[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

[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. ]

[regalled]

[It was nothing so strong as a promise so much as it was simply this: he had told the boy tomorrow, and it would do him no harm to be in the Training Wing today. There was matinence to perform, checks to assure everything functioned as it should, that the spaces were yet still prepared for the new broods.

He had already done it all before they arrived, but he believed in thoroughness, and with a plan to follow, a routine little changed, it was better to assure it remained in good condition.

The minds of the new Hosts aren't yet quiet, but they were less overwhelming as they stopped feedbacking quite so much pain and confusion. It was something of a relief, even if he could still hear their coming and going like overloud children in a house of thin walls. Useful, when he is expecting one of them, at least. It gives him time to go back to the exit and stand ready for his arrival.]

You have come. Good.

[No measure of surprise in his voice. He had not questioned his will in this.]

Do you have more questions before we begin?

[decommission]

[ He stops some paces away, trying not to let the open space of the room (and the quiet) overwhelm and distract.

His greeting is cut off by the question. Eyes remain fixed on the Prince, shoulders squared like he's standing in a line. ]

The folks that don't wanna be here - what happens to them? [ There are, approximately, a million and one questions buzzing around his head: about the nature of the symbiote, the leftover items in the rec wing, the emptiness of this place. Those he has time to learn. Their arrival had been one part rescue, one part conscription, and one part irreversible change done to them in their sleep. Parker had outright rejected his place here, planning on going home somehow. Ilde had accepted it in tears, believing she didn't have a world to go back to.

Even if it's walking back into certain death, he wants to know that they at least have that choice. ]

[regalled]

[He takes a breath. It is a serious question, one which there was no simple or kind answer. The kind of question which could easily leave one unwilling to move forward, unwilling to engage in the task they had set themselves to.

But he had offered to answer, and so there was little choice.]

That depends. Some, with time to come to terms with their new circumstances, realize that they had chosen to come for a reason. They live. Others don't. They demand to return, or they find their end some other way.

[They settled poorly. They drove themselves to distress. They died in the field or they died by their own hand. There were things they- he and Cathaway, could not prevent, as much as they may try.]

[decommission]

[ Not quite prisoners to Prince and Cathaway's jailers, but still with their options limited by their circumstances. He doesn't believe in fate or destiny, that any of them were always destined for this.

A beat, then: ]

What're we gonna be asked to do? [ We do what we can to prevent it's plans from finding success. He was ready to be a soldier, his mind turning directly toward black and white thoughts of battlefields he's never been to. But if they're so few against a powerful enemy, he's starting to suspect there's more to it. ]

[regalled]

[Fight, he had said. But they were not soldiers. It was something Prince often stressed, although not all would agree. But he had known war, and this was like no war he knew. It was too unbalanced for that. Too secretive. The enemy wanted no land from them, no tribute. They wanted their destruction, and to be left to their machinations.]

That depends upon the situation. Sometimes you will be called on to fight, sometimes to speak, sometimes to spy. The force we fight has many plots, some of them are simple, some are unbelievably complex. How we deal with them must be as flexible.

[As simply as he could phrase it, if not as simply as others.]

[decommission]

[ The best strategists are just that. He wonders just how many more they're connected to, down past the lines that lead to his Brood.

He's not willing to dive off of that ledge just to find out. ]

Guess we better get started then. [ This training. A nod comes with that, which is to say he's ready to start. Steve's not a strategist, not a scholar or a diplomat (and wouldn't Bucky get a kick out of that image). He's definitely not a spy, not even a proper soldier. He's got a lot of catching up to do if he wants to pull his weight. ]

[regalled]

Indeed. Come, then.

[He turns neatly, heading towards the first of the spaces he thought likely to be useful, pace measured.]

I would as you to tell me what skills you already possess. But first, I would ask you to tell me what it is you would like to be called.

[There isn't quite an emphasis on 'you', but something about the spacing of the words approaches that. The subtlest of jabs for the fact that, as so many young hosts, he had demanded Prince's name and never provided his own. Still, he preferred the ceremony to simply relying on what he already knew]

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.

yeyeyey

[decommission]

[ Welp - his hands raise abruptly to grab the sword, blinking at Ares for a split second before giving a quick nod, wrapping both hands around the hilt instead of holding it awkwardly by the wooden blade. ]

I'd be mad if you did. [ Take it easy on him. Steve's never appreciated that sort of handling from anyone. But he does wait at first, watching for some kind of instruction (or to at least copy however Ares holds his own practice sword). ]

[mercenares]

[His answer gets a pleased grin as Ares steps back, beckoning for Steve to follow him to a slightly emptier area. Good. If the guy keeps up that attitude, he figures it just might be worthwhile.

Ares won't be much help in showing him how to hold his weapon, though; when he stops and turns to face Steve again, he's not bothering to hold his own sword ready, arm still hanging casually at his side.]

You remember what I showed you? [He gestures to the sword, then continues:] Hit me with it. Doesn't matter how you swing it this time, just do it!

[His idea of starting with the basics is a little different from most, thanks to how he was taught. You can fix technique, but fixing someone's approach is harder-- lesson one is more about how to hold one with the right mindset.]

[decommission]

[ Just as Steve trots after Ares, he also stops with him, the hand with the sword falling to his side for the moment. Just do it. Hadn't Bucky given the same instruction when he stuck him in front of a punching bag for the first time - aside from telling Steve to keep his thumbs on the outside.

He eyes Ares, then gives a quick nod. Okay. Both hands wrap around the grip and both arms raise with the swing, coming across in an arc aimed at Ares' left shoulder. Even with his expectation that Ares will block the blow, there's less power in the swing than he would use to hit a baseball. ]

[mercenares]

[He doesn't bother blocking it. There's not enough intent behind it, not enough power put into it to follow all the way through-- he's pretty sure he's not going to get any bones broken. Besides, he's making a point, here, and he's gotten very good at hiding it if something does hurt.

So he doesn't move at all. After the blow connects, though, he raises an eyebrow at Steve- then abruptly lashes out, aiming to sweep one of his legs out from under him. Think fast, buddy.]

I said hit me, what was that supposed to be?

[decommission]

[ Artificially enhanced reflexes don't do him much good here, eyes wide from his hit connecting - he's too shocked to do much but jump a bit when the sweep comes. Brings him down to one knee, a hand still on the grip of the practice blade while the other braces against the floor.

He glances up, some of the surprise in his expression coming off of him in a muted wave, until it's shut like a slammed door. He rises to his feet. ]

I did - why didn't you block it? [ His eyes narrow, accusation covering the hint of betrayal in his tone. He doesn't appreciate head games. ]

[mercenares]

I didn't have to. [He shrugs, meeting that accusation with a level, neutral look.] You weren't trying, it's not like it was gonna hurt...

[The look on his face is promising, Ares thinks-- this might take less time than he thought it would. (He wasn't exactly lying when he said he wouldn't go easy on Steve, his own methods aren't identical to his master's, but this isn't quite as harsh as the way he was taught. Good to know it still works.)]

If you don't mean it, I'm not gonna take it seriously either.

[decommission]

[ Steve holds Ares' gaze, shock and anger beginning to dissipate as he rises to his feet again, the skin on his neck flushing red, but Ares is right - he hadn't meant it. There's no sense of major damage to his pride over that, only his recoiling against the idea of hitting someone that isn't intending to fight back.

He gives Ares a dubious once-over, trying to determine whether he's lying or not about hurting him. ]

I wanna learn. [ One side of his mouth twists downward. ] If I mean it, you'll block it this time?

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. ]

[decommission]

[ His smile widens a bit, for her agreement and for her presence (plant to light source). He's aware of the latter, the connection between them that pulls toward her - but this time he finds it more difficult to focus on his own discomfort, dulled and pushed a step or two to the side by his newly brightened senses. ]

Alright. C'mon - [ He starts jogging at a trot, slow enough for her to catch up. Her lack of context and understanding projects, just as he attempts to reel back in and smooth out his own euphoria over the new freedom he's discovering after a lifetime of his body failing him. ]

[erbier]

[ She falls into rhythm beside him, mimics the purposeful way he moves. She lets her objections fall away and merely counts the steps in her head as if she were counting the steps of a dance. She watches their feet rather ahead of her, unconcerned about threats here in the training hall.

Was it that easy to be unafraid here? Or was that the reassuring aura of Cathaway and the Prince? She doesn't know, it nettles at her in the back of her mind, but lets that go too.

The physical training remains uninteresting to her... but her vague awareness of her broodmate beside her is more interesting. Syncing breath and heartbeat makes things fuzzy, blurring together in the warmth of burning muscle. She can feel him... wanting to push himself, and decides to support that notion until he is ready to be done. ]

[decommission]

[ The pace he keeps is even, the sense of a separate partner running at his side dissipating. They could be a single form, her steps falling in line with his. And there's a pleasantness to this blur, nothing like the shared visions of her dead world. He barely notices that she's urging him on. His determination and her encouragement almost seem to come from the same source.

Effective parts of a whole, working in tandem.

(it feels right, and then it doesn't)

He slows toward the end of the lap, winding down to the trot he started with, then a walk. When he stops, he looks over at her, eyebrows drawn together. ]

You don't have to do that. [ Help press him forward. It's a kneejerk response. No matter how right the connection feels, he can't shake how invasive it all is (how easy it is to fall into). ]

[erbier]

[ She is silent for a moment, letting her breath return to a more steady momentum. She licks her lips, a brief consideration of how to reply. She understands his reluctance, she had felt the same... until she met Cathaway, until she had seen all the strings between herself and Ren become illuminated.

There is a reason this man is tied to her, things about them which are similar. He keeps them shuttered away behind a polite curtain, she cannot see them as clearly, but it rings out clarion in the spaces between. ]

I... meant no offense.

[ She's not going to apologize. ]

[decommission]

[ He shakes his head, gaze lowering as if chastised. ]

I know. [ And isn't that part of the problem? His hand lifts, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. He isn't angry at her, his irritation directed at the situation. Still, it permeates, and that causes even more irritation -

he takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying not to fall into a loop. Whatever he does, it stems the tide, his side of the link going relatively neutral again. ]

Sorry. [ Glancing over at her again. ] Feel like walking for a bit?

[ It's good to stretch. ]

[erbier]

[ She doesn't understand the point of that, but what she does understand is that reluctance weighs heavy on his mind. She shrugs, crossing her hands at the small of her back, as much assent as the situation requires. ]

You see value in this training.

[ Not really a question, more a probe for his reasons. ]