xp_logs | Hand-to-hand training

Doug and Angie arrive to their hand-to-hand session not knowing who they're going to spar. Scott's devious like that.

If anyone had told Marie-Ange two years before that she might actually enjoy, in some small way, hand-to-hand training, she'd have laughed at them. Or, actually, she'd have just stared in sheer horror and retreated to her room to hide.

Now she was pulling on padded gloves in the locker room and stretching to be sure she didn't walk away with any injuries of her own accord. As opposed to the kind inflicted by her opponent, which were inevitable.

That she still did not know who she was meant to be working with was bothersome. It gave her a tight achy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wouldn't be someone like Mr. Marko, or Piotr. But it could be Lorna, or Wanda (though Wanda was off in Alaska with Doctor Bartlet). Or worse, Alison.

In the mens' locker room, Doug was preparing for a sparring session in much the same fashion as his girlfriend, with just as little knowledge of his upcoming opponent. Knocking his sparring gloves together in a practiced motion that was part nervous tic and part making sure they were firmly seated on his hands, he tried not to think too much about what might be waiting for him. The list ran through his mind. He was fairly sure that Cyclops wasn't feeling like throwing Mr. Marko (Doug stifled yet another mental snicker at his trainee codename) at him, and Jetstream tended not to do much sparring with any of the trainees except for Shiro.

That still left quite the laundry list of people that it could be. Nightcrawler (Doug had seen some footage of what Mr. Wagner could do in a fight with that teleport flurry trick of his), Kylun, or plenty of other team members. Heck, if he was feeling particularly sadistic, Doug wouldn't put it past Cyclops to be waiting in the room to toss him around a few times. While Doug was starting to improve his martial arts skills between trainee sessions and the outside martial arts school he was studying at, Cyclops had been doing this a while longer.

Finally, with all of his gear on, Doug had no more reasons to stall. Walking out of the locker room, his eyes widened as he saw who was waiting for him.

"Oh dear." Marie-Ange breathed out, frowning. This was certainly going to change things. It was probably very likely actually Doug too, since she was fairly sure that Jake didn't fight. Fighting Alison would've been bad enough. She didn't much like the idea of hitting someone she knew and liked. This was going to be terrible. ~Why couldn't it be Jubilee?~

Doug's response to the situation was merely to stare intently. Body language seemed to indicate that it was indeed Angie and not Mr. Gavin. But still, this was entirely confusing, and he was more than a little off-balance from the shock. Still, he managed to cover most of it as he strode towards the center of the room.

And now they were going to both try to be terribly stoic and not look surprised and Marie-Ange just knew that both of them really just wanted to turn around and go back in the locker room. And probably lose their respective lunches. She sighed. There was probably going to be one of those painful "And why do you think we had you two sparring each other?" questions too.

Still, there was no getting out of this. Marie-Ange let out a displeased sigh and walked over to where Doug was standing. He looked far, far too calm. Maybe he'd known about this ahead of time? She let out a long breath to center herself and set her shoulders. No sense in guarding her face quite just yet.

It was fairly obvious that Angie had known just as little of her sparring partner as Doug. He was trying to decide if this was more or less sadistic of Cyclops than if he'd suited up to throw Doug around the ring himself. Doug was leaning towards 'more', himself.

He made his way to the ring to stand in preparation. Of course, that begged the question of how one fought a precognitive. Granted, Angie's powers didn't quite work the same way as that one precognitive he'd seen mentioned in the trainee-safe portions of the Youra mission reports, but how were you supposed to attack someone who could likely see your moves coming? He resolved to let her make the first move.

She knew Doug wasn't going to act first. That much was obvious, and typical of him. And he'd stand there patiently with that look on his face until she did something. If she did anything obvious, he would see it. If she feinted, he might be able to tell, and figure out what she really intended to do.

Marie-Ange frowned. This was ridiculous, and she was over-thinking. Again. Which was, for all she knew, half the point of this excercise. With a half-shrug and a brief annoyed shake of her head, she stepped forward, moving to drive a shoulder into Doug's chest. If she got him on the ground, he might lose some of that advantage in seeing what she was going to do next.

Patience was the key, when you had an advantage like Doug's ability to read body language. Maybe that was the thing he was supposed to learn today. He would have been totally content to just stand there and stare at Marie-Ange for twenty minutes, just so long as she made the first move. Because you couldn't react unless the other person moved first.

Darting away from the shoulder that Marie-Ange was attempting to throw into his chest, Doug stepped aside and used her momentum, along with an arm across her chest and a foot behind her ankle, to try and bear her to the ground quickly.

That had gone almost exactly as she'd hoped. Granted, it meant Doug had one of her arms, but that left one free.

From her half-prone position, Marie-Ange could actually reach the side pocket of her pants easier than if she had been standing. A moment later, she could feel solid wood in her hand, even through the padded glove. A quarterstaff, as familar to her as the one that now lived in her room, with the armor and gauntlet from Asgard.

Now that just wasn't fair, Doug thought idly in the back of his head, the small part not occupied with sparring. Of course, as Mr. Summers would say, fair had no real place in a full-out fight. Could you expect Magneto to fight fair? Or Sabertooth?

Doug was able to dodge the first awkward swipe of Marie-Ange's quarterstaff, but somehow, she had used his grappling maneuver to grab a hold of him, and because he couldn't move freely, the next swing caught him firmly in the ribs. He grunted softly, then twisted his arm against her grip, breaking it and continuing to use his forward momentum to dive into a shoulder roll, putting distance between him and her and getting back to his feet quickly.

He should have known that Angie would have a trick up her sleeve (or in this case, down her pants pocket), he thought with a grin. But he promised himself he wouldn't fall for the same trick twice.

She'd almost lost her footing when Doug grabbed her arm. But perhaps that was what she needed. To stay low where she could knock his feet out from under him.

It was certainly easier to shift to a low crouch than it was to stand up straight, and if the staff was a little more awkward from this position, she could always dismiss it. This particular trick wouldn't work on Doug twice anyway.

Doug stayed out of range, bouncing on the balls of his feet and taking a moment to assess the situation. Angie had the advantage with her quarterstaff. She had the longer reach now, as well as the ability to deal out damage without using any part of her body. Both of those could be overcome if he fought smart enough, though.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he pondered options. Doug tended to favor a defensive posture, from which he could react to the body language of his opponent. Feints could be dismissed, and the true strike countered at the opportune moment. But of anyone, Angie probably knew the most about the way his powers worked, and the advantage they gave him. The grappling and quarterstaff proved that. So it was time to change tactics.

Stepping in to press the attack, Doug aimed a low kick at Marie-Ange's knee, grinning when she stepped back to bring her quarterstaff into play. But Doug had prepared for that, stepping in even further to stop the swing almost before it began, his hands braced on the center of the staff. Directing the momentum of her swing downward, Doug brought his knee up to snap the staff cleanly in two. A quick twist of his wrist and half of the staff was in his hand, evening the playing field again.

The snap of breaking the staff had run up Marie-Ange's spine, making her shiver. And now she had one shortened stick, and Doug had the other half. That would not do at all. Maintaining the image, broken like this, was not worth it. It would take more concentration than she had to spare and she needed all she could keep, trying to stay one step ahead of Doug.

A blink later, and the staff faded away. She'd lost her advantage, which meant she needed to fall back. Gain some distance to try to get another card. Marie-Ange backed away a few steps, one hand up to guard her face, just in case Doug did try to go on the offensive. With the other, she reached around behind her to her back pocket. There had to be another card she could use.

If there was one thing Doug could not afford, it was to let Angie keep the advantage that her cards gave her. Darting forward as she continued to fall back, he managed to grab her wrist just before her hand went into her pocket. Trying his best not to be distracted by the feel of Angie's rear end through her pants, Doug quickly drew the packet of cards out of the pocket himself. He caught himself just shy of flinging the cards away. It was entirely possible that some of the cards could wind up face-up on the floor, still giving Marie-Ange options. Instead, he carefully took a moment to stow them in one of his own pockets.

He'd taken her cards. Doug. Had. Taken her -cards-. Marie-Ange lunged, trying to grab at Doug's hands to get the cards back before he could hide them away. She ducked under his free hand that was trying to push her away and grabbed at his shoulder. Without the cards, any advantage she had was completely gone. Doug was taller, and he definitly had the power advantage when it came to a purely physical fight.

As Marie-Ange tried to press in on him, Doug used his longer arms to keep the cards out of her reach. As she grabbed his shoulder and moved in, he raised a knee between them, extending his leg to push her away and give him the necessary space to finish stowing the cards in his pockets. She was on edge now. That was good, because it gave him another advantage.

He'd gotten most of her cards. That was not good at all, she only had a few left. Marie-Ange fell back, trying to recall what she had left. Not very much at all, she thought. She crouched down, trying to hide her movements. The pocket on the inside of her right leg had two cards, she knew. But keeping Doug at bay long enough for her to get them was going to be problematic.

More than one pocket. Doug cursed himself for a fool. And he'd given her just the distance she'd need to pull one out and use it. Taking a few steps, he lunged forward to tackle her and get her hands away from the inside pocket.

She just didn't have the balance or strength to keep from falling, not with Doug throwing himself into her chest and kicking her legs out from under her. She landed with an awkward thud, and tried to roll to the side to get away from Doug's hands grabbing at her pockets. Those were her last cards, and she'd lose any advantage if he got them.

Doug rolled with her, scissoring his legs around her waist to keep her from achieving any distance. Marie-Ange attempted to kick at him, but couldn't get any leverage with his legs around her waist. A few desperate punches were likewise blocked, and Doug slowly, inexorably bore Angie to a face-down position, kneeling on wrists crossed at the base of her spine. Sparing a quick moment to remove the last few cards from Marie-Ange's pockets, he pocketed them himself before looking up at the control booth.

Cyclops nodded shortly at Doug and keyed the microphone. "Okay. Match is over. Change out and report to the briefing room for analysis." Doug quickly levered himself to a standing position, offering one hand to help Marie-Ange up while fishing in his pocket to return her cards. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked solicitously.

"No. I am fine." She was, admittedly, a little bruised, but those would heal. She was more miffed that he'd managed to get -all- her cards away from her. "How did you do that wrist-grab? I cannot figure out how that works.." Marie-Ange asked, as they left the gym. "You have to show me that. And I -have- to find a way to keep people from taking my cards." She grumbled a little. There had to be some way to do that...