fandomhighdorms | Gym, Monday night after Tactics of War

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Gym, Monday night after Tactics of War

Pip slams his leg into the body bag. He had never really tried it before, but imagining that the bag was someone else actually did help focus your concentration.

SLAM

_{[[OOC: Come. Sweat. Talk to the pissed off mercenary. Kick, punch, it's all the mind, if you want to test me, you're sure to find, the things I'll teach ya are sure to beat ya,...*lapses off into Parappa the Rappa flashbacks*

ETA: Exact contents of Pip and Ivanova's conversation are NFB.]]}

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Ivanova seemed to have almost the same idea as Pip, heading down to the gym in sweatpants and a tanktop, Ranger staff concealed in her hand. She nodded to Pip. "Evening."

Pip nodded. "Yo."

He slammed the bag again. "So, what do you think of the new teacher?"

"She seems nice enough," Ivanova replied. "I wasn't expecting a 'Her Grace' to be so approachable." She squeezed the small metal cylinder in her hand, making the staff extend to its full length, slowly spinning it around as she moved into fighting patterns. "Still have to resist the urge to salute her, though."

Pip nodded. "Hell, I've never been in official millitary in my life and I want to salute her." He slammed the bag again before looking at Ivanova's staff. "What's that?"

"I couldn't pronounce it if I tried," she replied, grinning a bit as she spun, striking at an invisible enemy. "The Rangers use them. When I was home and injured, my version of physiotherapy was learning how to use it." Her movements sped up but still very measured and exact and, if she hadn't been sparring with little-'s'-shadows, very deadly.

Pip watched her practice with it. "Cool," he said. "How did you get injured?" he asked before turning back to the bag and slamming it again.

"Snow monsters," she replied simply. "And according to my doctors, sheer pigheadedness." She got fancy, retracting and extending the staff swiftly, always to cause the most damage against her unseen opponent.

"Bastards got me in the arm," Pip said. "Alfred, the guy who runs the restaurant we were at, bandaged me up."

He punched the bag with the arm in question to make sure it was still in good shape.

"Best," a swing, "report," a jab, "I ever," twirl and uppercut, "gave my," downward slash, "commanding officer."

She retracted the staff, tossed it in the air, caught it in her other hand and extended it again, continuing her workout. "They can't get enough of Tales Out of Fandom."

"From what I understand," Pip said, kicking the bag, "My letters home are outstripping dirty magazines as the most popular reading among the mercenary company."

He grabbed the bag to stop it from swinging and stared down at the floor for a moment. He looked up at Ivanova. "Does it bother you that I'm a mercenary? I mean, as a regular real millitary person."

"Why would it?" Ivanova asked, standing straight, still for a moment with the staff tucked behind her arm. "Mercenaries are about the only army one can trust. Devotion to an ideal can only get one so far."

Pip sighed. "I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if the regular millitary people.. I dunno. Look down on me or something because I'm a soldier for hire. I mean, they fight for a cause, for something worthwhile. I'm just fighting for cash. I dunno."

He slammed the bag again. "I mean... I know we're not the most honorable people, but we do have some standards."

"I know that," Ivanova replied with a smile, moving again. "I don't think most others realise it, though. I'm not saying I could ever be a mercenary myself, but I'm a practical person. Most career soldiers end up fighting for their paycheque and nothing more." She lauched herself in the air over the staff, rolling into a gymnastic tumble and bouncing to her feet again. "What brought this on?"

Pip sighed. "Aeryn. At Tactics of War. Basically said that we were all dishonorable scum who would betray anyone at the drop of a hat. Also suggested that we'd all be better off if the mercenary company I grew up with didn't exist. And that it'd be less annoying if I myself didn't exist."

He slammed the bag.

"Frakking bitch."

"Are you taking things personally or was she actually directing her remarks at you?" Ivanova asked blandly, not defending her or slamming her.

"Well, she was responding directly to my comments," Pip said.

"That would explain the pounding and the snarling," Ivanova murmured, twirling the staff in one hand, then the other. "You going to be okay?"

"... I don't know," Pip said, honestly. "I mean, they're the only family I've ever known. What gives her the right to say that everything would be better off if they didn't exist?" He slammed the bag again. "I mean, sure, I was rude after the whole thing with the study group, but damnit, I apologized! I was really sorry!"

Ivanova stayed silent, keeping one eye on him as she continued to twirl the staff in lazy patterns around her torso. Interstellar diplomatic scuffles she could do. Being the supportive friend? Not so good at it. Still, she was a very good audience to rail at.

He slammed the bag again. "I don't know what her problem is. I barely know her and it seems like she hates me. I was hoping that here I'd finally found a place where kids didn't want to fight me just because of what my family did."

He grabbed the bag to stop it from shaking again. "You know what they used to do? When I was eight? They threw rocks at me. Ganged up on me. Called me "the son of a killer"." He shook his head. "And my grandfather? He just told me that they were right."

Silently, Ivanova retracted the staff, tucking it into the waistband of her sweats. She moved over to hold the bag for him, leaning all her weight on it to keep it in place.

"They weren't right," she said in a low voice. "Don't be ashamed of what you are, who your father was if you believe you have no reason to. Children are cruel and hurtful. People are cruel and hurtful."

She shouldn't have moved closer to him. His feelings were battering at her mind. Was this how Lyta felt, like she couldn't keep him out any longer, this oppressive feeling in her head and chest?

Pip leaned his head against the bag. "I don't know if I do or not. There's no denying that they're mercenaries. They are people who fight for money. But my father's last act on this earth was fighting to raise money to pay for my birth. That's an act of love, isn't it? That's the act of a good person."

Ivanova nodded, her mouth very dry as she tried to force . . . something away. "Yes," she said simply. "Yes it is."

Pip sighed, stood up straighter, and slammed the bag. "I think I'm heading up for bed," he said as he picked up his towel and headed for the door. "G'night Ivanova. ...And thanks. Really. Thanks a lot."

"'Night," Ivanova called after him, sighing as she pulled out the staff again and resumed her exercises. Tonight had been a night for ghosts, it seemed.

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Gym, Monday night after Tactics of War

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