maskormenacelogs | [CLOSED] nothing's promised to you,

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[CLOSED] nothing's promised to you,

WHO: Ronan Lynch

kinesia
WHERE: A boxing gym in Heropa.
WHEN: 11/22, 2pm.
WHAT: Grey asked Ronan out on a date. A fighting date.
WARNINGS: Light violence, probably swearing, and the fact that all of my knowledge of boxing comes from a book published in 1967.

[This should be weird, but it's not. Ronan only realized after he agreed that he hasn't boxed since his father died, and by then it was too late to back out. He'd planned on just skipping out on Grey and not saying anything, but somehow, he'd found himself there anyway.]

[Maybe he won't have to box.]

[The problem is that he wants to. He hadn't realized it until Grey had shown him the picture. He's missed it. He liked fighting, and he liked doing it in an organized, clean way. He liked it when he was fair. Winning in a street fight was always ugly, always left him feeling a little bit dirty, even if the win was euphoric in and of itself.]

[Boxing was different. It felt like home.]

[He enters the gym with a bag slung over his shoulder. For once, he's not wearing a heavy jacket and heavy jeans-- just a wife-beater and sweats. Among this crowd, he looks normal. Many of them have tattoos, several have shaved heads. Grey is easy to spot in comparison. He walks up next to him and starts the conversation without so much as a 'hello'.]

So what exactly were you planning for this shit. [Best to sound like he's not already on-board.]

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[ Grey has been looking for somewhere like this. Archangel had first given him the taste for it, when they'd trained together. But that hadn't happened for quite some time, and members have to be quiet about it when they aren't there. Being quiet about anything is never a problem for Grey, but it means he's been looking for something else. Something different, and on top of that, someone he could trust as a sparring partner.

That's where Ronan comes in. Their fight had been clean and good. Grey had gone there expecting Ronan to use his super strength and overpower him, the way Kanaya had done in Archangel. But Ronan had not. Ronan had wanted a test of skill, and he had stuck to that. He had been trustworthy, despite his general, rough attitude. Grey trusts that instinct. Beyond that, it hadn't escaped his notice that Ronan's technique was not the same as his, that he used different moves and held himself in a different way. He'd called it boxing, and though Grey hadn't admitted to it, he doesn't know what that is. Fighting, for him, has never been so organised as that. What he can do comes from needing to survive.

But from that point of view, he couldn't feel better about being here. The moment he's inside, among others who are training and sparring and learning, he realises how much he's missed it. Training had been a huge part of his life on the Train. He had needed to stay sharp. He had needed to be better than everyone, because this was his role. Today, he's full of energy. Blood thrums in his veins. It's a physical effort to keep his moving tattoos from activating and expressing that, because they're eager to. Instead, he looks up at Ronan with a tiny, pleased smile - you came, his face says - and he points to the central ring.

Two people are already fighting there. Technically, they're teacher and student, but the student is good. He's being put through his paces, and rarely needs correcting. Grey moves in front of Ronan, and gestures between the two of them. That is what he wants. That they should spar and teach each other, at the same time. His head tilts to the side, and his brows lift. You aren't backing out now, are you? ]

Ugh. [Ronan has a problem, and it's that he likes honest people.]

[He's not as good at reading people as Grey-- he never will be, and that's becoming pretty clear, because this shithead's got his fucking number, and he hates that-- but he can tell there isn't much subterfuge in Grey. Maybe it's because he can't talk, or maybe he's naturally an upfront person, but it's very endearing on a level deep below the surface. Ronan recognizes himself in others when he sees it; the thirst for honesty, privacy, and action are all there.]

[And now he wants to fucking box.] That? [He gestures to the boxing ring before them, the people sparing within it. Ronan doesn't know what Grey's world is like-- he doesn't want to-- but from what little he knows, it's strange and different.] You wanna box with me?

[Ronan idly wonders if he can kick Grey's ass at boxing. Probably not. It'll be interesting, though.]

[ Grey does not know what boxing is, except from what he's seen in movies - not much - and what he'd seen of Ronan. He wants to be better, though. That's how Gilliam had taught him. He had always wanted to learn more, train harder, get better. That impulse is still very much there.

Yes, he decides. He wants to box.

He lifts his chin, up-nodding at Ronan as if in challenge. He beckons with his head and moves to the side, away from the student and teacher and behind them, where there's another ring lying empty. Taking hold of the ropes, he pulls himself up to crouch at the edge of it, and gives Ronan a little smile. His eyes are intent, full of meaning. He holds his arm out, showing Ronan a tattoo he'd seen once before: ]

surrender !

[ Ronan hadn't done it when they fought. He'd kept going. Even when he knew he couldn't win, he'd kept going. Grey respects that. The day he'd died, he had fought until the very end, and he knows Ronan would too.

That's why he'll make a good partner. He slides in behind the ropes, and beckons Ronan again. You hadn't backed out then. Don't back out now. ]

[Ronan takes note, in the clinical part of his mind that records human meaning, how Grey has never seemed this intent or focused before. Even in their fight, there was a sort of... weariness to it, verging on numb. But he's alive, now, aware and awake and ready. It'd be endearing if Ronan found that sort of thing endearing but he doesn't so stop asking gosh.]

[Emotions are gross.]

Hold your fucking horses. [Ronan sounds bored, casual, a perfect synthetic replica of emotions he doesn't remotely feel right now. He's invigorated, too. He wishes he wasn't. It'd be easier if he wasn't-- everything would be.]

[He pulls two pairs of gloves out of his bag, and tosses a pair to Grey. They're clearly new, freshly bought-- he's hoping Grey either doesn't notice or knows well enough not to comment. Does he have a tattoo for 'this looks expensive'?] There are rules, you know. [Ronan steps inside the ring. He takes off his shirt before he puts on the gloves-- the full extent of his tattoo is free and visible to all. There are no words in its twisted maw, but it seems to say back off in perfect English.]

Edited (SHHHH.) 2015-11-26 14:39 (UTC)

[ Given that Grey does not, in fact, know what the rules might be, he doesn't know what Ronan is doing. He waits, watching patiently, until Ronan tosses something at him. He catches it as reflexively as he might snatch a knife out of the air, and then he turns the boxing gloves carefully over in his hands.

Grey has not had many new things in his life. Even here, he still wears clothes until they're worn out. Force of habit will do that to you. He looks up, genuinely startled -

And then sees Ronan's tattoo, which is distracting enough to make his eyes skate over it with interest. There's so much. It's more than just one thing; it's like a knot of many things. Grey has never seen one so intricate. But more than anything else, it reminds him of Henrietta. It has the same birdlike quality, the same appeal. He gestures to it with one of the gloves, and gives Ronan a nod of approval that carries a smile along with it. He also shows him a tattoo for 'thanks' - on the underside of his right arm, directly opposite his 'please' - and after dropping his own shirt away, he pulls the gloves on.

They make a strange sort of match, now. Grey's skin is darker, his hair longer, and his tattoos tiny and numerous compared to Ronan's sprawling raven-knot. Grey lifts his hands, which have curled into the shape of the gloves. This is going to be restrictive; why are these in the rules? He asks this question silently, by way of an uncertain lifted eyebrow shot in Ronan's direction. Protecting your hands was a luxury the Train just didn't have. ]

[Ronan isn't really sure what to do with Mr Tattoos liking his tattoo. He's also not sure what to do with the entire gesture. He's good at reading people, but he's not a mindreader, and honestly, most of his skill relied on the natural honesty contempt bred. Grey seems to enjoy Ronan's company, the freak, which makes him hard for Ronan to peg.]

[Ronan shakes his head.] If you got questions, fucking ask 'em. Did you run out of ink for your special tattoo crap? [He had been annoyed by Grey's tattoos, because he'd been annoyed with Grey and looking for an opportunity to hurt him. That's long passed.]

[He takes an opening stance and waits a half second.] Or we can quit the foreplay and I can tell you the fucking rules.

[ Grey frowns - minimally, the kind that means confusion and not irritation. He hesitates, but after a moment, writing appears briefly on his cheek. ]

you dont like it

[ Because he had seen that Ronan didn't. Still, he does what he asks. That's what Grey does. The second offer returns his smile, and makes intensity spark in his eyes again. He nods. Yes, tell him the rules.

Meanwhile, he'll work on discerning them for himself. Ronan's stance is still. Grey always starts fights with movement, with watching, with careful circling. He knew this would be different, and while it goes against some of his instincts, he's ready to be tested. He mirrors that stance, raising the gloves so that they'll guard his face. He takes a small step closer to Ronan, mostly to see what he'll do. He keeps his knees bent and his shoulders loose.

He still doesn't like how his hands feel.

He'll get used to it. Pleased with all of this, he gets ready to dodge. ]

[Ronan rolls his eyes.] What the fuck do you care what I like. [He feels a little guilty even saying that; he's pretty sure 'do what you have to, fuck the rest' is an idea that's got an episode of Blue's Clues dedicated to it.]

[Maybe with different phrasing.]

[But this, he can do.] No kicking. No hitting below the belt. No... fucking ninja shit, either, that means slamming or gripping or hugging, whatever the fuck. No headlocks. It's about punching. [He demonstrates with two quick jabs into the air. He's sure Grey can manage that much from simple observation; he's a fucking pro in his own freaky parkour way.] You win when you can knock someone down and they can't get up for a five count. No holding them down, you gotta make 'em stay before they hit the floor. It's not wrestling.

[It's probably the most Ronan's ever said to Grey all at once.] You got it?

[ Grey's frown deepens. He cares what everyone likes, is the truth. He comes from a community where people couldn't help but be aware of each other, because they were in each other's personal space all the time. They knew each other intimately, knew their likes and dislikes. He would never deliberately do something that he knew made someone else uncomfortable. That's just not in his script, and probably never will be, because it's instinct to him.

He doesn't know how to put any single part of that into words, so he settles for one. He taps his glove against the static tattoo for 'Like', and then jabs his arm at Ronan. That will have to do.

But then they're into it, and this part is easier. Grey loses his frown, and his face turns intent again. No gripping or hugging, no holding anyone down. This is not how Grey fights, by any stretch. He's strong enough, but he's never relied solely on that. His agility is a better tool. Will it be useless here? He won't know until he tries, but from that point of view he's more than willing.

He lifts his chin and nods. The ghost of a smile hides at one corner of his mouth.

He holds himself in Ronan's stance, but loosely; arms and hips mobile, eyes training over Ronan's shoulders. He beckons - a clumsy gesture with both hands, because of the gloves - but it means he's ready. As before, he wants Ronan to move first - not because he's defensive, this time, but because that's how he'll learn the technique. ]

That better fucking mean you like punching. [Please, oh, please god, let it mean that. Ronan shouldn't be allowed around the honest and genuine, for their sake more than his.]

[And then it's time to fight, and Ronan clears his heart of whimsy.]

[It's good, at least, that they're both tall. Ronan comes in fast, just slightly hunched with his hands in front, ready for a preemptive block. Only when he's near enough to Grey does he strike, a quick jab intended to get at Grey's comparatively soft underbelly and knock the wind out of him. He always tries to finish fights fast.]

[ That better mean you like punching. That makes Grey smile properly, which is his equivalent of laughter. Ronan is a strange and difficult boy, but Grey wouldn’t have expected different from him. Some people like to be liked. Some despise it; Curtis had been that way.

But actually, he does like fighting. He also likes learning, and this involves both. His instinct is to dodge, to stay light on his feet, and he makes himself stay. He won’t learn how it ought to feel otherwise. So instead of moving, he moves to intercept Ronan, and folds over the blow to his stomach. He exhales, hard, and computes that hit; different from being hit with a bare hand. It covers a wider area, feels less acute but just as strong. That might have been enough to fell someone unused to being hit.

It doesn’t bring Grey down, but it hurts, and he has to make himself breathe. His hands curl inside the gloves and he twists away, finally obeying the need to move. At the same time he aims a solid punch towards Ronan’s ribs. Even now, his eyes are sparking with life. He doesn’t expect to win this fight, but it’s clear he’s not afraid of pain. ]

[Grey punches hard, but Ronan already knew that. He fights like his life depends on it. Maybe it did, once. Doesn't matter, now. Ronan would be screwed if he hadn't turned away in time, but he has; Grey's punch lands squarely on the side of his ribcage, and that hurts like hell, it'll bruise purple by tomorrow, but it doesn't knock Ronan down. That's what matters. Winning is what replaces whimsy.]

[He shifts from foot to foot-- a moving target is more difficult to strike-- and inches closer. He's never been one for caution in the ring or outside it. Another solid jab is aimed toward Grey's gut, and Ronan's curious if Grey's learned to dodge or block yet.]

[He doesn't go easy on him, though. All the same force is still in every punch.]

[ This time Grey lets his instincts move him. He's quick on his feet, and steps to the side at the same time as he twists. In a normal fight, he would have tried to move behind Ronan now, to grapple him, get him in a lock.

But that's not how boxing works, and he remembers that rule. Instead he quickly rebounds, following through on the movement from his twist with another punch aimed at Ronan's face. Whether that connects or not, he keeps moving. He learns as much from watching Ronan as listening to him, and he stays on his toes, always shifting his balance and using his speed.

He won't be quick enough, though. More punches will connect than be avoided, and eventually he starts trying to intercept them, going on the defensive. Blocking is new, but he's learning. ]

[It connects. Ronan can feel his nose start to bleed-- not gushing, but there's a little trickle about to hit his lip. It's a good fucking punch, and the pain centers him, brings him back to himself. It's why Ronan never aims for people's faces. The stomach knocks him out. The face just makes him angry, excited, ready.]

[So Ronan smiles.]

[He's dancing on his toes as well, really, truly in the fight now. Trying to keep going, be a moving target. He blocks a few of Grey's punches, not all, but the major ones after Grey gets him in the face. His return strike is aimed, once more, for Grey's stomach. He tries to get him where he did last time, add insult to injury.]

[ It’s a different style, an unfamiliar style, but the focus Grey settles into is familiar all the same. He has to fight many of his instincts while teaching himself new ones. This is what’s good, what’s helpful. It reminds him of learning when he was young, training over and over and over again to be the best, the fastest, the strongest. This is like that. Ronan is good, he’s very good. It’s not long before Grey struggles to keep up.

He keeps moving, keeps dodging. He’s slower than he should be, slower than Ronan because he’s not used to it, and can’t anticipate moves in his same way. His face is a mask of tension but his eyes are alive with energy. Ronan’s hit buries in his stomach and sends momentary stars to his vision. There’s a spasm of tattooed cursing across his cheek, and his eyes close while he tries to centre himself. Breathing is hard. He can’t take another hit like that.

He shakes his head, trying unsuccessfully to clear it. He dances back, making his eyes open again, and now almost entirely on the defensive. He’s trying to protect his stomach, knowing that it’s vulnerable, and without meaning to, leaves openings up above. Even knowing that he’s on the back foot doesn’t make Grey give up. He’ll fight until he can’t, every time. ]

[Ronan sees what Grey's doing, and some small part of him is proud. He's learning. Is this what his father felt when- no, no, kill that. Shove it down. It's not here. None of it's here. It doesn't belong here.]

[Ronan sees what Grey's doing, and he plans an attack. A one-two punch, one to the face to distract him, and one to the stomach to knock him down. If he's quick, it'll be soon enough after the last hit to really sink him.]

[It's a cruel tactic, but it's the kind of tactic Ronan would use in any fight he wanted to win, regardless of his opponent. And Ronan thinks, from what he knows of Grey, that he wouldn't want it any other way.]

[ He's too fast, and too good. This is more than a challenge. This is what Grey wants to learn.

He blocks the blow to his face, and for a second, feels like he's achieved something. That second is what undoes him. He realises his mistake the moment Ronan's hand hits that same point again, and the air rushes from his lungs.

This time his vision goes white, and he goes down hard. In the moment before he's out, he focuses on the pain. When he gets back up, that's what he'll remember. Next time will be better. Next time, he will be better.

He's out before he hits the ground. ]

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[CLOSED] nothing's promised to you,

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