fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Sunday Crack o'Dawn Until Well Into The Afternoon

You got used to certain things, in Jaeger Academy. Like getting up at five sharp and spending the next fourteen hours in the Kwoon, working your arse off. Chuck didn't have any instructors now, or any fellow students to practice against-- didn't matter. He'd been slacking for over a week now, waiting for this new school, and it was time to pick things back up again.

Even if he was nursing a minor hangover. In fact, the hangover helped pick up the right level of aggression - that level that he was unleashing on one of the poor practice dummies right now. Going through the forms, hitting at least half of the major ones. Keep going. Keep working at it.

When he got back to the Academy in summer, he had to be in the same shape as everyone else. It didn't matter he'd be forced to stick to a crazy island boarding school, or that his father seemed to have lost his goddamned mind-- he was gonna keep working for it.

Max sat in the corner of the room, his leash tied to one of the benches. Training or not, there was no way Chuck was letting the pup out of his sight.

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Now there, that was the kind of pride Isabelle saw no reason to mock or belittle or even comment on.

"And Fandom is...? A detour? A training ground? It makes an okay training groud sometimes."

"My old man thought I'd learn something here they don't offer at the Academy," Chuck said, because he definitely wasn't going to cop to being here because the PPDC brass thought he had trouble playing with others. "I still think he's full of shit."

"That's because you still think I was lying at the picnic."

Well, partly that.

Partly that. Mostly other stuff. Like that 'doesn't play well with others' thing.

"This school is like the Breach, I get that," Chuck said. "Werewolves? Come on."

Unlike giant demon lizards! Those were perfectly normal.

"And tell me, did you believe huge lizard things coming from the ocean would be real before they happened?"

This was a perfectly logical question.

"You show me some werewolves wrecking Sydney and I'll think about it," Chuck said, rolling his eyes.

Was he seriously looking to be the poster boy for all mundanes everywhere? Really.

"So because you haven't seen something, it doesn't exist anywhere else, either?"

This was how they kept the Shadow World from people like him, yes.

"It's called the scientific bloody method," said the guy who was really not in the running to replace Gottlieb or Geiszler any time soon. "Anything else is just bein' gullible."

Isabelle rolled her eyes.

"Werewolves don't go on rampage in cities, anyway."

"I'll make sure to remember that."

"It'd do you good because there are werewolves in this town." In these dorms, even. Occasionally in her bed. "All the stories continue to be true."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "You'll have no trouble pointing them out, then," he said, moving sideways in an effort to slip past her.

Isabelle moved in front of him. Held out a hand.

"My whip."

"'Fraid not, nice as this little heart to heart has been," Chuck drawled.

Isabelle aimed a punch at his already sore ribs. And then went to stomp on his other foot.

See, she wasn't about to let him waltz out of here with the whip she'd gotten for her twelfth birthday. And was not averse to the idea of breaking bones – his, obviously – to make sure of that.

Chuck was going to be nursing these bruises for a while.

He grunted, shifting his body out of the way on instinct as soon as the punch hit his ribs - not because he saw her foot coming, but because he was preparing for a swing at her face. Which he was now executing.

Isabelle ducked enough to avoid the full force of it. Not all of it, though. That was going to sting for a while, too. But that was what the unfinished star rune on her arm was for.

She hissed something unladylike as she suddenly dropped lower in her stance. And then pounced. He was bigger than Alec and Jace, so she knew trying to topple him from anywhere near his shoulders wouldn't work. Mid-section, though, there she thought she had a chance, through the element of surprise and focusing all her unnatural strength on this one task.

Also with the way she led with her shoulder, if nothing else, she thought she had a decent chance of knocking the breath out of him. She could work with that too.

Chuck crashed backwards onto the ground with a loud grunt, missing the wall behind him by a few lucky breaths. He was shifting half a second later as he recovered, kicking down, hoping to hit kneecap.

He missed, but barely. Her leg was going to be feeling at for a while, and it slowed her down in her efforts to scramble a little more upright and maybe get her weight on his legs to avoid further kicking. But it didn't stop her, even though her shin throbbed uncomfortably where he'd kicked.

Perhaps it wasn't surprising that she went for his ribs again, but it was just a distraction for reaching for the whip, anyway.

This time, Chuck was prepared - for the rib-shot anyway, as his arm came up to fend her off. Not the one with the whip, sadly.

But how successful she was going to be in getting it when he was coming up with his knee again...

Well, she did't really need more than to get a firm grasp on the handle. Which she did. It was a choice, she'd live with the consequences.

Like letting that knee connect.

Chuck followed it up with a shove -- he needed to get out of this position.

Oh, Isabelle was just fine getting off him now. She had a hold on the whip and it followed her when she let that shove turn into rolling off and away from him, alread gearing to get to her feet as she did.

The Salle, Sunday Crack o'Dawn Until Well Into The Afternoon

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