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xp_logsKyle runs Pyotr through some mostly non-powered fight skills assessment with ink markers instead of blades. It goes well, and colorfully.
Pyotr took a few moments to stretch. This was going to be something of an odd training scenario, but one he was still kinda looking forward to. He'd been given two training knives, but instead of live blades or even something in rubber the blade consisted of ... some kind of wand coated in a wet ink.
Very strange.
Somehow, he doubted that they'd ask him to come in here to paint with them.
"Oh, cool, you found the thing." Kyle padded into the room - for once wearing something on his feet - a pair of tight socks, with tape over the toes. "So, I was reviewing tape from the last time, cause you know. Bored while I was getting my nose set." He tapped his perfectly straight nose. "And bro, you are fast and strong, but you like, lean on that too much."
Pyotr just shrugged. "When you're as strong and as tough as I am, not much can hurt you." he admitted. "From my perspective, not a bad thing at all." Then he glanced at Kyle's feet-coverings. "So what are we doing with these? Don't think we need the Danger Room for an art session."
"I mean yeah. Valid. If you're not fighting people with other powers." Kyle pointed out. "So. I don't actually want to turn you into deli meat. So instead, marker knives. Yours I got from a martial arts supply place online. Mine are kinda experimental." He bent down and slipped what looked like a soft ballet slipper over his toes with felt marker tips where his claws would be. "Turns out they make ballet slippers in size ginormous, so we can thank Maya for that."
Pyotr blinked. "Ah. I stay as I am now, you are as you are now, and we use colorful knives on each other?" he mused. "Puts more advantage in your court. Fast, strong, tough, heal fast. As Pyotr, not much I can do about that." he said. "But I don't think I'm entirely helpless." he said, eyeing Kyle with more respect than he had previously. "And no broken noses or arms this go-around, yes?"
Kyle tapped his nose with a yet-ungloved hand. "The nose I can live with. Lidocaine to the face, set and sit around for an hour until I sneeze out all the scabs. The arm was annoying, because fractures itch on the inside, so I had like an hour of pain and then two hours of wanting to chew my wrist off." He held up a pair of padded gloves, with the same felt-tip markers sticking out from where his claws would normally be and started putting them in carefully, mostly using his teeth to secure the velcro wraps. "But ima keep things down to mostly human levels. This isn't a revenge thing, I just..." He shrugged. "Look, you know about Magneto, right? You turn into metal. If you're considering the X-Men, I want you to be able to drop the metal and still hold your own."
Pyotr nodded. Kyle had done his homework but nobody's told him about his other favorite hobby besides art and bodybuilding. Time to see if his Sambo training was, as the strange little video app says, either a piece of art or bullshit. "Whenever you're ready." he said as he bounced on his toes briefly.
Kyle carefully adjusted his feet, frowned down at them a few times, shuffled a bit, and then in a burst of motion, scythed into a fast kick at Pyotr's bicep. It was so rare that he got to fight anyone his height, it was very strange to kick high and not be at risk of taking someone's eyes out.
Pyotr, rather than spinning to one side or dancing back out of range, came in awkwardly slashing with his knives, looking to score hits before he could tackle Kyle, take him to the ground. Man was far too dangerous like this to sit around and trade strikes with. Go to ground, bend into pretzel, win!
Kyle's foot swept along Pyotr's forearm, leaving a streak of dark green, and then he rolled under the larger man's arm- and knife, and popped back up. "See, now I know you're fast, so you lose the surprise." And then ducked in again, to scrape his foot along Pyotr's shin.
Initial exchange done and he hadn't even marked Kyle, but taken several of his own. Were this serious, he'd likely be well on his way to bleeding out. He pivoted as quickly as he could, one knife coming in at an icepick aimed for Kyle's ear, but continuing the spin to hopefully get clear of any retaliatory strikes. If he was Colossus he wouldn't even bother - which, he realized, was the _point_ of what Kyle was trying to show him.
Worth thinking about. When there was less colorful death coming his way.
"Ha! Tickles!" The side of Kyle's ear went a glorious shade of sparkly blue, and he slid out of the way, toes making a green stripe on the floor. "Ear's a good shot too, if you wanna mess someone up but not hit the neck." His return swipe with his hand missed, Pyotr was picking up what he was trying to put down as fast as Kyle had hoped. He dropped, one hand to the floor, and kicked out towards the taller man's shins, and then rolled over one shoulder to pop back up, laughing at the streaks of color on the floor. "Guess who gets to buff this out later today. My idea, so I get to pull out the powerwasher."
Pyotr didn't respond to the banter in favor of weaving his paint-knives in a defensive pattern. Knifework was hardly his forte and for all he knew all he was doing was embarrassing himself. Kyle was fast, that much was true. But in a knife fight, you had to expect to get stabbed. So he completed the spin and went bi-directional - one blade aimed at his eyes, to make him flinch or move while the other strike - the business strike - went to open his belly, Or it would if these were real.
The strike to Kyle's stomach hit, and a slash of color blossomed over his tanktop. He grunted - even without being made of metal, Pyotr was a big man, there was force behind that strike. But his arm came up to block the strike to his eyes, and the other swiped across Pyotr's face in return. "Okay, next time we do this, ima get you like, sponge mittens, soak them in food dye or something."
Pyotr ruined his strike not only with Kyle's parry but his own flinch to keep the other man's claws away from his eyes. Snarling to himself, he decided to bring it up close, see if he could neutralize Kyle's superior striking. So he went in, lightning quick, for a grapple, force the man to the ground, put some pain on him.
Pyotr was fast, Kyle knew that from experience now, and while normally Kyle could dodge that kind of thing, sometimes the lesson was better learned the colorful way. He hit the ground under the bigger man's weight, one arm smacking on the mat with the impact. It left a streak of color on the plastic. Then he twisted, jamming a paint-shoe covered foot under Pyotr's ribs in a way only the hyper-flexible could manage and pushed, grunting with effort. "Claws on the feet are two inches untrimmed. You like kidneys?"
"I did, until your foot there just removed mine." he said ruefully. "But might want to check yourself again, tovarisch." he said with a slight smirk. Sure, Kyle'd managed to take him out, but not at the cost of probably bleeding out from the slicing cut he'd managed to get across his hamstring and, were this a real strike, likely into his femoral artery as well. Which, depending on how frisky Kyle's healing factor was feeling, would be incapacitating if not straight-out fatal.
Kyle glanced down, and barked a laugh. "Nice. Yeah, we're at best both bleeding a lot, at worst, we're both kinda dead." He raised a first, clearly for a bump, and upon receiving it, wiggled out from under Pyotr. "Okay, so assessment time, you mostly just need to not count on being metal." He got to his feet, and offered a hand out to Pyotr, entirely physically unnecessary, but also entirely polite. "Somebody. Might've been Scott, said - sometimes we train for the edge cases. We get you up to speed on fighting when you can't be metal, and then because you can be metal most of the time, you're just that much more effective. That grapple put me on a mat now, I'm pretty sure at full strength I'd be six inches into the floor."
"If I was metal, you couldn't touch me. Your point is taken." Pyotr said with a rueful grin, looking down at his multi-colored self. "Least I gave some." he shrugged. "If you're free, maybe we could work on polishing up my moves. Might even have some to share with you." he pointed out. "We both improve."
"Damn right we do. But right now, we do food and beer." Kyle said. "Well, showers." He pointed to the streaks of paint on his arms. "And then food, and beer. We can figure out what you wanna work on over burgers or something." He swiped sweaty hair off his face, leaving a streak of paint across his cheekbone and forehead. "Also if you were metal I wouldn't be fighting you. I know what I can't beat, and it's a dude made of steel. You're metal and pissed, I climb on your head, cover your eyes and hang on until somebody else knocks you out. That's what telepaths are for, making people go to sleep."
He frowned at the mention of telepaths. "Classes on psi-defense are good, I'm just _so bad_ at it." he said with a laugh. "But yes. Showers, then we'll go out for meat and drink like warriors." he said with another laugh.
"I'm not sure warriors of old got to get steak fries and onion rings with their meat and drink, but sucks to be them."
"Their loss if not." he said as he headed towards the showers. "Also, ever have Russian Standard?" he asked, then ducked into the men's room to go get cleaned up.
Pyotr took a few moments to stretch. This was going to be something of an odd training scenario, but one he was still kinda looking forward to. He'd been given two training knives, but instead of live blades or even something in rubber the blade consisted of ... some kind of wand coated in a wet ink.
Very strange.
Somehow, he doubted that they'd ask him to come in here to paint with them.
"Oh, cool, you found the thing." Kyle padded into the room - for once wearing something on his feet - a pair of tight socks, with tape over the toes. "So, I was reviewing tape from the last time, cause you know. Bored while I was getting my nose set." He tapped his perfectly straight nose. "And bro, you are fast and strong, but you like, lean on that too much."
Pyotr just shrugged. "When you're as strong and as tough as I am, not much can hurt you." he admitted. "From my perspective, not a bad thing at all." Then he glanced at Kyle's feet-coverings. "So what are we doing with these? Don't think we need the Danger Room for an art session."
"I mean yeah. Valid. If you're not fighting people with other powers." Kyle pointed out. "So. I don't actually want to turn you into deli meat. So instead, marker knives. Yours I got from a martial arts supply place online. Mine are kinda experimental." He bent down and slipped what looked like a soft ballet slipper over his toes with felt marker tips where his claws would be. "Turns out they make ballet slippers in size ginormous, so we can thank Maya for that."
Pyotr blinked. "Ah. I stay as I am now, you are as you are now, and we use colorful knives on each other?" he mused. "Puts more advantage in your court. Fast, strong, tough, heal fast. As Pyotr, not much I can do about that." he said. "But I don't think I'm entirely helpless." he said, eyeing Kyle with more respect than he had previously. "And no broken noses or arms this go-around, yes?"
Kyle tapped his nose with a yet-ungloved hand. "The nose I can live with. Lidocaine to the face, set and sit around for an hour until I sneeze out all the scabs. The arm was annoying, because fractures itch on the inside, so I had like an hour of pain and then two hours of wanting to chew my wrist off." He held up a pair of padded gloves, with the same felt-tip markers sticking out from where his claws would normally be and started putting them in carefully, mostly using his teeth to secure the velcro wraps. "But ima keep things down to mostly human levels. This isn't a revenge thing, I just..." He shrugged. "Look, you know about Magneto, right? You turn into metal. If you're considering the X-Men, I want you to be able to drop the metal and still hold your own."
Pyotr nodded. Kyle had done his homework but nobody's told him about his other favorite hobby besides art and bodybuilding. Time to see if his Sambo training was, as the strange little video app says, either a piece of art or bullshit. "Whenever you're ready." he said as he bounced on his toes briefly.
Kyle carefully adjusted his feet, frowned down at them a few times, shuffled a bit, and then in a burst of motion, scythed into a fast kick at Pyotr's bicep. It was so rare that he got to fight anyone his height, it was very strange to kick high and not be at risk of taking someone's eyes out.
Pyotr, rather than spinning to one side or dancing back out of range, came in awkwardly slashing with his knives, looking to score hits before he could tackle Kyle, take him to the ground. Man was far too dangerous like this to sit around and trade strikes with. Go to ground, bend into pretzel, win!
Kyle's foot swept along Pyotr's forearm, leaving a streak of dark green, and then he rolled under the larger man's arm- and knife, and popped back up. "See, now I know you're fast, so you lose the surprise." And then ducked in again, to scrape his foot along Pyotr's shin.
Initial exchange done and he hadn't even marked Kyle, but taken several of his own. Were this serious, he'd likely be well on his way to bleeding out. He pivoted as quickly as he could, one knife coming in at an icepick aimed for Kyle's ear, but continuing the spin to hopefully get clear of any retaliatory strikes. If he was Colossus he wouldn't even bother - which, he realized, was the _point_ of what Kyle was trying to show him.
Worth thinking about. When there was less colorful death coming his way.
"Ha! Tickles!" The side of Kyle's ear went a glorious shade of sparkly blue, and he slid out of the way, toes making a green stripe on the floor. "Ear's a good shot too, if you wanna mess someone up but not hit the neck." His return swipe with his hand missed, Pyotr was picking up what he was trying to put down as fast as Kyle had hoped. He dropped, one hand to the floor, and kicked out towards the taller man's shins, and then rolled over one shoulder to pop back up, laughing at the streaks of color on the floor. "Guess who gets to buff this out later today. My idea, so I get to pull out the powerwasher."
Pyotr didn't respond to the banter in favor of weaving his paint-knives in a defensive pattern. Knifework was hardly his forte and for all he knew all he was doing was embarrassing himself. Kyle was fast, that much was true. But in a knife fight, you had to expect to get stabbed. So he completed the spin and went bi-directional - one blade aimed at his eyes, to make him flinch or move while the other strike - the business strike - went to open his belly, Or it would if these were real.
The strike to Kyle's stomach hit, and a slash of color blossomed over his tanktop. He grunted - even without being made of metal, Pyotr was a big man, there was force behind that strike. But his arm came up to block the strike to his eyes, and the other swiped across Pyotr's face in return. "Okay, next time we do this, ima get you like, sponge mittens, soak them in food dye or something."
Pyotr ruined his strike not only with Kyle's parry but his own flinch to keep the other man's claws away from his eyes. Snarling to himself, he decided to bring it up close, see if he could neutralize Kyle's superior striking. So he went in, lightning quick, for a grapple, force the man to the ground, put some pain on him.
Pyotr was fast, Kyle knew that from experience now, and while normally Kyle could dodge that kind of thing, sometimes the lesson was better learned the colorful way. He hit the ground under the bigger man's weight, one arm smacking on the mat with the impact. It left a streak of color on the plastic. Then he twisted, jamming a paint-shoe covered foot under Pyotr's ribs in a way only the hyper-flexible could manage and pushed, grunting with effort. "Claws on the feet are two inches untrimmed. You like kidneys?"
"I did, until your foot there just removed mine." he said ruefully. "But might want to check yourself again, tovarisch." he said with a slight smirk. Sure, Kyle'd managed to take him out, but not at the cost of probably bleeding out from the slicing cut he'd managed to get across his hamstring and, were this a real strike, likely into his femoral artery as well. Which, depending on how frisky Kyle's healing factor was feeling, would be incapacitating if not straight-out fatal.
Kyle glanced down, and barked a laugh. "Nice. Yeah, we're at best both bleeding a lot, at worst, we're both kinda dead." He raised a first, clearly for a bump, and upon receiving it, wiggled out from under Pyotr. "Okay, so assessment time, you mostly just need to not count on being metal." He got to his feet, and offered a hand out to Pyotr, entirely physically unnecessary, but also entirely polite. "Somebody. Might've been Scott, said - sometimes we train for the edge cases. We get you up to speed on fighting when you can't be metal, and then because you can be metal most of the time, you're just that much more effective. That grapple put me on a mat now, I'm pretty sure at full strength I'd be six inches into the floor."
"If I was metal, you couldn't touch me. Your point is taken." Pyotr said with a rueful grin, looking down at his multi-colored self. "Least I gave some." he shrugged. "If you're free, maybe we could work on polishing up my moves. Might even have some to share with you." he pointed out. "We both improve."
"Damn right we do. But right now, we do food and beer." Kyle said. "Well, showers." He pointed to the streaks of paint on his arms. "And then food, and beer. We can figure out what you wanna work on over burgers or something." He swiped sweaty hair off his face, leaving a streak of paint across his cheekbone and forehead. "Also if you were metal I wouldn't be fighting you. I know what I can't beat, and it's a dude made of steel. You're metal and pissed, I climb on your head, cover your eyes and hang on until somebody else knocks you out. That's what telepaths are for, making people go to sleep."
He frowned at the mention of telepaths. "Classes on psi-defense are good, I'm just _so bad_ at it." he said with a laugh. "But yes. Showers, then we'll go out for meat and drink like warriors." he said with another laugh.
"I'm not sure warriors of old got to get steak fries and onion rings with their meat and drink, but sucks to be them."
"Their loss if not." he said as he headed towards the showers. "Also, ever have Russian Standard?" he asked, then ducked into the men's room to go get cleaned up.
