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xp_logsDoug and Kyle go for a sparring match, but Kyle gets distracted by Doug's weird nanite tricks. Which then leans to them trying to come up with -more- weird nanite tricks.
Kyle was already in the gym when Doug arrived. As usual, his bare feet were already wrapped, and his claws were trimmed down to prevent from catching on his sparring partner's clothes - or skin. He sat, straddling a weight bench as he wrapped one hand in tape, biting off the ends and patting them into place.
"Figured you didn't wanna go full out, so I didn't put on the leathers." The tall feral man had workout shorts and a tank top, his hair in a loose ponytail, but his armored pants and jacket were tossed over the end of the bench.
Doug was in a similar tanktop and a pair of longer workout pants. "Yeah, it's mostly just me building that muscle memory, getting to where I'm not even thinking about this-" He waved the nanite hand as he taped the flesh one. "I mean, I've had it a while now, and been in the field with it, but you know me, if it's worth being prepared, Imma overprepare." His voice mirrored Kyle's laconic delivery and word choices.
The assessing look that Kyle gave Doug was one the other man had seen probably more than anyone except Garrison Kane. He went still, watching Doug move, eyes locked on the metallic copper and matte black fingers, how they wrapped tape around the other hand. "Looks pretty smooth from here. Does muscle memory even work when it's not made of muscle?"
"For day to day stuff? Yeah, it's smooth. It's the stuff where I have to think or react to something unexpected that it gets less so." As Doug continued the wrapping, the middle finger of his nanite hand peeled backward to extend vertically in a physically impossible but clearly unmistakable gesture. "And you know what I mean, wiseass."
"Aw, that's fucking gross dude." Kyle's head tilted slowly to watch the finger bend, and then shifted his head back as Doug also shifted his finger back. "And I can dislocate my thumbs to get out of handcuffs. Which. I mean fuck it, lets start with you and dislocating shit. Do you even have joints in that thing?" He rolled one wrist around in a circle, watching his own joint. "okay, up we get, warmups and then lets see how you can get out of all eight hundred dick move joint locks I know."
Doug wiggled the hand in question. "It's complicated. Mostly they replicate a bone structure underneath, but I dunno how much of that is because I -expect- there to be a bone structure there. Chicken and egg issue, a bit. Wanna see something really fuckin gross?" he asked. Before Kyle could answer, he balanced the roll of tape on the back of his nanite hand, and then after a moment's thought the hand reversed itself to grasp the roll. Not a wrist flip. Not a forearm shift. The hand. What appeared to be bones, certainly finger joints, a curved palm became a flat copper and matte-black set of knuckles, the fingers passed through themselves as though the joints rewrote their own structures.
The warning - and maybe some superhuman reaction time were about the only reasons Kyle didn't reel back. "The fuck." His head made a slow return to the tilt from before. "Do that again. Fuck warmups, show me that nasty hand shit again. We are about to fucking drill that until you can do it in your sleep."
"I came up with this one because of Dungeons and Dragons," Doug admitted as he repeated the process in the opposite direction. "There's a monster called a rakshasa...well, D&D got it from Hindu mythology. Anyways, one of their defining characteristics is that their hands are backwards from humans." His hand flipped back to its inverted state to demonstrate. "Actually used this to break and reverse a wrist grab."
"Nerd." Kyle said, with a dry laugh. "Well, lets use it to break some fucking wrist grabs." He gave a lopsided grin, fangs showing. "Like I said, lets drill it until you can do it asleep, drunk, whatever." He stood, shook himself a little, and padded over to the mats. "You want cross or same side first?"
An easy shrug. "Surprise me." If it was supposed to be as realistic as possible, Doug ideally wouldn't know where the grab was coming from. Granted, he had more than a bit of an advantage there, but Kyle was quick enough to still probably keep him on his toes.
==
The pop as Kyle re-located his shoulder was distinct, as was the minute snarl when it went back into place. He rolled his neck and the joint he'd just gotten back into place. "Jesus, ninety thousand of those later, and that thing is still gross. Also, dude." He lifted his arm and showed bruising from the last dislocation. "Fuck, that's ugly. Gonna need a few for that to calm the fuck down before we do anything else."
"Two hundred and seventy-three."
"Bruh. Did you legit count every damn wrist lock?"
Doug wiggled his fingers. "Background processing. So...for certain values of 'legit'." He grinned. "You're right about drilling it until it's second nature, though. It's starting to get there." He grabbed a towel and mopped the sweat off of his neck and shoulders. "The real thing that keeps my brain spinning, though, is trying to figure out the ways to use it that never even actually occur to me, if that makes sense. Like...bridging the creativity gap? Actually coming up with new ideas, like, what are the things I could be doing but I never thought of them?" Classic meta-analysis, really, Doug was nothing if not on brand like that.
"My dude." Kyle took a long pull from his water bottle. "You are such a fuckin' overthinker that you have like, eleven billion robots in your blood so you can overthink in the fuckin' background while you're trying to learn to stop thinking." He sat down on the mats, and kept drinking. "Well, I got one if you want one, cause I live in it." he wiggled his fingers at Doug, and let the claws slide in just enough to dent the plastic. "Give me ten to catch up and we'll learn you how to use a set of these. It'll be fun."
"See, this is what I'm talking about." The nanites began to shift at the tips of Doug's fingers as he was speaking. "Totally obvious in hindsight, and yet." He snagged his own water bottle and rehydrated alongside Kyle.
Kyle was already in the gym when Doug arrived. As usual, his bare feet were already wrapped, and his claws were trimmed down to prevent from catching on his sparring partner's clothes - or skin. He sat, straddling a weight bench as he wrapped one hand in tape, biting off the ends and patting them into place.
"Figured you didn't wanna go full out, so I didn't put on the leathers." The tall feral man had workout shorts and a tank top, his hair in a loose ponytail, but his armored pants and jacket were tossed over the end of the bench.
Doug was in a similar tanktop and a pair of longer workout pants. "Yeah, it's mostly just me building that muscle memory, getting to where I'm not even thinking about this-" He waved the nanite hand as he taped the flesh one. "I mean, I've had it a while now, and been in the field with it, but you know me, if it's worth being prepared, Imma overprepare." His voice mirrored Kyle's laconic delivery and word choices.
The assessing look that Kyle gave Doug was one the other man had seen probably more than anyone except Garrison Kane. He went still, watching Doug move, eyes locked on the metallic copper and matte black fingers, how they wrapped tape around the other hand. "Looks pretty smooth from here. Does muscle memory even work when it's not made of muscle?"
"For day to day stuff? Yeah, it's smooth. It's the stuff where I have to think or react to something unexpected that it gets less so." As Doug continued the wrapping, the middle finger of his nanite hand peeled backward to extend vertically in a physically impossible but clearly unmistakable gesture. "And you know what I mean, wiseass."
"Aw, that's fucking gross dude." Kyle's head tilted slowly to watch the finger bend, and then shifted his head back as Doug also shifted his finger back. "And I can dislocate my thumbs to get out of handcuffs. Which. I mean fuck it, lets start with you and dislocating shit. Do you even have joints in that thing?" He rolled one wrist around in a circle, watching his own joint. "okay, up we get, warmups and then lets see how you can get out of all eight hundred dick move joint locks I know."
Doug wiggled the hand in question. "It's complicated. Mostly they replicate a bone structure underneath, but I dunno how much of that is because I -expect- there to be a bone structure there. Chicken and egg issue, a bit. Wanna see something really fuckin gross?" he asked. Before Kyle could answer, he balanced the roll of tape on the back of his nanite hand, and then after a moment's thought the hand reversed itself to grasp the roll. Not a wrist flip. Not a forearm shift. The hand. What appeared to be bones, certainly finger joints, a curved palm became a flat copper and matte-black set of knuckles, the fingers passed through themselves as though the joints rewrote their own structures.
The warning - and maybe some superhuman reaction time were about the only reasons Kyle didn't reel back. "The fuck." His head made a slow return to the tilt from before. "Do that again. Fuck warmups, show me that nasty hand shit again. We are about to fucking drill that until you can do it in your sleep."
"I came up with this one because of Dungeons and Dragons," Doug admitted as he repeated the process in the opposite direction. "There's a monster called a rakshasa...well, D&D got it from Hindu mythology. Anyways, one of their defining characteristics is that their hands are backwards from humans." His hand flipped back to its inverted state to demonstrate. "Actually used this to break and reverse a wrist grab."
"Nerd." Kyle said, with a dry laugh. "Well, lets use it to break some fucking wrist grabs." He gave a lopsided grin, fangs showing. "Like I said, lets drill it until you can do it asleep, drunk, whatever." He stood, shook himself a little, and padded over to the mats. "You want cross or same side first?"
An easy shrug. "Surprise me." If it was supposed to be as realistic as possible, Doug ideally wouldn't know where the grab was coming from. Granted, he had more than a bit of an advantage there, but Kyle was quick enough to still probably keep him on his toes.
==
The pop as Kyle re-located his shoulder was distinct, as was the minute snarl when it went back into place. He rolled his neck and the joint he'd just gotten back into place. "Jesus, ninety thousand of those later, and that thing is still gross. Also, dude." He lifted his arm and showed bruising from the last dislocation. "Fuck, that's ugly. Gonna need a few for that to calm the fuck down before we do anything else."
"Two hundred and seventy-three."
"Bruh. Did you legit count every damn wrist lock?"
Doug wiggled his fingers. "Background processing. So...for certain values of 'legit'." He grinned. "You're right about drilling it until it's second nature, though. It's starting to get there." He grabbed a towel and mopped the sweat off of his neck and shoulders. "The real thing that keeps my brain spinning, though, is trying to figure out the ways to use it that never even actually occur to me, if that makes sense. Like...bridging the creativity gap? Actually coming up with new ideas, like, what are the things I could be doing but I never thought of them?" Classic meta-analysis, really, Doug was nothing if not on brand like that.
"My dude." Kyle took a long pull from his water bottle. "You are such a fuckin' overthinker that you have like, eleven billion robots in your blood so you can overthink in the fuckin' background while you're trying to learn to stop thinking." He sat down on the mats, and kept drinking. "Well, I got one if you want one, cause I live in it." he wiggled his fingers at Doug, and let the claws slide in just enough to dent the plastic. "Give me ten to catch up and we'll learn you how to use a set of these. It'll be fun."
"See, this is what I'm talking about." The nanites began to shift at the tips of Doug's fingers as he was speaking. "Totally obvious in hindsight, and yet." He snagged his own water bottle and rehydrated alongside Kyle.
