(no subject)
Well, bugger me, she's still fast. Someday I'll take her on and win. Got to respect that sheer speed and power behind it. I'm bound to learn two different styles from her and SaBella, so I'm looking forward to seeing what becomes of my sword skills. Hopefully I won't have to use that one that Amara bought me. Still in love with it.
Incidentally, dearest journal, Gyrich's statue is sitting next to me even as I write this, with my bruised jaw and ribs, and I'm currently working out how to turn him into a fountain. I think a nice pair of crying eyes, and the water actually gushing from that pleading little mouth of his. Gonna practise first though. Only got one chance at him, and there's no way I'm screwing it up.
------------------------------
(And actually on the return from the mission)
Email:
To: Magneto
From: Padraig
Subject: Graverobbery
Sir,
Corpse acquired without undue difficulty, no rounds used.
Thank you again for your consideration.
-Padraig
------------------------------
Mid afternoon, and time for Padraig's cardio and flexibility work. Dressed in his workout gear, three-quarter length trousers and a black muscle vest, the solitary figure is stretched into a position most men would find intimidating. Almost a full forward splits. Eyes closed in concentration, he slowly counts his way through the stretch at a murmur, slowly rising out of it with a relaxed outward breath, and beginning to rise to his feet.
Mystique's form darkens the door. She stands quietly still, watching Padraig work in silence until he exhales and rises. She steps inward with assured movements and moves toward him with her familiar silent stride. She doesn't bother to offer a greeting.
Movement causes notice. Notice causes head to snap around practically instantaneously. Recognition brings a brief nod of greeting, touched by its customary hint of respect. Level tones, lilting with Padraig's Northern Irish roots meet her, with the briefest of flashed grins. "Mystique. Heard you were away for a while. I've been practising." Obvious by his ability to now actually perform the splits without wincing in pain. An almost subconcsious movement is made, into a slightly more balanced position on his feet.
"Heard?" Mystique asks as she moves to consider him. Yellow eyes sweep down his form, and then light with approval on him as she notes the stance. "You have been," she affirms. "You've improved." Her own posture is always ready, always balanced, always entirely aware. "What else?"
"Just a note switching me from you to Sabella, and suggesting you might be away for a while." Padraig replies, careful blue eyes waiting a sudden movement for him to spring into action. Only a nod is offered to the approval, before he grins again, this time a little longer. "Stances, movements, defensive watchfulness, to avoid the attacks I don't see, that get me every time." Because they both know he's practically impossible to hit if he sees it coming. "Also, I've picked up a sword along the way. With my powers, I reckon it could turn out to be an incredible weapon. You any good with one?" Simple, honest question, delivered in that same level tone, though now a twitch of his customary cheerfulness is entering it. His fists slowly unfurl from their immediate clenching, finger wiggling a little to work out any strain.
Mystique's lips curl into a careful smile. "And how is that going?" she questions. She gives a small nod, rolls her shoulders back fluidly, but doesn't comment on surprises. Her hand rises, and blue scales flow into this shifting forms of Mystique as a human, dressed in sensible black workout clothing and grasping a sword of obvious Oriental origins. She moves back, settling into stance. "I am," she confirms. She whips forward in a flurry of fast movement that ends with the blade's tip pressed lightly against his throat, although the blade, of course, won't cut a thing. It dissolves just as quickly, and Mystique stands blue again. "You'd like to learn?"
No real movement other than a twitch of a flinch over his brow, at least not from Padraig. The faint flicker of blue light in his eyes that lasts for only a moment, and the tiniest tingle of power that snaps along the blade are only indicators of his annoyance at himself for failing to move and defend himself in time. "It's not going, just yet. She's not been around enough to start." Piercing blue watch the dissolution of the blade, and his smile twists sideways into a smirk. "Stupid of me to ask. Yes, I'd like to learn."
Mystique settles back, and now she's grinning. One hand rubs absently against her leg, easing the faint tingle of Padraig's powers, and she nods. "When I'm able, I'll certainly teach you," she affirms, and then her grin sinks into a catty smirk. "Oh, yes. She's busy fixing her mess."
"At least now she's got it sorted, I think." Padraig replies, a tiny flirt with defensiveness rapidly quashed in favour of levelness. A hand rises slowly to rub at the front of his neck, where the tickle of the blade has left no apparent mark. "Thank you. I'll be more than certain to search you out for it as soon as we can arrange it. Are you back for a while, or heading out on a mission again? Purely to know if I need to start looking at my timetable and training schedules."
"Does she?" Mystique questions. Defensiveness is noted, tucked away, and her smirk remains until she speaks again. "I am here, and then I'm gone again." That is, of course, useful information. "I'll let you know when I'm able." There's an obvious sense of expectation that he'll simply make time for her.
"Her new form is sorted, so I guess everything's looking good." Padraig returns, still totally level. He smiles again as hands move slowly towards pockets, thumbs resting inside them. A rapid outward breath signifies a tiny snort of laughter. "Stupid question again, eh? You know where to find me whenever you'd like to do it, or just email." Shoulders twitch slightly into the beginnings of a shrug, and he turns his head towards the bench. "Not going to kick my ass today, then? I've been looking forward to having a chance."
"Very good, if I know Sabella," Mystique returns. Her figure shifts again, flooding into Bella's new form, with certain attributes a bit overemphacized, and then melting away in the flicker of an eye. Her shoulders roll back again, and she steps to one side, shifting her weight into perfect balance. "If you like?" she suggests, and waits.
No reaction to the form of Bella, other than a slowly rising eyebrow, that ratchets just a notch higher as the emphasis is noticed. "Let's try it. Maybe I'll lay a punch on you today." Smirking irony, as his hands rise from his pockets to approach something like a martial stance, adapted slightly to offer better visibility for incoming attacks at the expense of limbs being slightly out of optimal attacking position. Play to your strengths, and all that. He steps forward, slowly, waiting for the eruption of movement that'll signal his need to act.
Mystique is still. Motionless, with muscles that seem to quiver in readiness. She grins, and yellow eyes flash in anticipation. This isn't something she gets much of in Washington. She is also, apparently, waiting. Today, it's Padraig who's expected to make the first move.
Slowly, carefully, does Blitz step forward, the smirk slowly spreading across his features as his eyes become even more intense, adrenalin fueling his instincts. He feels for the mat underneath his training shoes before leaning backwards, whipping a leg forward into a feint, and following it with a swift flurry of a left-right combination, one low, one high.
Mystique isn't there. In fact, she's halfway across the room, behind him, in a lightening flip that carries her to a spot against the wall. She takes advantage of any distracted moments from Padraig to hurtle forward with a spin that's aimed in a powerful kick at his shoulder, meant to take him down to the floor.
And almost manages it. Padraig's quite literal lightning reflexes spin his head around, seeing an incoming foot at the very last moment He pulls his power back even as he fails in his spin to avoid, being thrown off balance as the laws of physics send his soon-to be bruised shoulder pivoting around his steady foot. Eyes flash again with annoyance at his failure as he makes a hop backwards, praying to be out of the way and steady before the next attack hits.
Unfortunately, Mystique is used to dodges, and as she lands, her hands carry ready in one-two blows that connect to the gut before another kick rounds up for the shoulder again. Her moves are quick and ready, with only enough time between them to regather strength and motion.
A pair of grunts rip of out the Irishman at the blows, but this time he sees the incoming shot, gaining his balance just in time to twist his body and slam an arm into the way of the kick, the other arm whipping across his body in a fairly last ditch attempt at landing a punch, even if it is only to the shin. The light within his eyes flashes brightly for a moment, though the rest of his body is totally open to attack,
The blow ricochets off Mystique's shin, but it's only there for a moment, only a second's unbalance before blows aimed at jaw and gut and jaw fly toward him in a furious flurry.
Padraig receives a blow to the chin, arms simply not able to move fast enough to block or dodge them all. His head snaps back, fully unbalanced as a surprised and muffled grunt rips from his mouth.
The small shocks that shiver through Mystique's muscles on contact are shaken off lightly. Silky steps dance her backwards, and a smile curls her lips as she catches her breath and then returns to the task of delivering blows. Twin punches, a kick, a powerful hook, all intended to take Padraig /down/, in the most literal sense.
The punches elicit grunts, the kick sends Blitz staggering, and the hook clatters him easily off his feet, crashing to the floor without so much as an attempt to save his fall. A slight moan appears, before he's trying to move back to his feet, first groggily and then with spring, in an attempt to enter a defensive stance that'll mean the possibility of making himself survive a little longer, or at least affording him the opportunity to surrender. There's no move to attack, and he's actually wearing a broad smile.
Mystique returns the smile with a quiet grin, and she falls back across the room with arms dropped to her side. She rolls her neck sinuously, stretches her shoulders backwards, flexes her fingers, and approves, "You /have/ improved. Perhaps next time I won't slow down quite so much."
"Even got a little touch in there." Padraig affirms lightly, shaking his head slightly to try and remove the pain dancing along his jaw. He writhes that chiselled line around a little, before speaking in a much more cheerful tone. "Maybe next time I might get a real hit in, eh? I think I still need to speed up some, though I don't want to drop any of this muscle mass, that I need for grappling. I figure the sword should give me some reach and versatility. What do you reckon?"
"You had a firm hit," Mystique corrects, while her eyes search along the length of his jaw for any visible damage. A bruise, perhaps, later. Her head tilts into a nod. "And some precision," she agrees. "It may suit you."
There's a slight reddening in two places, both of which promise to be painful if not exceptionally obvious bruises in the near future. "Someday, I'll be good enough to take you properly, Mystique," he promises, "But until then, you know I'm willing to learn, and we'll see if the sword's a good weapon for me. If it is, I might need to request some more... bland versions for me, but that can wait." Stomach muscles still tensed up to fight off the numbing there, he drops from his stance and shakes out his limbs. "Figure I should get back on with my stretching, eh?"
"I have decades on you," Mystique points out, and the angle of her body, the casual looseness of muscles, answers 'never.' "I'll see if I can find something appropriate. After I speak to Erik." And possibly Toxin. She nods briefly, and moves to one edge of the room to work out the few kinks in her own fluid muscles without speaking.
"Apparently so." Padraig replies, "And thank you." He proceeds on with his stretching, muscles standing out with each one, and only an occasional grimace for a now-damaged muscle, with a wary eye cast to Mystique only once in a while. Silence is golden to the obsessive trainer.
Silence is golden to Mystique, as well, and when she finishes, she exits with nothing more than a slight smile of approval sent in Padraig's direction.
Mystique enters the weight room to find Padraig, someone she used to teach the martial arts to. Bit of a brawl, Mysti wins. But Padraig gets an entire hit in! RAWR!
Incidentally, dearest journal, Gyrich's statue is sitting next to me even as I write this, with my bruised jaw and ribs, and I'm currently working out how to turn him into a fountain. I think a nice pair of crying eyes, and the water actually gushing from that pleading little mouth of his. Gonna practise first though. Only got one chance at him, and there's no way I'm screwing it up.
------------------------------
(And actually on the return from the mission)
Email:
To: Magneto
From: Padraig
Subject: Graverobbery
Sir,
Corpse acquired without undue difficulty, no rounds used.
Thank you again for your consideration.
-Padraig
------------------------------
Mid afternoon, and time for Padraig's cardio and flexibility work. Dressed in his workout gear, three-quarter length trousers and a black muscle vest, the solitary figure is stretched into a position most men would find intimidating. Almost a full forward splits. Eyes closed in concentration, he slowly counts his way through the stretch at a murmur, slowly rising out of it with a relaxed outward breath, and beginning to rise to his feet.
Mystique's form darkens the door. She stands quietly still, watching Padraig work in silence until he exhales and rises. She steps inward with assured movements and moves toward him with her familiar silent stride. She doesn't bother to offer a greeting.
Movement causes notice. Notice causes head to snap around practically instantaneously. Recognition brings a brief nod of greeting, touched by its customary hint of respect. Level tones, lilting with Padraig's Northern Irish roots meet her, with the briefest of flashed grins. "Mystique. Heard you were away for a while. I've been practising." Obvious by his ability to now actually perform the splits without wincing in pain. An almost subconcsious movement is made, into a slightly more balanced position on his feet.
"Heard?" Mystique asks as she moves to consider him. Yellow eyes sweep down his form, and then light with approval on him as she notes the stance. "You have been," she affirms. "You've improved." Her own posture is always ready, always balanced, always entirely aware. "What else?"
"Just a note switching me from you to Sabella, and suggesting you might be away for a while." Padraig replies, careful blue eyes waiting a sudden movement for him to spring into action. Only a nod is offered to the approval, before he grins again, this time a little longer. "Stances, movements, defensive watchfulness, to avoid the attacks I don't see, that get me every time." Because they both know he's practically impossible to hit if he sees it coming. "Also, I've picked up a sword along the way. With my powers, I reckon it could turn out to be an incredible weapon. You any good with one?" Simple, honest question, delivered in that same level tone, though now a twitch of his customary cheerfulness is entering it. His fists slowly unfurl from their immediate clenching, finger wiggling a little to work out any strain.
Mystique's lips curl into a careful smile. "And how is that going?" she questions. She gives a small nod, rolls her shoulders back fluidly, but doesn't comment on surprises. Her hand rises, and blue scales flow into this shifting forms of Mystique as a human, dressed in sensible black workout clothing and grasping a sword of obvious Oriental origins. She moves back, settling into stance. "I am," she confirms. She whips forward in a flurry of fast movement that ends with the blade's tip pressed lightly against his throat, although the blade, of course, won't cut a thing. It dissolves just as quickly, and Mystique stands blue again. "You'd like to learn?"
No real movement other than a twitch of a flinch over his brow, at least not from Padraig. The faint flicker of blue light in his eyes that lasts for only a moment, and the tiniest tingle of power that snaps along the blade are only indicators of his annoyance at himself for failing to move and defend himself in time. "It's not going, just yet. She's not been around enough to start." Piercing blue watch the dissolution of the blade, and his smile twists sideways into a smirk. "Stupid of me to ask. Yes, I'd like to learn."
Mystique settles back, and now she's grinning. One hand rubs absently against her leg, easing the faint tingle of Padraig's powers, and she nods. "When I'm able, I'll certainly teach you," she affirms, and then her grin sinks into a catty smirk. "Oh, yes. She's busy fixing her mess."
"At least now she's got it sorted, I think." Padraig replies, a tiny flirt with defensiveness rapidly quashed in favour of levelness. A hand rises slowly to rub at the front of his neck, where the tickle of the blade has left no apparent mark. "Thank you. I'll be more than certain to search you out for it as soon as we can arrange it. Are you back for a while, or heading out on a mission again? Purely to know if I need to start looking at my timetable and training schedules."
"Does she?" Mystique questions. Defensiveness is noted, tucked away, and her smirk remains until she speaks again. "I am here, and then I'm gone again." That is, of course, useful information. "I'll let you know when I'm able." There's an obvious sense of expectation that he'll simply make time for her.
"Her new form is sorted, so I guess everything's looking good." Padraig returns, still totally level. He smiles again as hands move slowly towards pockets, thumbs resting inside them. A rapid outward breath signifies a tiny snort of laughter. "Stupid question again, eh? You know where to find me whenever you'd like to do it, or just email." Shoulders twitch slightly into the beginnings of a shrug, and he turns his head towards the bench. "Not going to kick my ass today, then? I've been looking forward to having a chance."
"Very good, if I know Sabella," Mystique returns. Her figure shifts again, flooding into Bella's new form, with certain attributes a bit overemphacized, and then melting away in the flicker of an eye. Her shoulders roll back again, and she steps to one side, shifting her weight into perfect balance. "If you like?" she suggests, and waits.
No reaction to the form of Bella, other than a slowly rising eyebrow, that ratchets just a notch higher as the emphasis is noticed. "Let's try it. Maybe I'll lay a punch on you today." Smirking irony, as his hands rise from his pockets to approach something like a martial stance, adapted slightly to offer better visibility for incoming attacks at the expense of limbs being slightly out of optimal attacking position. Play to your strengths, and all that. He steps forward, slowly, waiting for the eruption of movement that'll signal his need to act.
Mystique is still. Motionless, with muscles that seem to quiver in readiness. She grins, and yellow eyes flash in anticipation. This isn't something she gets much of in Washington. She is also, apparently, waiting. Today, it's Padraig who's expected to make the first move.
Slowly, carefully, does Blitz step forward, the smirk slowly spreading across his features as his eyes become even more intense, adrenalin fueling his instincts. He feels for the mat underneath his training shoes before leaning backwards, whipping a leg forward into a feint, and following it with a swift flurry of a left-right combination, one low, one high.
Mystique isn't there. In fact, she's halfway across the room, behind him, in a lightening flip that carries her to a spot against the wall. She takes advantage of any distracted moments from Padraig to hurtle forward with a spin that's aimed in a powerful kick at his shoulder, meant to take him down to the floor.
And almost manages it. Padraig's quite literal lightning reflexes spin his head around, seeing an incoming foot at the very last moment He pulls his power back even as he fails in his spin to avoid, being thrown off balance as the laws of physics send his soon-to be bruised shoulder pivoting around his steady foot. Eyes flash again with annoyance at his failure as he makes a hop backwards, praying to be out of the way and steady before the next attack hits.
Unfortunately, Mystique is used to dodges, and as she lands, her hands carry ready in one-two blows that connect to the gut before another kick rounds up for the shoulder again. Her moves are quick and ready, with only enough time between them to regather strength and motion.
A pair of grunts rip of out the Irishman at the blows, but this time he sees the incoming shot, gaining his balance just in time to twist his body and slam an arm into the way of the kick, the other arm whipping across his body in a fairly last ditch attempt at landing a punch, even if it is only to the shin. The light within his eyes flashes brightly for a moment, though the rest of his body is totally open to attack,
The blow ricochets off Mystique's shin, but it's only there for a moment, only a second's unbalance before blows aimed at jaw and gut and jaw fly toward him in a furious flurry.
Padraig receives a blow to the chin, arms simply not able to move fast enough to block or dodge them all. His head snaps back, fully unbalanced as a surprised and muffled grunt rips from his mouth.
The small shocks that shiver through Mystique's muscles on contact are shaken off lightly. Silky steps dance her backwards, and a smile curls her lips as she catches her breath and then returns to the task of delivering blows. Twin punches, a kick, a powerful hook, all intended to take Padraig /down/, in the most literal sense.
The punches elicit grunts, the kick sends Blitz staggering, and the hook clatters him easily off his feet, crashing to the floor without so much as an attempt to save his fall. A slight moan appears, before he's trying to move back to his feet, first groggily and then with spring, in an attempt to enter a defensive stance that'll mean the possibility of making himself survive a little longer, or at least affording him the opportunity to surrender. There's no move to attack, and he's actually wearing a broad smile.
Mystique returns the smile with a quiet grin, and she falls back across the room with arms dropped to her side. She rolls her neck sinuously, stretches her shoulders backwards, flexes her fingers, and approves, "You /have/ improved. Perhaps next time I won't slow down quite so much."
"Even got a little touch in there." Padraig affirms lightly, shaking his head slightly to try and remove the pain dancing along his jaw. He writhes that chiselled line around a little, before speaking in a much more cheerful tone. "Maybe next time I might get a real hit in, eh? I think I still need to speed up some, though I don't want to drop any of this muscle mass, that I need for grappling. I figure the sword should give me some reach and versatility. What do you reckon?"
"You had a firm hit," Mystique corrects, while her eyes search along the length of his jaw for any visible damage. A bruise, perhaps, later. Her head tilts into a nod. "And some precision," she agrees. "It may suit you."
There's a slight reddening in two places, both of which promise to be painful if not exceptionally obvious bruises in the near future. "Someday, I'll be good enough to take you properly, Mystique," he promises, "But until then, you know I'm willing to learn, and we'll see if the sword's a good weapon for me. If it is, I might need to request some more... bland versions for me, but that can wait." Stomach muscles still tensed up to fight off the numbing there, he drops from his stance and shakes out his limbs. "Figure I should get back on with my stretching, eh?"
"I have decades on you," Mystique points out, and the angle of her body, the casual looseness of muscles, answers 'never.' "I'll see if I can find something appropriate. After I speak to Erik." And possibly Toxin. She nods briefly, and moves to one edge of the room to work out the few kinks in her own fluid muscles without speaking.
"Apparently so." Padraig replies, "And thank you." He proceeds on with his stretching, muscles standing out with each one, and only an occasional grimace for a now-damaged muscle, with a wary eye cast to Mystique only once in a while. Silence is golden to the obsessive trainer.
Silence is golden to Mystique, as well, and when she finishes, she exits with nothing more than a slight smile of approval sent in Padraig's direction.
Mystique enters the weight room to find Padraig, someone she used to teach the martial arts to. Bit of a brawl, Mysti wins. But Padraig gets an entire hit in! RAWR!