Bobbi, Marius | Ping, Pong
May. 20th, 2025 09:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBobbi and Marius have a post-Danger Room cool-down.
"I should be afforded a handicap," Marius complained as a ping pong ball splashed lightly into a quintessentially American solo cup. "This is abuse of a beaten man. A beating delivered by your own hand, no less."
"Both of them, technically," Bobbi pointed out, holding both hands aloft and wiggling her fingers for dramatic effect. "Which you have two of yourself, for the record, and which you should've been using for blocking or deflecting rather than just... taking it," she mused with a wry smile. "Though you are pretty good at taking it, I'll give you that much," she conceded.
"A poor habit encouraged by regular access to a healing factor, I fear. Well, that and quite a bit of rugby. I never did get into the habit of armed combat." Marius fished the ball out of the cup and drained it. "The batons -- standard police training?"
"Nope, that one's all me," she said, withdrawing one from its holster and twirling it lazily around a few times before returning it. "Well. I suppose I first saw them there, but it wasn't something I took up on my own, especially using a pair instead of just the one," Bobbi explained. "These are the best implements, but knowing how to use 'em helps with some improvised weaponry in a pinch... always good to have options. And armed combat training," she added, "which is why we're helping you brush up."
"Can't say I felt particularly bereft whilst taking on New York last year, but- ah, hold on." His phone was pinging. Marius grabbed his phone with the non-beerslicked hand and slid his thumb across the screen to see who was texting him.
"Ah, it's Kyle. He has recalled that engagement parties are theoretically an option and had an instant anxiety attack." With an expert combination of taps and swipes employed by only the most practiced texters, Marius thumbed out a one-handed reply and set the phone down. "Thus far I find that best man duties largely involve keeping the groom from working himself into a potential stroke."
"Ahh, gotcha," Bobbi said with a grin on her face. "Can't say that the groom in our little affair has that potential problem," she said, shaking her head at the thought of Warren panicking about... well, anything really. "Nice job on the texting, by the way," she added, having watched his digits fly on the digital device. "So you do have some manual dexterity it would appear," she teased.
Marius responded with a sweeping bow. "A well-timed text can be every bit as devastating as a baton to the rib. Let villains tremble before my vast social network and scathing restaurant reviews. Not to say I'm not open to the more hands-on approach, of course, but mine are rather specialised. Holding a weapon always feels a bit chancy with a palm full of teeth." Straightening, he flipped the ping pong ball back to her. "Ever chip a tooth slapping your hand against a table? Embarrassing."
Bobbi winced at the thought of what that might feel like and shook her head. "Ugh, that does sound especially painful if I think about it. Which, no offense, I really don't want to," she added. She caught the ping pong ball and idly tossed it from palm to palm. "There is something to be said for witty repartee, I suppose, you have me there. That's definitely not my forte," she admitted.
Marius' eyebrows gave her a dubious wag. "Is that so? I confess, this is somewhat reassuring. I am clearly outmatched in brains, beauty, and brawn. This gives me hope that there is something I might yet teach you."
The match resumed. While Marius' hope might have been founded, in the end it became evident that "how to win at beer pong" was not among them.
"I should be afforded a handicap," Marius complained as a ping pong ball splashed lightly into a quintessentially American solo cup. "This is abuse of a beaten man. A beating delivered by your own hand, no less."
"Both of them, technically," Bobbi pointed out, holding both hands aloft and wiggling her fingers for dramatic effect. "Which you have two of yourself, for the record, and which you should've been using for blocking or deflecting rather than just... taking it," she mused with a wry smile. "Though you are pretty good at taking it, I'll give you that much," she conceded.
"A poor habit encouraged by regular access to a healing factor, I fear. Well, that and quite a bit of rugby. I never did get into the habit of armed combat." Marius fished the ball out of the cup and drained it. "The batons -- standard police training?"
"Nope, that one's all me," she said, withdrawing one from its holster and twirling it lazily around a few times before returning it. "Well. I suppose I first saw them there, but it wasn't something I took up on my own, especially using a pair instead of just the one," Bobbi explained. "These are the best implements, but knowing how to use 'em helps with some improvised weaponry in a pinch... always good to have options. And armed combat training," she added, "which is why we're helping you brush up."
"Can't say I felt particularly bereft whilst taking on New York last year, but- ah, hold on." His phone was pinging. Marius grabbed his phone with the non-beerslicked hand and slid his thumb across the screen to see who was texting him.
"Ah, it's Kyle. He has recalled that engagement parties are theoretically an option and had an instant anxiety attack." With an expert combination of taps and swipes employed by only the most practiced texters, Marius thumbed out a one-handed reply and set the phone down. "Thus far I find that best man duties largely involve keeping the groom from working himself into a potential stroke."
"Ahh, gotcha," Bobbi said with a grin on her face. "Can't say that the groom in our little affair has that potential problem," she said, shaking her head at the thought of Warren panicking about... well, anything really. "Nice job on the texting, by the way," she added, having watched his digits fly on the digital device. "So you do have some manual dexterity it would appear," she teased.
Marius responded with a sweeping bow. "A well-timed text can be every bit as devastating as a baton to the rib. Let villains tremble before my vast social network and scathing restaurant reviews. Not to say I'm not open to the more hands-on approach, of course, but mine are rather specialised. Holding a weapon always feels a bit chancy with a palm full of teeth." Straightening, he flipped the ping pong ball back to her. "Ever chip a tooth slapping your hand against a table? Embarrassing."
Bobbi winced at the thought of what that might feel like and shook her head. "Ugh, that does sound especially painful if I think about it. Which, no offense, I really don't want to," she added. She caught the ping pong ball and idly tossed it from palm to palm. "There is something to be said for witty repartee, I suppose, you have me there. That's definitely not my forte," she admitted.
Marius' eyebrows gave her a dubious wag. "Is that so? I confess, this is somewhat reassuring. I am clearly outmatched in brains, beauty, and brawn. This gives me hope that there is something I might yet teach you."
The match resumed. While Marius' hope might have been founded, in the end it became evident that "how to win at beer pong" was not among them.
