1036/A wild talent

A wild talent
Date of Scene:	19 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Morgan McNally

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Ares has posed:
    In Manhattan there are any number of martial arts studios, dojos, dojangs, boxing schools, kung fu academies, and bodyguard training facilities. So many of them tend to blur together, each offering their own version of a black belt program with almost guaranteed promotion and a bunch of gold starts and pretty stickers to be applied to people's progress report cards, positive affirmations in a world where positivity is politically required.
    But in the darker corners of the city, the places that are not exactly advertised in strip mall fliers and local telephone books, there are at times places of learning that are led by individuals who seek out students not for the money that they are given. Not for the possible kudos gained from a student worshiping them. No, there are schools where the masters train others because it furthers the art. The creation of a skilled student breathes life into the styles and leads to them existing for longer and longer into perpetuity.
    This place is one such a school. It is on the edge of Chinatown, a block away and hidden in what used to be an industrial fabric shop that led the way in production of materials in the forties to the fifties. Today, however, the building would be considered abandoned mostly save for the owner keeps renewing the deeds and paying their taxes on time. To most who look on it from the outside that is insane. For it looks like it's falling down.
    But inside that building, inside it is extravagantly clean, the hard wood floors are immaculate. The walls are adorned with ancient wood cuttings depicting a dragon and tiger locked in a struggle as well as a myriad of weapons. There is a small shrine of the Buddha at the head of the studio, and at the other end is another shrine for an old wizened man who most likely began this particular school.
    Usually the place is quiet at this time of night. But tonight there are half a dozen students all training together at one end of the dojo. They had been called together for an impromptu exhibition. Sparring. Katas. And group exercises... all to be displayed for the sensei and for several individuals who are considered the sensei's guests of honor. That teacher is watching the students, while at the other end of the school several other students are training on their own time, advanced practicioners who have been given a position of authority in the school.
    As for him, John Aaron is one of those observing the exhibition.

Morgan McNally has posed:
She probably looks a little out of place. She's a female, for one, and there's something about her, almost as if there's an aura of energy around her you could touch and feel with your hands. Brown hair is back in a neat, simple braid, and there's no obvious jewelry or frills of femininity. No, there's nothing soft about her this evening, even if she'd been worried a fire call was going to keep her away from the school after a long, long day. She's still in street clothes, though her boots have been taken off, and one of the other students not on display for the sensei is heading her way even as she stretches. The leggings and her loose tunic top are not ideal for sparring, but then again, a fight rarely gives you time to change your clothes or slip out of shoes.

They separate a bit from the others, before the male student comes at her in a fast flurry of motions. She doesn't step back, instead taking a lean to the side. While his motions are straight out of King Fu instructions, hers are..not. There's almost a music she can hear, as she moves into motion. A rocking side to side that's classic capoeira, before she's ducking, reaching, and pulling him off center. She'll let him go and reposition, her face gleaming with the glow of anticipation, her eyes bright with the love of a fight.

Ares has posed:
    The male student tries to keep up with her, shifting his own stance to mirror her own partially, though his approach is less musically inclined. He'll try to keep her honest, stepping in with a jab here, or a low side kick there, trying to strike at her supporting leg and to get her to break that rhythm. Yet his own face is furrowed with concentration. It's rare in the history he's spent training here that he's been able to win a match against this firefighter gal, but today... today might be different.
    Yet around the rest of the school the training and exhibition continues. There's a steady movement of that kata at the head of the class, the students going through it and reaching the strike downwards that is scripted as the 'kill' strike, they all shout in unison, "KIYAI!" Then they draw back up, reverse directions and unfurl with a series of kicks leading them back that way.
    The other students training around her, however, are all involved with their own little sparring matches. Two students are working on grappling work, one flipping the other and slamming him to the ground. While two others are a swirling tornado of blurring kicks aimed at each other.

Morgan McNally has posed:
He can try, he can try his damnedest to keep her honest, but she's fluid. She's got this lean, liquid sort of motion going on, and she doesn't pause even when that jab jars against her forearm up to block. No, this is her element, despite her job. She will easily dodge that side kick, making the motion carry her body in a turn to grab for his arm and toss him over her shoulder as if he doesn't weigh more than a pillow of feathers.

A faint sheen makes her lightly tanned skin glisten, but there's just no competing with that bright smile. The smile one would imagine of a tiger about to pounce and take down its prey. "Man, you know better than to go for the legs." She chides her partner lightly, stepping back to give him room to get up and come again. This is just fun for her. Fun and focus.

Ares has posed:
    Her partner, however, is a little bit grumpy as he looks up at her. He shakes his head, trying to clear it then start to rise slowly. But he waits for a moment when she might be a touch distracted, when she perhaps brushes a stray strand of hair from her eyes or when she glances away, he'll scissor his legs to try and sweep her legs right out from under her. It's dastardly, and quick, and perhaps his best chance to put her on the ground for him to roll over onto as he seeks to get her in grapple, counting on his larger size and his presumed greater strength in such proximity.
    Little does he know...
    But even as she's sparring with her partner, that performance is going on. One of the 'VIPs' gets up from his place against the wall, unfolding his arms as he steps away and giving a nod in passing to the elder master who runs the place. No, today that exhibition none will receive the notice of the God of War, for really that is all he seeks in such places. To find someone worthy, someone that could well be a decent warrior. Who would be worth the training they'd receive from this dojo if they met his approval.
    But none of those students presented before him have anything to offer. But that tall man with the terribly broad shoulders steps past, moving beyond the exhibition area and towards those mats where the other students train.

Morgan McNally has posed:
Morgan laughs, seeing the move coming, even as she tumbles to the ground. If only her partner knew she could bench press him and barely feel it. She will let him come in, let him feel as if victory is in his grasp. There's still more hints of repressed laughter in that grin, in the fierce expression on her face. She will quickly buck him off of her, and use that moment to leap atop him.

There's a quick flurry of blows, but nothing augmented by her powers. She doesn't need to, because being a firefighter isn't exactly the job for a lightweight. She will get her knees on his shoulders, her hands on her legs. "Gonna give, or we going again?" As if this is nothing but fun for her. She won't even bruise later.

Ares has posed:
    A gruff snort comes from him, but his smile is there even as she straddles him from that point. He looks up at her and shifts his weight slightly even as he gathers a leg underneath him. "Alright fine, I guess I'll..." But before he can say the 'magic' word he'll /twist/ his hips to the side and try to use the turning motion to break her hold and throw her to the side, just enough so he can roll up to his feet, rising onto one knee. It's a gamble, trying to get her off of him and away so he can get to his feet, but giving her his back, a chance to get that angle if she's quick enough. At least he's trying it before giving up.
    But she may well be so focused on the conflict she might not see the man who no longer is observing the display of martial prowess of those katas. Instead his eyes are on her and the penultimate moment of her conflict with her partner.

Morgan McNally has posed:
Morgan laughs, moving to drop one hand to the mat before she shifts. He's fast, but she's faster - she just has less bulk to move, and lots of practice moving in too hot to handle situations. She will toss him as if he's a rag doll, and then wrap her legs around his, grabbing his arms to secure behind his back. "I'm sorry, what was that you were saying before you rudely interrupted?" Oh, the amusement is there, buried unless you know to listen for it. Because she doesn't want to insult a good partner. Or even a mediocre one. Everyone has to learn.

But there, in that position that she could easily hold for hours because there's nothing he could summon up to break the strength that would flow through her limbs.. she sees him. That man staring at her, her partner, with a slightly disconcerting gaze. It's a mercy for her partner, because that sudden drop of a pit in her stomach has her releasing him and giving him another shot. But the second he moves, her eyes leave the stranger's, and her focus returns to protect and rise to attack.

Ares has posed:
    With a scuffling swirl of movement her partner gains his feet and then spins to face her. At first his foot slices over the mats, barely an inch off of them as he tries to take her legs out even as he retreats. Up snaps his guard, his hands before him as he squares off against her and then slowly begins to circle. She'll see his eyes narrow, his gaze growing grim as he focuses and tries to channel himself into the next series of strikes. There's a short thap-thap-thap of footsteps on the mats, the fabric being crushed under their bare feet.
    He lashes out again, a short step in, an elbow aimed at her side that uncurls into a backfist and in turn lets him turn with a blurringly fast right cross seeking to connect with that supple curve of her jaw. She's seen the combination from him before, seen him try to get her with it. Only this time he's just trying to set her up so he can move in, slip an arm around the small of her back and /throw/ her over his hip. It's a classic judo throw, and he'll try and follow it up if she's not fast enough.
    Yet as for that observer, he isn't necessarily staring. At times his attention shifts from her to the man she is fighting. At times he'll look at the way she stands, the line of her form, the strength in each taut line of musculature along her athletic body. He hms for a moment, thoughtful. Yet still says naught.

Morgan McNally has posed:
The man watching them is forgotten. The sensei has people in often enough, and clearly the man was invited. She's used, to some degree, of being watched. There was just something about him that had caught her attention, and maybe it still held, in the corner of the back of her mind. But there are more important tasks to hand.

If possible, she's more relaxed and fluid now than when they started, and while she will take a step back to avoid the backfist and a duck to avoid the cross. She will feel his arm sliding around her, and hers will grab around his shoulders, her fingers hooking under his opposite arm. And while she will look as if she is going limp as she is thrown, she will use her weight, the momentum, and just an amount of sheer strength to bring him crashing down with her.

Ares has posed:
    It's like a smooth whirling fulcrum, the way she allows herself to be thrown and in turn acts as a heavier weight to pendulum him around and bring him crashing down upon the mats with her, rolling to the side to slap the mats with one open hand to try and dissipate some of the strength of impact. But it leaves him on his back upon the mats for a moment, curling upwards as he winces and tries to catch the breath she jolted out of him. And it leaves her on her side behind him, the both of them trying to recover.
    Yet as she comes close to finishing this short and abrupt competition, she may well notice that man had turned away now. His back was to her as he walks away. One large hand had lifted to the side of his jaw as he scritched at the stubble along his jawline.
    Yet if she noticed, her attention will be dragged back by the abrupt shout from her partner as he tries to fire a palm strike flattened at the side of her jaw, "HEI!"

Morgan McNally has posed:
There is a curl of laughter out of Morgan as he hits the mats, a grin that just will not be repressed. She does enjoy the rough and tumble fights best, she thinks. It's the closest to the real thing she can manage, without letting herself hurt anyone. She can recover faster than she lets on, because nothing really hurts. She's never on the injured list, despite all her sparring.

She does notice his back to them now, sees him turning away, possibly walking away, and there's a feeling simultaneously of the sun going behind a cloud and Damocles sword being sheathed all at once.

Her complete inattention, or so it would appear, would possibly be insulting as she swats away that palm strike like it's a fly, likely bruising her partner. Then she's up on her feet, her exhale the usual cry as she pulls her death strike at the last moment... and a death strike it would be, at his throat that way.

Ares has posed:
    It's at that moment that her opponent holds up his hand and bows his head, signalling the cessation of hostilities even as he says lightly, "Ok ok, Morgan. Man." He grins up at her and tries to get to his feet, taking a helping hand up if she allows it. But once he does he gives her a pat on the arm and grins, "Nice, one of these days I'm gonna win one." But then he adjusts the hang of his gi upon his chest, then the tightness of his belt before he squares up in front of her. "C'mon, a few more rounds."
    But for now that is enough attention from the tall man who had only given them that brief time of perusal. He had stepped away, though not rejoining the others, nor staying to observe the rest of the exhibition. Instead he moves towards the doors that lead to the office and quarters of the sensei, the older man following after him for perhaps a word spared or two.
    Whatever passes in there, however, is none of her concern as she has a work out to finish.

Morgan McNally has posed:
It had been a long evening, and her first partner had called it quits, her second not lasting very long. She'd continued, and after tiring of going through forms and katas, had simply worked out with equipment tucked away in the corner near the office. That glow lingers, though the fierce expression is gone without someone to face. Instead, she practises blows against a wooden form.

Ares has posed:
    She had trained there long enough that she was known to one and all, and had in the past been trusted to close up the place before she left, so long as she would straighten and organize any equipment she used. So the hours passed as she went through the process of needing another opponent. She finished with him and he walked off to the showers to leave her there. Then she started on the forms, her body moving smoothly through the katas and holding her stances with a perfection of movement.
    But now she is standing opposite the shaolin training dummy, reaching out and striking at the wooden form, weaving strikes in and out of those extended 'limbs' of the dummy, landing strikes with a loud /thok-thok/
    Yet her perseverance pays off after a time as that door to the offices opens. She'll catch sight of that tall man in the loose grey sweat pants and the black t-shirt. He has a black canvas bag slung over one shoulder and he is locking up the office behind him.
    For a moment he turns his head and catches Morgan still training, after several hours and the shift of the sun below the horizon. He gives her a nod of greeting... then starts to step away.

Morgan McNally has posed:
It's been, thankfully and not, a slow few days at work. She just can't seem to burn off the excess energy enough that the walk home will be enough to let her settle in and relax for the night. Dark hair is loose now, waving over her shoulders and down her back, softening her appearance.

She's considering calling it quits, slowly stepping back from the dummy to roll her shoulders. She glances around, making sure everything is not out of place. Perhaps a beer, a bar.. there has to be something else to focus on. Even an enthusiast can hear too much of the same song too often. Too much practice is worse than too little.

When he steps out, she'll pause, those alert eyes perhaps a trifle wide, like a deer scenting a predator. "Evening. Find what you were looking for?" She can't help it. He is not the usual man brought in to observe. Some are people looking for talent, to scout to start schools elsewhere. Some want someone impressive as a bodyguard.. or other uses. This man.. he is not one of them, and she will move to fall into step.

Ares has posed:
    There's a moment where he pauses, stopping his departure to turn slowly to face her. He's a good foot taller than her and when he turns his head she'll see those dark brown eyes of his meet hers, narrowing slightly with a touch of a furrow to his brow. His features are grim and haggard, and the weight of his regard is a heavy... almost palpable thing. Yet there is no harshness in his voice, though it is a deep baritone that sounds like a rumbling growl.
    "I was not aware I was searching for something?" His voice lifts at the end, adding the question to those words, as if asking her if she had some insight on the matter and would teach him. But as their eyes meet and hold, she can get the feeling that somehow... for some reason, he is gauging her... judging her. And what sort of a man is he to do so?
    Of course she can see he is fairly tall, but there are taller people out there. And he is strong of build, the taut lines of the muscles along his arms and chest able to be perceived even under the stretch of the black fabric from his t-shirt. But he seems to look on her in a way that isn't as some might look at her. Those brown eyes carry something primal in them, something hidden.

Morgan McNally has posed:
"Everyone comes here looking for something. Even the ones invited to come by the sensei." Morgan returns to him, her expression calm, almost placid. She's used to standing out, a bit. It's in her profession, it happens here on the mats. Despite the strides of Martial Arts.. this is not exactly the sort of setting that would draw many female students. It's not the pretty looking dojo, on the first glance at the outside.

She can feel that regard, and her head tips ever so slightly to the right, her left eyebrow executing a lazy arch of about a half of an inch as she regards him back. Yes, he's tall and clearly strong, but that's nothing to her. She knows better than most how appearances can deceive. She will just meet that gaze, her focus completely on the man that watched her earlier.

Ares has posed:
    Each is taking the measure of the other, and each of them are considering the paths the fates have chosen for them in this moment. It's a single instant of possibility, so many lines of reality wander off along them. Perhaps in one he simply leaves and they see each other never again. Perhaps in another they quarrel and end up angered. Perhaps in another they join causes and each ends up learning from the other.
    But in the here and now, he gives breath to a ghost of a laugh, his head turning to the side to consider those mats that still have to be put away. He ponders them, then looks back to her and says quietly. "Would you care to perhaps show me what you imagine I might seek?"
    As he speaks, at the end of it his eyebrow lifts. No he's not clear, and that's for a reason. He wants to see what she thinks he wants, what she thinks he sees in her. It may well be a test of a sort, or perhaps it is merely an idle distraction for an exiled god.

Morgan McNally has posed:
Morgan lifts her brows, both of them now, as the ease falls away from her stance. Despite his exile, despite the time, the place, her sex.. that bares more of the soul than before. The warrior in front of him, in the shape of a woman. "If I did that, I would be assuming I knew your thoughts. I do not make such assumptions. Everyone has their needs." She's not much of a philosopher, at the moment.

Ares has posed:
    He shifts his weight to the other foot and watches her eyes as she speaks, "Is there harm in doing so?" The assuming of his thoughts. But, as if willing to accept her choice he turns away and begins to walk again, though his gait is easy and unrushed, footsteps calm upon the hardwood floors. There is something in his manner that she shares with him, that surety of movement, that confidence. She is a strong warrior who has perhaps not been fully tested, and... perhaps despite his better judgement... he finds himself curious about her.
    "Do you not presume to know the thoughts of your opponent as you counter their movements? Do you not presume to confound their efforts with your own?" His eyes distance for a moment, perhaps considering something unseen.
    But then he stops and turns to her, "As for what I want, I do not know yet. As for what I saw, I can tell you this. I saw a gifted amateur who took great joy in exulting her victory over those she knew were weaker. Were I in your place, with the talent you possess... I would seek to ever improve myself."
    But then he seems to consider something, "Ah, but now I know what I want. I want you to prove me wrong."

Morgan McNally has posed:
"There is always some harm in assuming one knows the innermost thoughts of others. Because it can make you over or underestimate the person you face. I do not have the sort of talents for delving into another's mind, reading their thoughts, feeling their feelings. I do not assume, nor would I want to. Assumption can be sloppy work." Her voice is light, even, but that touch of amusement surfaces.

"One can learn to anticipate another's motions. Stragetic motions, katas, motions that are most likely to lead to the next.. they can be learned like moves in chess. Thoughts do not hold to any such likely patterns, in my knowledge." Her eyebrows arch as him calling her an amatuer. "I enjoy winning a well fought spar. Both of my partners have been practicing longer than I. How you deign them weaker, I am unsure as to your math, there. I can not improve without sparring, after all."

Her left eyebrow lifts, arching with a peak as she eyes him. "You want me to prove you wrong.. in what, exactly?"

Ares has posed:
    "Go out into the world, seek stronger opponents, test yourself, your boundaries." That tall and really rather presumptuous fellow tells her that openly even as he gestures towards the closed and shuttered windows, as if she could but leap out there and do so. But the he stops again, "Set yourself to task, improve. That is, if you ever wish to be more than a hobbyist." But then he looks at her and says simply, evenly. "Not that you must take such a path."
    He steps back from her, looking at her with a tilt to his head, "You could very well live a fine life as you are. You are beautiful, seem to be of good nature. You could be a warrior, but you do not have to be."
    But then he holds up a hand as if to stay a protest, "But what do I know?"