lifeaftr | Let's Train in 100 Times Gravity

Entry tags:

Let's Train in 100 Times Gravity

Who: Anyone who wants to come by! Tag in, thread with Yuka, thread with each other, whatever you want.
What: Combat training/practice.
When: Sunset, each night for a week minimum.
Where: East end of Islet 1.
Warnings: Possible blood if things get out of hand, implied 80s training montage songs

Yuka chose this location because the ground was level, there was enough space for people to move around, and nobody was really using it for anything else. No wild beasts, no fish people to disturb, no strange psychological effects... the ideal place for people to gather for an hour or two and get some good-natured fighting in. The snow on the ground wasn't ideal, she supposed, but that stuff was everywhere, so they'd just have to make do. It'd probably be snowing during the invasion, anyway.

Each evening, as the sun inched towards the horizon, Yuka set her other tasks aside to come out and wait. Jug of wassail sitting at the edge of the space, bundled in warm clothes and scarves, Yuka paced, wondering if this was really going to be worth the time. Are there people willing to spend that much time to train others when there's so much else that needs doing? Can someone even learn enough to make a difference in this little time? For that matter, are these shadow monsters something you can even fight with your fists? If nothing else, it would be good to do some physical activity in just to get her mind to stop going in circles.

For those who arrived early, there would be less to do, but even just talking through what different fighting skills people had would be useful for later on. Once more people arrived, those who use similar weapons could work together, and those with more combat experience could work with those with less. Or, people who know each other or are curious about each other's abilities could seek each other out for a sparring match.

So: Fight, teach, learn, take breaks, drink, chat. Bring your own wassail if you can - Yuka's can only stretch so far.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Usually, he's something of a champion of not talking about shit. That's kinda what he excels at. Talking about shit is what gets him conversations like their last one. All told, it's probably easiest for both of them if they just pretend it never happened, huh?]

[A pity that he's learned, since the first time a thing like this went down.]

You've talked to her?

[...in a minute. He'll get to it in a minute.]

Oh yeah.

[Talked to her extensively, actually. Been trading ideas about how, when, and where to arrange things to make advancement as arduous and painful as possible for the invading forces. Small walls, concealed spike traps, ambush points. Routes to reach those ambush points in relative safety so that they could take the fight in shifts. They've been some very fruitful conversations.]

[Gobbet puts a hand on her hip, considering how best to describe her interactions with Munin.]

She's not as scary as she looks. Don't get me wrong, you don't want to be on the wrong end of her weapon, but she's not so different from us at heart.

[But that's probably not what you came to talk about.]

That's...good to hear.

[He's approaching all of this too cautiously, too nervously. Is it as obvious to her as it is to him, that he has no idea how to go about patching something like this on the eve of what promises to be a genuine struggle in which they might not all make it out?]

[Does it matter if they don't all make it out? Won't they all come back, anyway?]

So you're...pretty good with fighting with stuff like that. Yeah?

[Gobbet laughs at the suggestion that she knows what she's doing. She shakes her head, hefting the weapon just to show how obviously incorrect her grip is.]

Oh fuck no, I think I had a pocket knife once and that's as close as I've come to melee combat. I had a gun and spells at my disposal. Strictly ranged.

[She can see it on Tim's face, hear it in his voice. The tension is getting to her, too. Things are just easier when they're out in the open. All this mystery and dancing around the subject...it just makes her antsy.]

[The problem is that she told herself she'd let him talk to her on his own time, if he ever wanted to talk to her again. But then that's what he's trying to do, isn't it? So shouldn't she respond accordingly? It's pure impatience, but she offers a crooked smile and a joke as a show of good will.]

I think I'm about as awkward with this thing as the conversation we're not having.

[Funny. He could almost say the same. He's got plenty of weapons on him, sure, but he doesn't know a thing about actually using them, other just simply trying to hit something with them until the thing stops moving. He hasn't killed nearly enough to be any good at it, but simultaneously, they both know he's killed too much.]

[It might've been spoken in good humor, but he winces nonetheless.]

Okay, I - had that one coming, I guess. Figure we might as well get this outta the way before we're all fighting...shadow things, or whatever.

Alright, then. What's up?

[Gobbet's tone is light and even, no trace of bitterness or anger. She doesn't have to work hard to make it sound genuine: again, really not all that upset. But it's embarrassing, isn't it? By disagreeing with her philosophy, he was disagreeing with her as a person and she'd been offended at the time. And in her frustration she failed to understand pretty much anything about his end of the situation. So she was at least partially in the wrong. And that's embarrassing.]

[She sets the weapon down against her knapsack (which is...wriggling) nearby and fishes out her jug of wassail. It's cold out here and her armor is sleeveless, after all. It's definitely not a clever ploy to avoid eye contact.]

[She's gonna make him start it out. Figures she would. It's his fault, right? He's the one that decided to soak the bridge in kerosene and flick the lit match across the gap between them, a solemn dare for her to light it up herself. Is it any surprise that she'd elect to do exactly that?]

[It was all but the expectation he'd pinned on her.]

[So just...start simple. Start small.]

The shit I said. That wasn't...you didn't deserve that. Doesn't matter if we don't agree. Wasn't called for.

Eh, it wasn't that bad, to be honest. Apology accepted, though.

[She takes a little sip of wassail, feeling the warmth travel through her body, all the way down to her chilled fingertips.]

[Gobbet has never been a fan of sincerity. It makes you too vulnerable, exposes too many squishy spots in your psyche. But she's done some thinking. Tim needs help, and she might be the person to get through to him. He needs someone who is as opposite as can be, to balance him out. He's too far to one side of the scale. Arguably, she's too far on the other side, too.]

I shouldn't have pressed as hard as I did, either. I didn't understand and did a lot of talking without trying to understand. That was a dick move, especially after what you had to go through that night.

'S more complicated than that. You weren't...wrong.

[He can't in good conscience say that she was wrong, when he knows what it's like to be up against a wall. Back to the wall, and knowing that it's not just you or him - it's either you let him gut you here and now, and risk the one person whose life you saved, or you fight back and make sure that she stays safe.]

[It's what she deserved.]

[It's what Jay fought so damn hard for.]

That memory, that - that whole thing you saw, it wasn't the only corner I've ever been backed into. Just maybe the most personal one.

[Gobbet stands up, takes a deep breath. It's hard to admit you were in the wrong.]

[And she was - even if she was technically right, it was the wrong time to push like she did. She forgets, sometimes, that not everyone has shut out the pain like she has. Not everyone is tactically numb to their actions and the resulting consequences. Some people still have regrets that they cling to. Not everyone has had the chance to become as hardened to it as she has.]

I didn't listen last time, so talk to me now. I'm listening.

[She'll try.]

[Tread carefully. Tread - don't fuck this up, goddamn you, after she's trying real damn hard to be careful. Just be careful.]

I haven't...I'm not a fighter. [That much, he's pretty sure, should be obvious, pairing it with a meek little shrug of his shoulders.] I don't want to be, but I've kind of up having to be. Don't like it much. Not very good at it, either. And I guess, that whole thing that you saw is kinda...proof of that.

[Thank god she didn't see the why. That's all he's gotta be thankful for.]

[I mean you got the job done, didn't you?]

[...don't say that.]

[You're here to understand the situation and see what comes of it. Don't blow it, and don't just bury your discomfort in jokes.]

When you say you're not a fighter, you don't mean that strictly physically, do you? You mean you're just not the "fighting back" type overall?

[A soft huff of air. How'd she guess, right?]

Not generally, no. Just never really grew up that way.

[Sit down, shut up, and listen to the doctors, the bigger and smarter adults who no doubt know what they're doing, who'll figure you out, who'll figure you out and make you better. Just trust them, trust that, and maybe you'll have a shot at something normal.]

[It'll go so much faster, and so much easier, if you just listen.]

[Gobbet frowns and her brows knit together. She's tried to block out most of the memories regarding the cave and crystals and everything that happened for those few days. But she remembers enough to know that Tim fought for his life that day. If it had come down to facing the creatures head on, maybe it would be a different story.]

[But...]

Why did you follow me that day in the caves, Tim?

[It isn’t really a bad question. Honestly, it makes sense that she’d ask his instinct for self-preservation might far surpass his devotion to it, but that hasn’t exactly been unwavering since he woke here. Short-term endurance for long-term net loss. It’s a flawed ideal, but it’s his.]

[More or less.]

‘Cause I got some people I’m looking out for.

I guess what I'm not getting is why you can't - or won't - just live for your sake.

[People like him don’t live for their own sakes. People like him, assuming they live at all, don’t have much worth living for. Maybe something about the wry twist to one side of his mouth communicates a smile, because it doesn’t much pass for one.]

There something about me that looks like it’s worth sticking around?

I'll be honest with you, I don't know you well enough to give you a list of reasons. I know you care about others, though. Way more than I do. You care enough to protect someone, to help prepare for the upcoming shitstorm, and to make amends.

[To all the people she's hurt, directly or indirectly, there's probably not much worth in keeping Gobbet around either. She's a lazy criminal scumbag who only cares about herself and spends all day stuffing her face and avoiding her own PTSD. But she still lives for herself. She's all she's got and her opinion is the only one that matters to her.]

[Gobbet's voice is surprisingly quiet, but even, as she adds:]

It's all about the value we place on ourselves. I know you don't place any on yourself, but it doesn't have to be that way.

[For someone who’s a liar by default, by nature, by self-admission and self-reflection, he can still acknowledge when someone else’s honesty is...appreciated. And it is, no matter how Gobbet might gauge it. She’s direct. She’s blunt. More and more, he’s finding himself drawn to that.]

I’m pretty sure whatever good I manage here won’t really come close to making that worth it.

[There it is again. The question of how much gets said. How big a risk he ends up taking.]

It’s not...I’m not really in a position to judge, if that’s not what you believe. I’m just not much in the way of...worthwhile pursuits, I guess.

Mm. [Gobbet shakes her head. That one she can't let fly. It's not about disagreement, it's fact.] I've known worthless folks. You're not worthless.

[And she's talking about society here, not the worth of you to yourself.]

[For example, back home she's worthless in the eyes of society, but worth more than words can describe to herself. Tim, she's coming to see, is exactly the opposite. She doesn't agree, but she understands. Sort of.]

I'm not going to tell you that you're a shining saint, because you're not. I'm not. But you're definitely worthwhile. Otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you right now. As long as one person places even a little value on you, you're not worthless.

Well, hey. That’s why I’m still around.

[Not because he meant to be. But because a couple people needed him to be. They asked him to hold out until the very End, and he agreed, because there was so little he would not do for them. They deserved something that he didn’t get, even if it was all for the sake of a bitter end result.]

‘Cause some people need me to be.

[...she was hoping you'd have an epiphany and realize that maybe if others saw value in you, you should see it in yourself.]

[Gobbet lets out a long breath - not quite a sigh, but enough to convey her disappointment in her failed plan.]

Well, it's better than nothing.

[She sets down the wassail jug and stands up, turning to face him.]

But what's the part you're not telling me that's making it impossible for me to understand where you're coming from?

The part where people who know me tend to - end up badly.

[That would be putting it delicately. If she won’t eschew him for irrational reasons, maybe the rational ones will be a little more efficient. After all, she’s gotta have a pretty sky high sense of self preservation. She’d have to.]

[So people who plan on staying alive shouldn’t be hunkering down with him.]

I dunno what you’d call it. There’s just something sorta - over me. Something bigger.

[And It doesn’t like to share.]

[She crosses her arms over her chest. Regards him curiously.]

[End up badly. You could say the same about the people who chose to let her into their lives, too. There were very few people she knew back home who weren't dead or in constant danger of dying because of her.]

[But that's more of an occupational hazard thing, not a curse - which is what it sounds like Tim is describing to her.]

So you're...what, cursed?

[Honestly, it's not a bad analogy. He more or less implied to Chip that something...something had possession of his soul, some irrevocable hold that he could never quite shake, and that wasn't quite a lie either. His life has never truly been his.]

Probably the best way of putting it, actually. It latches onto everyone I meet, and I - I can't take the risk that it won't happen again.

[He keeps his distance. He prays that It never comes. He doesn't get near people, not close enough for them to discern anything fishy. But then, did Brian or Alex or Jay need to know any part of him, for It to draw near?]

[Maybe they're really all just...doomed.]

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