station72 | mental link; whichever day is today

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mental link; whichever day is today

[The mental voice is... hesitant. Like he's trying his best to modulate his tone, and not sure if he's speaking too loudly or too softly.]

(This has probably been a long time coming... but I have to admit. I'm not good with people in my head.) [A flicker of regret and flashing images quickly stifled.] (Or at controlling what goes through my mind. Someone here called them flashbacks. Guess that works out.)

(It's a long story.)

[So please don't ask, goes unsaid, but like a lot of things here, it's probably felt.]

(But it's been affecting others here, and for that, I'm sorry. I need to be better at this. So I'm asking for help...)

[So he doesn't accidentally overwhelm the wrong person with the wrong memory. Or panic right in front of someone.]

(And before anyone asks - the answer to 'are you okay' is ... not something I want to talk about right now. Sorry.)

[Wait, wait, crap. How does he close this. There's a flustered feeling before just... the mental image of a closed comm connection. He figures that's as good as anything.]

[For anyone who wants to talk in person, he's hauled himself back up onto the roof, bundled up into an oversized hoodie. Black, of course. Hands shoved into his pockets. Probably being all brooding-looking while inside, he's just wondering what it's like to pilot one of the vehicles he sees zooming around.]

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[For now, he doesn't activate it. He just hopes the simple act of sparring won't suddenly kick on some hidden switch and end up killing the other man.]

[He... really doesn't know if he could live with that.]

[Regardless, his own posture shifts, like something out of a martial arts movie, metal fingers held flat and parallel to the ground - arm bent.]

[And then he's moving. Almost no warning. Just a brief tension, before he swings the metal arm like a club for his opponent's shoulder. To knock off balance.]

[Bruce will take his chances. He always does; it isn't an inclination born from overconfidence, but just plain bullheadedness. If sparring will help Shiro, then so be it. If sparring will help him if something terrible does happen in the future, then even better.

Shiro is surprisingly fast, and Bruce has to rely on his muscle memory alone to shift out of the way of that metal arm, his instincts kicking in and telling him that this is the movement of a man who is about to punch you, move aside.

And he does, twisting his torso at barely the right angle. The metal fist whiffs right past him, and Bruce latches onto it with his own grip, pulling forward and down, attempting to throw Shiro to the ground.]

[He's grateful for this. Partly because Bruce is right, and this is the best way to have a plan in place. Just in case. And partly because, honestly, sparring with someone is so familiar, it's safe. He knows how to do this. As opposed to mental shielding.]

[There is a sudden, difficult to ignore urge to activate the arm was it's grabbed onto. To make the opponent release him that way, and strike all in one go.]

[He does ignore it. Forcefully. Lacing his human fingers through it, and twisting, in an attempt to break Bruce's grip before he can throw him.]

[No kevlar batsuit for Bruce this time. No armored gloves that give him an iron grip, or turns a clenched fist into the impact of a steel wall. His grip is more easily broken, and he does not fight against it. For now, he goes along with the flow of the fight, still trying to get a feel of Shiro's fighting style.

Of course, it leaves his arm at a strange angle, a decidedly disadvantageous one. Instead of shifting his weight to turn, he merely lashes out with a knee hoping to connect to Shiro's side. Hopefully it'll catch him off guard long enough to wrest his arm free.]

[It's all meant to knock someone off balance. To topple and disable much larger, stronger opponents. After all -- it's what he learned. What he had to do, to survive. Even if he doesn't realize it right now.]

[His body shifts to the side, in the direction the kick is moving, in hopes of lessening the power of the blow. However, it means he has to drop the arm in his grip.]

[He's already getting the feel for it -- that Shiro's fighting style is meant for people larger and stronger, to manipulate one's own inertia against them. It's a valid strategy, one that Bruce has employed time and time again during his crusade as Batman.

But right now, Bruce intends on being as swift as possible, and he's glad to have his arm free. His kick may have missed, but he twists around with a right hook, using his own momentum to his advantage.]

[It's working. He's used to dealing with slower reaction times. Even the drones didn't tend to react fast enough to counter him. The first real challenge had... been part of his biggest problem since he's been here.]

[So Bruce catches him good. It staggers him for a beat, before he collects himself enough to duck backward out of immediate reach.]

[The hit connects fully, and Bruce has to push away the mental reverberation that comes with literally punching a broodmate. He feels the ghost of his own swing impacting his own muscles, a dull pain spreading.

What an irritating distraction that's going to be.

It's enough to give him pause. To frown in recognition of what Bruce is realizing what's happening.

Ignore it.]

Hit me like I'm you're enemy, Shiro.

[I don't think that's a good idea--]

[He almost says it. But it's probably better than he thought. Considering if he actually lost control, there's no telling who would be seen as friend or foe. That doesn't mean he has to activate his arm, however.]

[That might end in tragedy.]

[A terse nod. Before he darts in again, with an attempt to swing an uppercut of his own. Hand flexed to strike with the side of his palm.]

[Bruce is all about pushing someone past their comfort zone; he doesn't truly want Shiro to go all out and try to really hurt him, per se, but at the same time he feels he won't learn anything substantial about his broodmate's fighting style if he doesn't prod a bit further.

For now, he'll have to settle for a comfortable in-between.

Bruce brings up his guard again, but the force is more staggering than the last. Though the majority of it is blocked, it's still enough to push him back on his heels, staggering just a bit.]

[Serious injury is a definite possibility if he goes all-out. If only because he has no idea if the power in his hand has a "stun" setting. Otherwise, who knows what it would do to Bruce?]

[But when the other man staggers, he strikes again, lower, aiming for more of the center of gravity. To knock him down. Bowl him over. Whipping his hand back again like a club, or an axe.]

[He's reiterating in his head that staying away from Shiro's metal arm? Definitely the focus of this sparring session.

He twists away from the strike, missing it by inches. Bruce feints in, throwing a hook that he knows will miss, simply to follow it up with a jab with his left. He wants Shiro to fall easily into the "flow" of the fight, where one's focus is the sharpest. What better way to do that then ]

[That's a good plan, Bruce.]

[He has to think of this like fighting the Gladiator in the castle. Except easier -- in the respect Bruce is human, and doesn't read as the same threat level as the Gladiator when his brain is tired. Bruce doesn't risk being mistaken for a Galra Drone.]

[He weaves away from the first strike without thinking. Twisting to take the second blow against his shoulder when he realizes he can't avoid it. Trying to take that momentum from his turn and check Bruce in the chest with it.]

[Bruce takes the hit, and though a pain shoots through him, so does a sense of satisfaction. This is more like it, their sparring reaching a critical flow that leads to control. Of body, and of mind.

He grunts, the force pushing him backwards. He makes a grab for Shiro's human arm, attempting to twist it behind his back in a hold.]

[Control is good. Control is always good. It's nice to be able to throw down like this again, and not worry about what's going to happen. Trusting someone to counter what he has to give.]

[Like this. Like how Bruce knows which arm to go for right away. He can't get away in time. But that doesn't mean he's not going to struggle. And try to grab for the other man with metal fingers.]

[Bruce holds onto Shiro as long as he can (he can feel the strange restriction in his own arm, an echo of their mental link shining through) and twists his weight to move out of the way of those metal fingers grasping for him. At this point they've moved close enough to the railing so Bruce can't back up much more, unless they'd like to both find themselves in a very precarious situation.

Not that he'll say that much.]

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mental link; whichever day is today

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not sure how my last sentence got eaten HOW EMBARRASSING.

IT'S OKAY

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