[training log] once you find your center

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day :153-155
SUMMARY: Get ready to sweat.
WARNINGS: None; will edit if necessary.

EARLY ON DAY 153 after you have had some time to rest, quiet your minds, get used to the feeling of other people in your head and start to know them better than you anticipated or possibly wished to, there is a call.

Unlike before, when you first awoke, it is not warm and sweet and coaxing. It is instead almost devoid of emotion. Nearly as impersonal as a phone call or a person speaking to you across the length of a desk. For those of you who have met him, it is instantly recognizable as Prince, the words fit themselves into whatever language is most comfortable to you, but his tone is the same, the deep, level sound of his voice almost the same as if it were in your ear.

What he says is this:

'New hosts are expected in the Training Wing within --' and here the voice doesn’t falter, but it seems less like words, more like a concept, tapping into the part of your mind with a far clearer understanding of time than you once had. It’s about an earth hour, either way, 'to begin training for your first assignment. Attendance is recommended.'

And with that his voice is gone, leaving behind only the clear impression of a place, how to get there, and your own thoughts. Well, your own and everybody else’s.




IF YOU CHOSE to heed his advice and go to the Training Wing, you will find upon your arrival Prince: taller than average, broad, with warm brown skin and a serious expression across his face. The cape he usually wears is elsewhere, for the moment, and beside him is a stack of dark grey jumpsuits that look very much like the ones both he and Cathaway wear.

If you’ve been to the Training Wing before it seems slightly changed, although it is difficult to say how. Certainly it was this large before, and certainly there were as many chambers. When you approach Prince won’t have much to say at first, but he will hand you your uniform and point you towards the single locker room, and if you ask for clarification he will only say that he will tell you more when you are dressed and the rest have gathered.

You can take this time to talk to your fellow hosts and get used to the slightly honeycomb textured space spandex that you will find fits you to a tee.

When the allotted time has passed, Prince will request you all gather in a single area, and will explain the situation. Your first assignment will be in three day’s time. It isn’t expected to be dangerous, however most of you are completely unprepared. You don’t know your own strength, you don’t know your own skill, and you haven’t had much time to learn.

What follows is a rudimentary explanation of Iota and Rho symbiotic types ((as outlined in the setting)) as well as an explanation of specialized skills. He doesn’t tell you what yours is, and most of his words are a warning- yes, you are stronger than you were before, but you’re not as strong as you could be. Yes, you are faster, but that doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to use it. Yes, you can see and hear better than you could before but it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to look and you don’t know what you’re listening for. He suggests that you set yourself to learning, although he only teaches the willing.


And then the Training Wing is yours.

---

((OOC Notes: Welcome to the training log!

The Training Wing is large- bigger than the biggest gym, and it contains a number of specialized spaces for Host’s use. What follows is an (incomplete) list of amenities. Have an idea for another space? Drop us a line in the questions section of the OOC info post! The training wing itself is a central hub-type area with a number of hallways that branch out in a vaguely spiraling fashion spanning multiple levels. Below are a list of locations key to this log:

• Lockers - The aforementioned locker space. Features (open) cubbies, shower spaces, a bathroom, towels, and sets of shoes for those of you without proper footwear.

• Track - Centrally located there is a large track, multiple lanes wide, the ground coated in some sort of slightly rubbery, gripping substance. It’s big, it’s open, it’s white, and if you just want to go fast here’s your chance.

• Gym - Located not far from the lockers is an almost traditional gym space, with a number of pieces of exercise equipment, some of which is familiar and some of which is not. There are instructions that will read in a pleasant voice if you seem lost. You will find both strength and cardio equipment arranged in a somewhat sensible manner.

• Training Hall - A large open space with a number of pads on the floors and walls and a wide variety of dummies and protective gear. You’ll also find melee practice weapons ranging from swords and pikes to slightly more exotic weaponry here as well as room for a little good ol’ fashioned wrasslin’.

• Range - Lying closest to the Flight Hangar, this room features a number of targets and projectile training weapons. Here you will find everything from bows and arrows to laser guns. Nothing is capable of doing real damage, but it feels and reacts in a way that’s very real. Handy readouts will tell you exactly how accurate (or inaccurate) you are.

• Pool - It’s a pool, there are lanes, so swim free. Please don’t drown. There is no sauna.

If you have any questions drop us a line at the OOC post

Let's get physical!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[erbier]

I. POOL - First come first serve.

[ She has never seen so much water in her life, let alone water so clean. She had even been quite blessed in her position within the palace to have water at her fingertips, but it had come from a pipe in a small steady stream, it had not pooled before her like a mirror. She is simultaneously entranced and horrified by it. It is so beautiful and yet... Ominous. Too good to be true, it makes her heart stutter, her thoughts overwrought with paranoia.

She can be found sitting at a distance from the edge of the pool, simply staring at it, her expression distant and mournful. ]

II. TRAINING - Any training area, anyone, come forth and teach her something.

[ She is not very... how would you say... driven. So much of her life has been survival, that upon receiving her place in the gardens, she has spent all of her free moments at leisure, healing her soul, taking control of her weariness and her fear. She is not a soldier. She is a girl, a gardener, and the imposition of being called upon to do tedious physical exercise does not excite her.

She mainly watches the others from a distance, bored and irritated. ]

III. WILDCARD - Do what you do.

ii

[circumspector]

[ She tries always to be well meaning, nervous as she is - it's a little intimidating to be expected to be part of the world she had only ever watched. She's keen to hit the ground running, to meet expectations as quickly as possible.

But that's... more daunting than she originally thought. So she hangs back and finds herself in company doing so, apparently. Not that she's opposed to it. Cheerful, always cheerful. r at least positive, an inclination to look out rather than look back. ]

Are you nervous too?

I

[faul]

[ Romy strides right past her, wearing whatever they're supposed to wear to enter the pool (most certainly not the ridiculous orange spandex things, maybe a one piece swimsuit?), looks at the water and jumps in, purposely splashing everything ever around.

She emerges a moment later, gasping a bit in surprise. ]

It's... not freezing cold. [ She was expecting it to be like regular pools, but apparently everything's kind of nice and muted in here. ] Figures.

[ Welp, time to do some laps. ]

II

[mercenares]

So what did you show up for if you're not gonna do anything?

[It's blunt and judgmental, one hand on his hip; the other's still holding a practice sword. He doesn't really think she has the air of someone who's watching to see how capable others are, or for any real reason at all-- and anyway, isn't that boring? There's no point in just doing nothing here.]

[decommission]

i. TRAINING HALL

[ The weirdest part about this so far - beyond the talk of theoretical superpowers and upcoming space missions - is how well this weird jumpsuit fits him.

When left to his own devices Steve wanders toward this way, stepping around the sections of padded flooring and foam-torsos. He gives one a slow push with his hand, watching it snap straight again. Eyes it for another second or two. Bucky had taught him how to throw a punch, thumb outside his fist, but his fights have always ended in a tangle of limbs, skin rubbed raw against brick and pavement. There's a rough, coppery edge to his thoughts as he considers the soft foam, lifting both fists like a boxer and throwing a solid hit to the molded solar plexus of the dummy. No finesse or signs of proper training to his movements to anyone with an eye for that sort of thing, not that the dummy cares. It snaps back and then forward, shaking its way back and forth to a neutral position. ]

ii. TRACK

[ Steve can't say he's got a clue what his specialized skill is, but between IOTA and RHO he's got an idea what his symbiote might be.

The confusion of the hatching had made it less obvious, the almost constant background noise of broodmates and the nest acting as a grainy film over his senses. But when it started to calm -

He takes the track at a slow run at first, focusing on the air moving in and out of his lungs. Even when he picks up speed after a minute, Steve's legs and feet are pounding the track at an average eight and a half minute mile run. In and out, his lungs start to burn.

It feels good.

At two miles he slows his pace for a half minute, slows to a walk for another, then stops. Bends down to press his hands on his knees. In between pants he lets out a sharp, surprised laugh, the sensation of being winded and, for some reason, glad for it bubbling off of him to anyone nearby.

If someone approaches, he'll look up and straighten with a sort of daze half smile, sweat on his brow and his face flushed red from the run. ]

Wanna do a lap?

iii. WILDCARD

( Anything you want! He can be found eyeing the weapons rack or wandering around the range, looking like he's not sure where to start with the lasers and swords. )

[regalled]

[He moves.

Slowly and methodically through the different areas set aside and reserved for the betterment of the Hosts, watching, mostly, getting a feel for these new faces, their strengths and their weaknesses. The things which they were comfortable and the things which they were not. The symbiotes found something worthy, something valuable in all of them, but what it was was not always clear.

In the training hall he is unarmed, for the moment, and he lingers at the edges, watching with eyes sharper than the ones he'd been born with and ears keener.

He is not surprised to find the solid, steady one among those that had come to learn. He had wanted to, despite his apparently frail form. It was a heartening thing, and it is something that keeps him from despairing when he sees the blow he strikes on the dummy.]

Your feet are not placed correctly. Without a proper stance you remain forever vulnerable.

BACKDATED DAY 151 (to the host currently known as Prince)

[decommission]

[ He's better settled, relatively. He no longer has a splitting headache, just a dull, throbbing one that comes and goes. Manageable.

He can do this.

The path to the training wing is the same as before, which anywhere else wouldn't (and shouldn't) be all that surprising. He's dressed in the clothes provided for him, fresh and clean as can be. As he enters the wing there's a briskness to his step too, anticipation for whatever he's about to walk into. An eagerness to prove, not necessarily to the guardian he's off to meet again.

He needs to prove something to himself. ]

iii let's do this

[mercenares]

[There aren't any words wasted here, no small talk-- Ares isn't here to hang around and chat. His way of saying 'hello' is, apparently, shoving a practice sword at Steve for him to take.]

Hey, you still wanted to try this out, right?

[His usual weapon's present as always, but remains sheathed; he's got another of the practice swords in hand instead, and judging by the expectant look, that question's not really a question at all.]

If you do, I'm not gonna take it too easy on you.

ii.

[erbier]

[ She comes to check on him, the way she would check on one of her plants, and honestly doesn't intend to engage or converse but... Of course he does that for her. His good humor touches her a bit more effectively than Angel's had, can feel it more strongly through the taut webbing of their brood. She sighs, put upon. She doesn't understand any of this, the running in endless circles, the repetition motions. Was this what was required in a modern world, where work was handed off to inanimate objects? You then had to artificially simulate work? She thinks about running for her life across the wastes, about lugging compost and harvests up and down flights upon flights of stairs.... ]

Very well. I will... run with you.

[ That sounds ridiculous to her, but she knows that's how the turn of phrase works. ]

[circumspector]

i. TRAINING HALL

[ She takes the gear the same as everyone, and still she watches other to take her cues. Though now it is more glances, rather than open observance. Double checking against others that she's doing it correctly. Tugging it all into place. It's getting better, this weight, and -- she's still determined to do better at this, to meet the expectations.

Hitting the ground is just harder than it sound. But as she sort of stares overwhelmed at the mass of equipment, she blinks at it taken back. ]

Do we know where we're meant to start?

[ She's got a lot of catching up to do, apparently. What did vault hunters carry? Something for close range, something for long range. She heard that the mission wasn't supposed to be violent, but -- she'd watched Pandora for too long to ever really believe that. ]

ii. BLAT BLAT

[ The curiosity gets her, and she creeps in with the guilt of a teenage doing something she shouldn't.

It shouldn't be thrilling -- she has a planets observation of what guns can do. For violence, she is a encyclopaedia of information. But they are exactly something to it because of that. It's an itch, to be close to the life of the others that she had been denied. Going through the rows and rows of guns. Compares them to a mental catalogue. No, the guns weren't the same. But she could see shades of Maliwan, Torgue, and Hyperion in amongst them. Guns were guns, she guessed, even in a different galaxy.

She takes her time to pick something out for herself, before deciding - pistols were smaller, that was better right? Goes over the form, knows the rules. Don't load it until she goes to the shooting booth, and then and only then does she turn the safety off, never point it at anyone she didn't intend to hurt. There's something that flickers between elation and utter panic that she's doing this. Lines up her shot, takes a deep breath. She had watched vault hunters take down monsters the size of sky scrapers, shooting pure acid. Granted they barely cared about gun safety, but its not like anyone on Pandora cared. She could shoot a dinky pistol right? Right. So far, so good. Looked just like them, but they were never this nervous. They didn't have time to be nervous.

It hardly feels real, as she does it. Pressing her mouth into her shoulder one last time to smother something that would sound hysterical if she let it escape. One deep breath and she pulls the trigger for the first time in her life.

What she isn't expecting, is it to be so loud, and -- what is worse, is the kickback is more than she ever expected. Realises her mistake almost instantly, when it jerks into her body, that she held her arm too stiffly. Her grip slips immediately and the gun clatters onto the bench top as she yelps with her surprise. Quiet, missed under the roar of gunfire. ] Oh, Fuc- [ catches herself, and her head snaps like she really does expect to be caught. Then finishes a little more quietly. ] Fudge.

[ and on cue, the voice tof the shooting range tones back with her stats: ] One shot fired. 0% accuracy. [ and she scowls up at it, thanks for the reminder computer, it was her first try. ]

iii. wildcard

[ take your pick, she'll be trying whatever seems like might take her fancy which is just about anything, so. if you're not sure, hit me up here or on plurk @themajesty ]

[faul]

You know you can say fuck if you feel like it, right?

[ It's very difficult for Romy not to find one of her brood without meaning too, her steps taking her towards Angel almost by themselves. It's also hard not to smile a bit at the other girl's restraint, which feels woefully unnecessary considering the circumstances. ]

Please tell me that was the first time you have ever fired anything in your life.

[regalled]

[A question very likely not meant for him, but it doesn't stop Prince from closing the narrow distance to the girl, hands tucked at his back. They had not met, yet, but there's no hesitation in his voice, low and deep and almost without emotion. She was his student regardless.]

That depends entirely on you, and your individual experience.

[There was no standard curriculum, no typical path of growth. Each Host came in with their own set of strength and weaknesses, their own interests and their own hesitations. There came a point where they would advance to the point there was some equilibrium between them, where the strongest and the weakest were not so far different, but that would be a long time coming, and they would no longer be his charges by that time.]

Are you accustomed to battle?

[faul]

Lockers

[ Romy has always had reasons to avoid skintight fabrics. It's not only a pain to constrain herself and the fact she dislikes the sensation of something wrapping around her like a glove, it's also the fact she's what you would call... chest heavy, and while that never really bothered her from an aesthetic point of view, but boobs tend to get in the way. Hers get in the way far more often than she would like.

Hence why she's standing there, staring at the uniform intently, wondering just how bad she's going to look. Which is funny because she had thought to be beyond such petty concerns for years now, and yet... shit happens. You get dragged into weirder shit than you've ever seen and now the orange kinky jumpsuit is suddenly a concern. ]

I could just use my regular clothes.

[ Keep telling yourself that. ]

Training Hall

[ Rinse and repeat, more hitting things and trying to ignore everything else, ever. Specially now that she knows there's an incoming mission and they sort of need to get ready for something. Anything. Weird space stuff. Weird hivemind stuff. Something.

Eventually she'll just go sit on a mat and look miserable, because this isn't distracting at all. Maybe someone wants to spar? But she won't ask, because that would involve initiative and social skills. ]

Wildcard

[ There was a whole lot of standing around feeling inadequate, feel free to bother her then. ]

training hall

[decommission]

[ He passes her once as he walks around the hall, stretching - then a second time. That's when he stops, head canting to one side. ]

You alright? [ Cuz you're just sitting there, looking all unhappy about something. On his end, Steve seems quite the opposite. He's exhausted, and pleased about it for some reason. ]

[adamance]

gym

[It's not that her people are unfamiliar with weights and gym equipment, but they tend to go about making and securing their own devices. Without electricity, they can't very well repurpose anything like that. But they have managed, as any culture might when they are both largely warriors and largely brought up to fight.

When Lexa enters the gym, she is surprised about the range of equipment, and only toils around anything that involves buttons or a screen for a short time before setting out for the weights, for anything that involves hanging or climbing, or anything in-between. Her actions are swift, methodical, but very, very human—just a very well-trained one.

When she notices someone watching her, she turns toward them, no longer resonating with the uneasy contempt from her initial arrival.]

Would you like to work together?

[She has a goal, a single-minded purpose behind being here. She knows that she can't come to terms with it on her own.]

training hall

[Her initial movements are like the ones she took in the gym: solo, independent, and without any intention of drawing someone else in. Her choice of weapons tends toward swords and pikes, though she's no stranger to many of them (or some form of them). What does surprise her is the nature of the weapons. Though they are appropriately weighted, her people don't tend toward practice weapons of the same kind. It doesn't prepare you for battle. But she keeps her thoughts to herself. She can trust, at least, that no one will use this opportunity to take her life.

Then again, a well-handled practice weapon could do the same type of harm if she struck the right area. She can think of several.

When she finishes her independent study, she takes up two swords and sits near the edge of the room near the entrance, legs crossed and mind calm. The moment someone joins her, she lifts her head up and takes up one of the practice swords, offering it out.] Shall we?

[For her, this comes with a level of expectation. It resonates around her. Of course, she also wants to see what shape the other Hosts are in. That's a point of concern, as well.]

wildcard

[Lexa will be hitting everything—in the locker room, someone may catch a glimpse of her tattoos, or in the range, they'll see (and feel) her extreme willingness to avoid any and all guns (or gun-like things). Basically, I'm open to whatever, and to her training people or chastising their abilities.]

gym

[decommission]

[ Steve tears his gaze from the sixty foot cargo net (and away from the thought of his defeat against it at Camp Lehigh), staring at the young woman for a moment before nodding at her question. ]

Sure.

[ The jumpsuit has his slim figure framed. There's nothing about his physique that says he has a chance to make it to the top of the net in record time or be much use spotting her with those weights, but he rolls on his heels a bit, energetic for the challenge. ] What've you got in mind?

training hall

[circumspector]

[ There's a real second where she swears this woman has to be talking to someone else. Ducks her head away to check there wasn't someone behind her that she was mistaken for.

But no, that expectation seems levelled at her exactly. So she takes the handle of that blade, tentatively. Is she holding it right? She can't tell, it feels unwieldy in her hand. ]

Are you sure? I've never used one of these before.

[ There's a guilt prickle, because it's rather that she's never fought anyone before at all. Athena and Zer0 used them often enough, and there's a certain understanding that comes from watching others fight, that she'd need another weapon outside of a gun. Something for if she got stuck in close quarters, ran out of bullets, whatever it was. Her powers sure, but those weren't exactly absolute all the time. Too controllable at the moment. ]

[vocalis]

I. Never write phone top levels at 2am

[ It's a miracle Aoba Seragaki is here on station 72. Looking at him, you would think he should be in a completely different station. A police station. A fashion police station, because wow that neon blue puffy jacket? Those equally neon big-buttoned shoes? Terrible. Law breaking. Arrest him. Why would anyone show up to physical training in those, let alone wear them anywhere at all.

But the fashion gods are real, because there's a change of clothes provided. Praise be. It's not yet past Easter but I'm gunna say it; hallelujah. Not just for the change, but for the fact that Aoba looks mm-mm A+ damn good in a form fitting space onesie. Honeycomb pattern? Yeah boy he looks pretty sweet. Tight in every sense of the word. Okay, it's not really the best fashion in the universe, but anything is better than the outfit he arrived in. A garbage bag is better than the outfit he arrived in.

His long hair is still offensively blue, but that's part of what makes Aoba... Aoba. He should really tie it back; it's getting in his face during stretches, already turning into more of a mess than usual. Like Jareth the Goblin King levels of extreme mullet. And still he won't do anything more than carefully, carefully run his fingers through it to get it back out of his eyes. He does it as he eagerly addresses you- ]

Need any help stretching, or do you think you're ready to run?

[ Maybe you don't need help, but wow does he. Not with stretching, not with running or working out, but with hair. With life.

Free him. ]


II. Fire in the hole (aw yeah son)

[ Guns? Guns??? Aoba isn't sure if guns are the best post-workout routine, but he's found himself in the shooting range. His outfit is still fine as heck, hair still a god forsaken mess, but there's a new look on his face that says what the top of this paragraph says.

Hand guns were outlawed in Japan in the seventies, also know as ancient times according to Aoba's time measuring standards. Almost no one on Midorijima owns guns and nearly all forms of them are illegal, with onerous restrictions placed on the few that are. Aoba has never even seen one this close before, let alone all these different types. Lasers? Get out. ]

I'd be arrested for just holding one of these back home.

[ But this ain't Kansas anymore. Actually if it were he'd probably be fine with this, because anywhere in America is a terrible comparison for guns no matter how famous the quote. Damn that wizard movie. ]

Guns are so... extreme. Do we really need to train with them? Think we'll really use them on the field?

[ He's having a hard time working up the nerve just to break his homeland law and pick one up, all sorts of rules and no-no's running through his head as he stares at the collection. ]

1 bc I have to, good lord aoba

[mercenares]

[Oh. It's the "computers" guy again-- honestly, Ares is surprised to see him here. Aoba didn't strike him as the type to bother.

Points for effort, but not for execution. He watches Aoba carefully brush his hair from his face... watches it again... and huffs out an annoyed sound as he aims the heel of his palm at Aoba's forehead. Just a smack, but it'll definitely be harder than it needs to be.]

Are you stupid? Nothing's gonna stop and let you fix your hair when you're moving!

[Says the guy whose face is always half-covered by his own bangs... but let's not split hairs here.]

2!

[whowhatnow]

Oh, man, really? Then you must look like an absolute rebel now.

[Says the young man standing not so far away, pointing the gun in his hands at the wall and squinting, posing like he's in some action movie and he's trying to target something far off. After a moment, though, he lowers it, shaking his head - he's not terribly used to them either, mostly because where he came from, individual weapons weren't really a thing.]

Honestly? I don't know. I don't like them either. [He shrugs, gun still in hand.] Maybe it's optional?

[insurrectum]

( ONE. ) We hit a wall That we put on

[ The voice in his head makes him clench his teeth. If he keeps going like this, he will flatten them. He groans, angry sound from the back of his throat, and pushes a hand to his head. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Parker has only grown increasingly angrier as time goes. The supply of antivirus is limited, he has no friends here (he does not and refuses to make any and will continue to act as so until he dies, because he wants to have nothing to do with these people), he has no purpose and he does not want to help anyone in whatever fight they are supposed to fight. This is not his battle. His is back home. His responsibility, his purpose.

It is what destroys him the most. The loss of the self. Hits too close home with the infection within. The loss of the self is what scares him the most.

No wonder he looks constantly tired, either, with his constant struggle of keeping an instinct that he refuses to acknowledged as his to become part of the rest. He doesn't want to belong. It is a battle that he doesn't back down from. He's persistent. He's a fucking cockroach. He has survived something nobody else has back home. Parker is stubborn enough to believe that he will get through this obstacle too.

So while everyone heads to the gym, he pushes in the opposite direction. He goes upstream the river. Bumps someone hard enough to push past them - not necessary, but he does it for his own selfish benefit. Like pinching yourself; he goes upstream to avoid the flow. ]

( TWO. ) And the seeds I sow will grow up prisoners too

[ He only barely looks at the gym when he passes by it once again. Judging look, a sneer, eyes up and down the figure in the center and trying to shut his own mind down. Wants to become silent, even if he has no idea how to start. Somewhere. He has never been one to back down from a challenge, anyway.

He walks down the corridors of the Station. An uneasy feeling of crushing loneliness washes over him, sudden, like being hit by a train. He stops dead in his track, breathing through clenched teeth. This is not his own feeling. He feels it, the pull to go back to the room. To go there. To participate. He fights it. Closes his eyes, curls his fingers into the palm of his hand, hard enough to push his nails into skin. This is not his own.

He stops by the chamber where the rooms connect and stands in the middle. Looks up, trying to understand this place, this prison. There is a way out somewhere and he is going to find it.

There is a creaking behind him and he turns, slowly, hand on where his gun usually is but isn't there. He sneers. ]

What are you doing here?

[ Because the reason why he is is clearly nobody else's business. ]

( THREE. ) A lot of hope in a one man tent

[ Parker is not in the training arena to train at all. It certainly looks like he is just there as if he had gotten lost. Not that he gives off the feeling, but he isn't running. He isn't practising. He is just standing there, looking around. To the walls. The ceiling.

It does not matter to him if he is an inconvenience to the others using the tracks. He stops dead in the middle of it, mapping out the place with detailed attention. Has a pen, scribbling something in his old, tattered notebook. Taking notes, doodling things. Learning, mapping, detailing the Station. Trying to find a weak spot. Many weak spots. He hasn't had much luck - yet. He's patient enough to study every damn corner of this hellhole until he finds one. And once he does, he is going to exploit it.

He does not belong here.

He pushes himself up the higher place of the shooting range, to inspect the weapons. None cause real damage, so that's useless to him. Picks one up and sits down with it on his lap, scribbling something on the notepad and clearly uninterested in using any of the available facilities. He doesn't care for when there is a gathering down there, doesn't care for the briefing and very purposefully hums a song inside his head, as loud as he can. It is the only way so far he has found to push out thoughts. Some preteen act of rebellion. ]

TWO

[erbier]

[ She tilts her head at him slowly, expression motionless and blank aside from a faint coldness. ]

Returning to my work.

[ Her garden. It was what she cared about far above and beyond this training... If she needed to fight, she would fight, she did not care much for playing at it in this controlled environment with friendly faces. ]

Does that satisfy you?

[ Her tone is subtly scornful, letting him known that she did not particularly appreciate the way he had addressed her. ]

[mercenares]

training hall:

[He already knows how to fight. It's just about all he knows, it's been his focus for his whole life, so Ares isn't too concerned with learning.

Experience, though, that's always useful-- so he's taken up a practice sword and set to warming up, his own weapon still at his side. He keeps it to the basics, striking at one of the dummies just long enough to begin feeling out that extra strength and speed that had been mentioned, but he's not at it long enough to break a sweat before he's bored. (Not that he'd intended to stick to this longer than necessary, but still, it's pretty fast.)

Past that point, his attention is on any others around more than on his target. It isn't a blatant thing, but he's watching quietly, listening, sizing them up to see if any know what they're doing-- if they seem to be any good with a weapon (or fighting unarmed, if that's their style), he'll take the next opportunity to catch their attention with a wave and a wide grin.]

I could use a better partner, you wanna give it a shot? This's kinda boring...

[As far as appearances go, he's a short, wiry guy who looks a little young for his age, kind of scruffy, hair falling in his face-- sure, people who know what they're doing probably also know not to base everything off of looks, but assumptions still work in his favor sometimes.

...the mental link, however, doesn't help to hide anything. There's plenty of eagerness, that's obvious enough, but if someone is in his brood or just more tuned in? There's something more aggressive beneath it. He's not just here to train, he's itching for a real fight.]

wildcard it:

[WHATEVER YOU WANT, feel free to go for it or hash something out with me! Any closed setups are going to just go under this top-level.]

(closed-- prince)

[mercenares]

[There's something lacking in the explanation they'd been given, but it takes him a bit to decide that he wants to know. That he's willing to know-- but after feeling things out, beginning to test himself to what extent he can, Ares eventually relents. Strange as it sounds, unsettling as the idea is... he needs to use whatever he can get, and if more of the others have abilities that are totally foreign to him, he could be outclassed.

He's already begun learning he's at a disadvantage compared to the ones who can do things humans shouldn't, and he doesn't intend to let anyone show him that the hard way.

So he finally approaches, leaving the practice weapon behind for now.]

Hey, how do we figure out what else we can do, anyway?

[Right to the point, not bothering to waste time.]

Can't really practice if I don't know what it is...

[snippycup]

Pool

[It'd been ages since she had any interaction with water for recreation or any kind of training. Her last real interaction with water had been assisting the Mon Calamari in their untimely plight, so having a chance to simply relax and take the time to exert energy at her own pace was welcome.

She's an oddly graceful swimmer for a species clearly not designed for water. It had taken her a few laps to get used to her odd boost in stamina, to continue at a pace that wouldn't exhaust her or propel her faster than she could take turns. Once or twice, she kicks too hard off the wall and can be seen shooting straight up out of the water with a startled shout and supreme lack of grace, shortly before crashing back down with a large splash.

Recovering from those takes her a few moments of shaking her head to empty her montrals of ringing. Her focus diverts only when someone calls to her.]

Training Hall

[There's a bittersweet pit in Ahsoka's stomach when she walks the training hall, exhaling heavily out of her nostrils as she shifts lazily through the weapons rack. Anyone who happens to be near enough to connect their mental link will find her thinking of much more elegant and deadly weapons. Memories of constructing them herself, small and delicate fingers wrapping around a glowing crystal that seems to hum with a life of its own. The sound of her lightsabers igniting.

The memories fade when she turns away from them and opts instead for one of the dummies. Only one of hands is wrapped, and it had been done so before entering the training hall -- a set of split knuckles on her right hand from when she had unexpectedly acquainted her newfound strength with the metal of the wall in a fit of frustration and panic.

They're obviously not going to stop her from testing the waters again. There's a long ritual before she starts any attempts at conditioning. She can be found with her back flat against the wall, meditating on her own while appearing oblivious to the world surrounding her. Approaching her like this will find oneself greeted with the idle brush of her mind long before one comes in range of her hearing.

Or you might find her stretching, or perhaps already in the midst of placing careful strikes in key areas of the dummy with both her hands and feet. Once or twice, she has to catch her balance after the force of her own momentum carries her too far, but she always seems to manage this in a graceful manner. A live target would be better -- but this is what she has to work with, so this is what she uses.

Until someone stops her, anyway. There is a focus to the way she strikes -- almost as if she's picturing someone in place of the dummy. Her brow, furrowed in concentration (and anger you may feel), only flinches when her strikes land too hard and begin to bruise beneath her skin.

But those bruises don't compare to the coldness she feels settling in the marrow of her bones. Over and over, she replays her conversation with General Hux and over and over she fights (and fails) to contain her grief.]

Gym

[Maintaining balance in all things is important for a Force-sensitive like Ahsoka. She can be found all across the gym on various pieces of equipment, though the treadmill and the pullbars seem to be favorites of her's. She's running much too fast for someone of her size on an incline that appears to be punishing her heart rate for her recklessness. Her focus is so singular that she doesn't appear to realize exactly how hard she is breathing. Her eyes are locked on the readouts, a stern expression on her face.

Just a little longer, she tells herself. She has to be ready for whatever is coming.

Rather than do pull ups, Ahsoka alternates between holding herself up above the bar in a handstand position as well as using her legs to hang upside down in order to preform crunches. Some of her down time is spent watching others from her perch, attempting to pick up on any exercises she might find useful.]

Wildcard

[etc.]

training hall;

[narcissithstic]

They will not return to you.

[To say he's been inattentive in regards to her progress would be a lie, to call it anything but spiteful, however, exceeds the definition: the draw of the Force and its familiar gifts, not just the abilities it grants, is a difficult thing to endure. Eventually she wound mourn for what she lacked.

Eventually he would be there to witness it.

As he is now, basking in malicious contentment somewhere near the door at her back, watching the blood drip from self-inflicted wounds; an ugly stain against an otherwise pristine backdrop.]