to knowing full well what her given objective is), Ren pulls himself back away from the sweeping arc of her fist, careful to observe her given technique.]

Don't lock your elbow when you strike. Keep your knuckles and your wrist level.

[And then he steps forward, returning the favor with interest: a heavy blow that— undeflected— would knock the air from her chest, her throat, all too easily.

React.]

[ The petulant whine in her throat says that he's too tall for her not to lock her arm trying to reach up to him but - it's childish, so she swallows, nods and only manages to catch his forward motion at the last instance.

React - quicker, but not quick enough where she's caught in remembering how to move against that strike as opposed to another and only gets it in place in the last second - deflects it enough that it doesn't land on the desired target, but still hits her low. The pain is immediate and her markings flare white and kick to life in reaction of being under attack, being in pain. Slipping as she stumbles back, trying to gather herself together from it. Get her feet back into stance, reading for the next one, breathing more harshly for it.

No inclination to stop, though, she needs to learn how to use this. ]

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