[Teeth bared, unseen, Cain doesn't answer. He's already hauling himself up and out the door. Four days gone, he can go wherever he wants now, even if there's nowhere to go.
It'll take him only a short time to reach the pinned location. Morningstar was able to provide him a pair of used, beaten, wrist-length gloves, which he's wearing despite the heat. It's a miserable walk no matter time of day -- his sleeveless shirt is sticky with sweat when he finally approaches the dilapidated structure.]
( he doesn't answer, which means he's either pouting elsewhere or on his way. whatever. jason never moved any of his equipment out of his old warehouse, even if he moved living places. some of it's been destroyed by homeless natives, but the salmon ladder's still in one piece, and the heavy weights haven't been moved.
whether or not cain shows up doesn't matter, jason was playing around anyway. there are two hoops connected to the ceiling by thick wire, and jason's. hanging from them. holding on tight with hands and doing a few pullups, switching off hands every five and when he can make out the shape of someone approaching, he. pauses. curls legs in and raises them over his head, flips upside down before legs move over further and jason's dropping to the ground on bare feet,
sweaty and gross and shirtless but you know. )
Where's your bump? Gonna whine 'bout it some more?
[Pouting isn't his style. Action feels better, even if it means taking it out on the guy who was able to knock him cold in less than a minute, down in those caves. Malone was the last person he encountered at the end of that wild, exhaustive, delirious night. Later woke to a dull and pounding pain in his skull, along with all the other elements of a hangover from too may drugs.
Suffice to say, when he walks through the door he's not sure what to expect. A gym isn't it - but the vague mentioned memory of a fighting pit swims to mind. That's not this place.
Anyway, he doesn't stare... but it's one thing to see Malone in the dark, fully clothed; another here, pumped from exercise, corded with muscle like a powerlifter. Cain's loath to admit he was lucky only to get away with a lump.]
Fuck off. [Sharp tongue that never learns. He crosses his arms, stands resolute and uncowed.] What is this? Thought you said I'd earn money.
Yeah. ( but he's not throwing some loser into the ring when it took jason approximately four seconds to completely disable him. especially not with damian playing around in them, too. he doesn't want cain to die, just.
get him beer. showing off wasn't intentional but jason definitely is doing it now, tightening and flexing muscle, grabbing onto a wrinkled tank nearby to throw it on before reaching for a roll of athletic to cover up fingers, wrists. taking the time to be careful not to leave any gaps in fabric, because he doesn't feel like touching cain. on initiating--that. )
You'll get your cash, but you're not gonna get it as is. Those rings're full of. . enhanced individuals. Full of metal bits. What've you got going for you? ( doesn't pause long enough for cain to answer. ) You're scrappy. You can do better. Hit harder. Move more efficiently. You wanna get credits? You'll have to try harder, and I'll give you your in.
[That's some effort to go for free beer. Not that Cain says as much, eyes narrowed in critical and scrutinizing caution, still wearing all the tension he's carried along with him like armor since he woke up on that bus.
Enhanced individuals, Malone tells him. He tries to picture it, can't, and then he's being told how to improve. Like this guy is a teacher - or a trainer - or one of his superior officers barking at him on the station. Cain's hands curl into fists.]
Why me? [However drugged up and high he was in the caves, the sting of hurt pride isn't something he likes to confront.] Not saying I won't do it, just gotta wonder why you'd bother. [Malone could do it himself and buy his own beer, easy, to start.] It's not 'cause I grabbed your ass, is it? You did ask for it.
'cause I need someone in the rings. ( it's not a lie, and it's an easy enough answer to give. cain wants money, jason wants someone who isn't his gremlin little brother working the ring. ) You're reckless, quick on your feet even when shit's not in your favor. A bit of an idiot, but.
( so is jason todd, he's not judging. )
We can work on that.
( fingers wrapped, he gestures around. ) This place ain't safe. It's--been compromised, but it works short-term. You can walk out if you really wanna, I don't give a shit. All I want's information. And beer. You'd keep the rest the benefits--my invitation to the rings is good. Been fucking 'round down there for a while.
( he's putting a lot of faith in cain actually sharing shit, too. but even if he doesn't: most jason loses out on the deal is time, and a few select moves. it'd be more than stupid to try and drill more than that into cain, they don't have that much time, and jason won't give out everything. there's already a few people roving around that can beat the shit out of him, no need to encourage more to learn. )
[He glowers, the look a slash across his face - there and then gone - as he considers the offer. Information and beer aren't a bad trade for fighting experience and credits, which will buy him financial independence faster than working some shit job. Presumably. It's the highest task on his priority list: get out of the safehouse, support himself, protect himself.
And he's used to doing shit like this to make those ends meet.]
I'm not saying no. And I'm not walking out. [Cain relaxes, incrementally, but never lets his guard down. He's had to.] Fine. I'll do it.
[A thought clicks into place, then, and his eyes scan the surrounding interior of the warehouse. He recalls the gps pin.]
... Someone else told me about this place, said to come train here. Hafid, something. [Can't remember.] You know him?
( ah, cute. damian's message about training, about learning how to fight. he remembers that. snorts a little, raises fingers to sift them through messy hair above his forehead. )
Yeah, ( easy, they've already fucked this over and jason has no reason to try and hide it. ) he's my baby brother. Adopted. Well, I was. ( that bit is important. ) Could kick my ass any day, too. I'll get him to play with you later.
( damian is surprisingly easy to manipulate even if jason doesn't care to think of it that way. it's an admittance to cain, too; he's tough but not even close to the strongest asshole on the block. damian's a gremlin but he's scrappy. younger, but much more well-trained than jason. he can admit to it. )
[Play, like he's a fun toy, or a useful tool. It scrapes at nerve-ends. But Cain doesn't say anything, because at least he'll benefit from the arrangement. If not money, then strength.]
Your brother. Seriously?
[Same worlds, then. Less important than the fact there's a smaller asshole running around with more evident physical prowess than the man in front of him. He doesn't make a big deal of it - just answers the question.]
Military. Was a Fighter in the program, [truthful, but it's the first time he's shared that detail. Again, not a big deal. Was. What is he now?] We used the weapons systems on ship and trained hand-to-hand combat against each other.
Like I told your brother, might've been different than what you know, 'cause different universes. [Different wars, different enemies. Cain flexes his fingers in the sweaty gloves. He wants to peel them off.] But I'm a good shot.
( it's word manipulation; jason hates being used as a tool, wouldn't put that on anyone who doesn't deserve it and he doesn't know cain well enough to make that decision. he seems scrappy, ready and willing to take down anything in his path but not--a horrible excuse for a human being. or whatever he was before. they've got aliens and ex androids, gods and god knows what else. he doesn't judge. )
Ex military. Alright. ( taking a moment to size cain up again before he steps in closer. holds out the roll of athletic tape and gestures down to covered hands. ) Breathes easier, take that shit off.
( while he waits, idly: ) We've got an interesting background, I'm sure that kid'll blab all about it if you ask. ( #thanksdamian #appreciateit ) I came in off the streets, lived in a hellhole called crime alley on my own when I was young. You learn a lot of useful shit in places like that. How to hit, how to take down bigger opponents--had some military-esque training after. Spent some time with a few Russian mobsters and picked up some shit there. Weapons aren't legal and hard to get hold of, dangerous to keep. You'll have to find new toys to play with.
[Maybe he's just -- sensitive to it, given the markers of history. Maybe it is a manifestation in his head. So far, Malone's said nothing outright, put no hooks into the deal. It feels even. More in his own favor, maybe, for how this will benefit him right now. All waged on recompense of beer.
Cain strips off the gloves, tosses them down, and wipes damp palms on his thighs with relief.]
Noticed the tech here translates anything in a different language. [He smirks, cutting,] Otherwise I'd test your Russian tongue.
[He takes the tape, begins winding it around the bulge of knuckles, methodical. Like he's done it too many times in the past.]
Federated Alliance would've killed for someone like you in the ranks. They got too many scrawny dogs, usually. Not much competition.
Edited (noticing typos too late is a lifestyle) 2019-01-03 07:16 (UTC)
It's probably better than yours. ( he's. bullshitting, but. jason knows quite a few languages, russian included; the translator makes shit difficult. he's tried faking his own language, and it eventually figured out how to mimic that and shift it. makes talking in front of others and hiding what he's trying to get at. difficult.
a step back, and jason raises his fists. one foot back, hips turned, forearms in front of his face. bounces on the balls of his feet a bit while he waits for cain to finish. doesn't push forward but certainly doesn't move back, either. )
Bein' bigger than the average guy doesn't make me a good fighter. ( that's what cain means. he gets where he's going. ) Hafid's smaller, scrawnier. Faster and more flexible. Heft ain't everything.
( it works for jason; he's built like a tank and can take damage, but he's no gymnast like every other person who wore the R. )
[As it's his native language, there's doubt. Still he wonders whether differences are seeded between what he spoke on the colonies and what may be spoken on some alternate, ambiguous version of Earth.]
I get the point. [Cain tosses the athletic tape in general direction of his gloves, turns to face his opponent.] C'mere, then.
[Rather than lunge at Malone - recklessly - as he did in the caves, he beckons with two fingers. Like an exact imitation of what Malone did, roles reversed.]
( his turn, right. cain isn't the first kid jason's trained, he knows how this works. there's a step closer, and jason's not outright swinging. he's moving, instead. )
There's a couple ways to try and land a punch on a guy. Sure the military taught you that. Swinging out ( stance loosening, fist swinging out in a wide circle motion before coming back in, knuckles aiming for a nonexistent enemy in front of him. ) or swinging in ( elbow pressed into his side, fist jabbing up quick from his center. ) but a guy like you might wanna avoid fists at all. Open palm.
( fists uncurl, and jason does step in this time. keeps his elbow close to his center and swings his arm up, meaty bit of his palm going straight for the underside of cain's chin. )
[Easy enough pace to follow, Cain moving with him, shifting light on feet: turn sharply on the balls, weight then deposited onto the heels. His fists are up, closed, never far from shielding his face in that square range to keep himself guarded.
Open palm. No warning, only instinct and reaction as that palm jabs up toward him from just underneath his chin - Cain has a scant bit of distance to avoid it, so he does, in a quick step backward.] No fists? Ever?
[He's grinning, blood beginning to pump faster, body loosening.] What if I really wanna knock some guy's teeth in?
Then curl your fingers in, and be ready to break a few knuckles in the meantime.
( jason uses fists, knives, guns, whatever the hell he can get his hands on. he also has better gloves than the shit he has on his hands right now though, so. cain dodges back, and jason stays in place. lets him form distance between them. sees the way that grin spreads so easy across lips.
grins back, toothy and smarmy. ) Open palm uses all the force from where you're hitting to your elbow. Has more bite, wrists have the tendency to be flimsier.
Nothin' wrong with a few broken knuckles if I win.
[His speech is shorter, cut, excited. He'd go to those extremes to seize victory in his teeth, or with his teeth, if necessary. Also, better gloves will be one of the very first items he's buy with fight money.
A quick step in, Cain intends to exactly what was described - an open palm strike aimed at Malone's throat, twisting his torso to carry the power of momentum.]
( it's easier to pick shit up if you've gotten to do it before. kinesthetic learning, right? there's an half-assed attempt to dodge, a hand raised up, to protect the side of his face but cain goes in from a bit lower and twists with the force and jason's taking the hit to his neck, body moved back just enough it doesn't cause any serious damage even if it winds him. takes the breath out of his lungs and causes his gut to tighten up a bit.
tries to take a moment to cough, get it out of his system. )
Chest hits. ( low, on a breath out. ) No cheap shots. Save those for someone else.
[He didn't think it would hit. Not to say Malone's impervious to everything, but there's a brief victory high for it. Cain steps backward, lowers his hands with a shining smirk.]
Someone in the ring? [He flexes his fingers to stretch the tape and test its durability.] Thought you said I was training for that.
[Used to fighting dirty - frowned upon yet not dissuaded by his military superiors - Cain's going to have to make an effort to rein that back in.]
Doesn't mean you need to swing at me like you're in there. 'less you want me to do the same for you.
( a step back, and jason rubs at his throat with a hand. returns the stupid smirk with one of his own, and pauses to press his tongue up against his upper teeth. shifts back into a fighting stance, adjusts hips so his weight's centered back on his leg furthest from cain. )
[Falling into seriousness, he mirrors the pose, weight centered and feet planted solid on the ground. Hands come up again, fingers forming quick fists and flexing back out, loosening tendons.
It takes a reminder: he's not fighting for his life here.
So he tries again. This time, fast movement forward, open palm out to strike - he aims for the side of Malone's head through his guard.]
( but he still goes for the face shots, thanks a lot cain. jason has both arms up ready to guard, takes a step to the side just enough to get his forearm in place to block the hit. cain's scrappy but not weak, his arm'll probably bruise from the impact later, but.
jason grins regardless, shifts the hand that isn't holding back cain's forward for an uppercut towards cain's jawline. it's fast, powerful but not even close to all the strength jason can put behind a punch. )
When that hand cuts across the lower edge of his vision, Cain shifts to brace against it and take the hit with his own forearm, but even that isn't enough. The power slams up his arm, elbow to wrist, and he's sent stumbling backward - at least he catches his weight and doesn't go down.]
Fuck! [A sharply vented expletive accompanies his retreat. Cain shakes out his arm, still feeling it tingle in reverberating pain. He's used to blocking, not dodging, but that hadn't worked well here.] Fuck, that hurt.
cain takes the hit and backs up, curses and shakes out his arm; jason reacts merely by shifting his weight back onto heels and loosening his stance up. lowers his arms a bit. cain has decent reflexes, a snarky mouth, and jason has been around him long enough to recognize all the little things in cain. he'll ask him more bullshit later, figure out what the hell's going on with this gangly loser, why he's in the military, what the hell he was fighting shit with, but for now: )
Two days. Train with me in here for two days, rest half of one, and I'll take you down to the fight rings.
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It'll take him only a short time to reach the pinned location. Morningstar was able to provide him a pair of used, beaten, wrist-length gloves, which he's wearing despite the heat. It's a miserable walk no matter time of day -- his sleeveless shirt is sticky with sweat when he finally approaches the dilapidated structure.]
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whether or not cain shows up doesn't matter, jason was playing around anyway. there are two hoops connected to the ceiling by thick wire, and jason's. hanging from them. holding on tight with hands and doing a few pullups, switching off hands every five and when he can make out the shape of someone approaching, he. pauses. curls legs in and raises them over his head, flips upside down before legs move over further and jason's dropping to the ground on bare feet,
sweaty and gross and shirtless but you know. )
Where's your bump? Gonna whine 'bout it some more?
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Suffice to say, when he walks through the door he's not sure what to expect. A gym isn't it - but the vague mentioned memory of a fighting pit swims to mind. That's not this place.
Anyway, he doesn't stare... but it's one thing to see Malone in the dark, fully clothed; another here, pumped from exercise, corded with muscle like a powerlifter. Cain's loath to admit he was lucky only to get away with a lump.]
Fuck off. [Sharp tongue that never learns. He crosses his arms, stands resolute and uncowed.] What is this? Thought you said I'd earn money.
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get him beer. showing off wasn't intentional but jason definitely is doing it now, tightening and flexing muscle, grabbing onto a wrinkled tank nearby to throw it on before reaching for a roll of athletic to cover up fingers, wrists. taking the time to be careful not to leave any gaps in fabric, because he doesn't feel like touching cain. on initiating--that. )
You'll get your cash, but you're not gonna get it as is. Those rings're full of. . enhanced individuals. Full of metal bits. What've you got going for you? ( doesn't pause long enough for cain to answer. ) You're scrappy. You can do better. Hit harder. Move more efficiently. You wanna get credits? You'll have to try harder, and I'll give you your in.
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Enhanced individuals, Malone tells him. He tries to picture it, can't, and then he's being told how to improve. Like this guy is a teacher - or a trainer - or one of his superior officers barking at him on the station. Cain's hands curl into fists.]
Why me? [However drugged up and high he was in the caves, the sting of hurt pride isn't something he likes to confront.] Not saying I won't do it, just gotta wonder why you'd bother. [Malone could do it himself and buy his own beer, easy, to start.] It's not 'cause I grabbed your ass, is it? You did ask for it.
[An unnecessary jab, okay, but he's a punk.]
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( so is jason todd, he's not judging. )
We can work on that.
( fingers wrapped, he gestures around. ) This place ain't safe. It's--been compromised, but it works short-term. You can walk out if you really wanna, I don't give a shit. All I want's information. And beer. You'd keep the rest the benefits--my invitation to the rings is good. Been fucking 'round down there for a while.
( he's putting a lot of faith in cain actually sharing shit, too. but even if he doesn't: most jason loses out on the deal is time, and a few select moves. it'd be more than stupid to try and drill more than that into cain, they don't have that much time, and jason won't give out everything. there's already a few people roving around that can beat the shit out of him, no need to encourage more to learn. )
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And he's used to doing shit like this to make those ends meet.]
I'm not saying no. And I'm not walking out. [Cain relaxes, incrementally, but never lets his guard down. He's had to.] Fine. I'll do it.
[A thought clicks into place, then, and his eyes scan the surrounding interior of the warehouse. He recalls the gps pin.]
... Someone else told me about this place, said to come train here. Hafid, something. [Can't remember.] You know him?
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Yeah, ( easy, they've already fucked this over and jason has no reason to try and hide it. ) he's my baby brother. Adopted. Well, I was. ( that bit is important. ) Could kick my ass any day, too. I'll get him to play with you later.
( damian is surprisingly easy to manipulate even if jason doesn't care to think of it that way. it's an admittance to cain, too; he's tough but not even close to the strongest asshole on the block. damian's a gremlin but he's scrappy. younger, but much more well-trained than jason. he can admit to it. )
What experience have you got?
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Your brother. Seriously?
[Same worlds, then. Less important than the fact there's a smaller asshole running around with more evident physical prowess than the man in front of him. He doesn't make a big deal of it - just answers the question.]
Military. Was a Fighter in the program, [truthful, but it's the first time he's shared that detail. Again, not a big deal. Was. What is he now?] We used the weapons systems on ship and trained hand-to-hand combat against each other.
Like I told your brother, might've been different than what you know, 'cause different universes. [Different wars, different enemies. Cain flexes his fingers in the sweaty gloves. He wants to peel them off.] But I'm a good shot.
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Ex military. Alright. ( taking a moment to size cain up again before he steps in closer. holds out the roll of athletic tape and gestures down to covered hands. ) Breathes easier, take that shit off.
( while he waits, idly: ) We've got an interesting background, I'm sure that kid'll blab all about it if you ask. ( #thanksdamian #appreciateit ) I came in off the streets, lived in a hellhole called crime alley on my own when I was young. You learn a lot of useful shit in places like that. How to hit, how to take down bigger opponents--had some military-esque training after. Spent some time with a few Russian mobsters and picked up some shit there. Weapons aren't legal and hard to get hold of, dangerous to keep. You'll have to find new toys to play with.
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Cain strips off the gloves, tosses them down, and wipes damp palms on his thighs with relief.]
Noticed the tech here translates anything in a different language. [He smirks, cutting,] Otherwise I'd test your Russian tongue.
[He takes the tape, begins winding it around the bulge of knuckles, methodical. Like he's done it too many times in the past.]
Federated Alliance would've killed for someone like you in the ranks. They got too many scrawny dogs, usually. Not much competition.
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a step back, and jason raises his fists. one foot back, hips turned, forearms in front of his face. bounces on the balls of his feet a bit while he waits for cain to finish. doesn't push forward but certainly doesn't move back, either. )
Bein' bigger than the average guy doesn't make me a good fighter. ( that's what cain means. he gets where he's going. ) Hafid's smaller, scrawnier. Faster and more flexible. Heft ain't everything.
( it works for jason; he's built like a tank and can take damage, but he's no gymnast like every other person who wore the R. )
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[As it's his native language, there's doubt. Still he wonders whether differences are seeded between what he spoke on the colonies and what may be spoken on some alternate, ambiguous version of Earth.]
I get the point. [Cain tosses the athletic tape in general direction of his gloves, turns to face his opponent.] C'mere, then.
[Rather than lunge at Malone - recklessly - as he did in the caves, he beckons with two fingers. Like an exact imitation of what Malone did, roles reversed.]
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There's a couple ways to try and land a punch on a guy. Sure the military taught you that. Swinging out ( stance loosening, fist swinging out in a wide circle motion before coming back in, knuckles aiming for a nonexistent enemy in front of him. ) or swinging in ( elbow pressed into his side, fist jabbing up quick from his center. ) but a guy like you might wanna avoid fists at all. Open palm.
( fists uncurl, and jason does step in this time. keeps his elbow close to his center and swings his arm up, meaty bit of his palm going straight for the underside of cain's chin. )
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Open palm. No warning, only instinct and reaction as that palm jabs up toward him from just underneath his chin - Cain has a scant bit of distance to avoid it, so he does, in a quick step backward.] No fists? Ever?
[He's grinning, blood beginning to pump faster, body loosening.] What if I really wanna knock some guy's teeth in?
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( jason uses fists, knives, guns, whatever the hell he can get his hands on. he also has better gloves than the shit he has on his hands right now though, so. cain dodges back, and jason stays in place. lets him form distance between them. sees the way that grin spreads so easy across lips.
grins back, toothy and smarmy. ) Open palm uses all the force from where you're hitting to your elbow. Has more bite, wrists have the tendency to be flimsier.
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[His speech is shorter, cut, excited. He'd go to those extremes to seize victory in his teeth, or with his teeth, if necessary. Also, better gloves will be one of the very first items he's buy with fight money.
A quick step in, Cain intends to exactly what was described - an open palm strike aimed at Malone's throat, twisting his torso to carry the power of momentum.]
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tries to take a moment to cough, get it out of his system. )
Chest hits. ( low, on a breath out. ) No cheap shots. Save those for someone else.
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Someone in the ring? [He flexes his fingers to stretch the tape and test its durability.] Thought you said I was training for that.
[Used to fighting dirty - frowned upon yet not dissuaded by his military superiors - Cain's going to have to make an effort to rein that back in.]
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( a step back, and jason rubs at his throat with a hand. returns the stupid smirk with one of his own, and pauses to press his tongue up against his upper teeth. shifts back into a fighting stance, adjusts hips so his weight's centered back on his leg furthest from cain. )
Try again.
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It takes a reminder: he's not fighting for his life here.
So he tries again. This time, fast movement forward, open palm out to strike - he aims for the side of Malone's head through his guard.]
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jason grins regardless, shifts the hand that isn't holding back cain's forward for an uppercut towards cain's jawline. it's fast, powerful but not even close to all the strength jason can put behind a punch. )
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When that hand cuts across the lower edge of his vision, Cain shifts to brace against it and take the hit with his own forearm, but even that isn't enough. The power slams up his arm, elbow to wrist, and he's sent stumbling backward - at least he catches his weight and doesn't go down.]
Fuck! [A sharply vented expletive accompanies his retreat. Cain shakes out his arm, still feeling it tingle in reverberating pain. He's used to blocking, not dodging, but that hadn't worked well here.] Fuck, that hurt.
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cain takes the hit and backs up, curses and shakes out his arm; jason reacts merely by shifting his weight back onto heels and loosening his stance up. lowers his arms a bit. cain has decent reflexes, a snarky mouth, and jason has been around him long enough to recognize all the little things in cain. he'll ask him more bullshit later, figure out what the hell's going on with this gangly loser, why he's in the military, what the hell he was fighting shit with, but for now: )
Two days. Train with me in here for two days, rest half of one, and I'll take you down to the fight rings.
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