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Pulling Punches (IC)


Quinn

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Date: March 29, 2011.

Time: 3:35 PM

Weather: Sunny, slightly overcast.

Gourd's Gym was a fairly popular spot along the Boardwalk of Freedom City. A healthy membership, combined with friendly employees and a strong 40-day health plan guaranteed it was the place to work out in South Freedom (unless, of course, you were at Claremont and had access to the gym there...). What was most notable about it, however, was one of it's main attractions; a wall of fame in a glass case along the front, with autographed pictures of several different individuals who had worked, trained, or just endorsed the place. All of them heroes. The noon crowd had just been heading out, and it was reaching the slow hours (before the before-dinner crowd would arrive and get in their workouts before they would stuff themselves at the numerous restaraunts along the Boardwalk), the sun hanging low in the air.

Suddenly, a small "pop" came from an alley across the street, and two figures fell out of nowhere...face-first onto the ground. One of them, wearing a black coat covered in runes (one of which stopped smoking and glowing, abruptly winking out) lifted his head and grinned weakly.

"Hah! Told you the new multi-port rune'd work, we're here!"

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The other figure was wearing simple jeans and a tee-shirt, apparently oblivious to the cold temperatures that had the rest of the pedestrians on the Boardwalk huddled in windbreakers or wearing full-on parkas and winter accessories. He slowly rolled onto his back, eyes shut tight, feeling the sun on his face; after a moment he sat upright and rubbed at his face roughly. "Between this and Mercury," he muttered, "I'm really learning to hate teleportation." He stood and brushed off his jeans, reaching down to grab a duffel bag that had appeared with the pair. "I'm thinking that maybe a body was just supposed to travel the normal way, you know?"

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Crow pushed himself to his feet and dusted himself off, taking off the coat and stuffing it into his own duffel bag before taking out a more conventional pea coat. He threw the coat on, buttoning it up with a few motions.

"Oi, it's not teleporting, it's 'wind-walking'. We're becoming the wind, y'know? Though admittedly we got blown off-course a bit, and it took us a few more jumps than I thought...yeah, not helping the argument any. You brought the gloves, right?"

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Brian bounced the bag a few times, feeling the weight inside shift and jump. "Made sure to," he said. In point of fact the boxing gloves were still in their packaging. He'd never used them when practicing with his mother, but he supposed it made sense. After all, he and Morgan had never been in the ring together, they didn't know how each other fought. It was prudent to protect each other. He'd even bought a head-guard and kneepads; while Brian liked to present the image of a daredevil (especially when he could impress a pretty lady) he had been taught to be cautious.

The pair crossed the walkway and entered the gym. The young man half-raised his hand to a few friendly greetings, but he was happy to fall back and let Crow take the point. He slowed even further when they passed a glass case full of photographs and mementos of athletes and superheros -- sometimes the same individual. He stopped in front of one particular picture, studying it closely. The shape of the jaw, the color of the hair were both right. "Hey, Morgan. Is this your dad?"

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Morgan's expression was unreadable as he looked past Brian at the picture of his father, Patrick Crowe. The features were younger than he was familiar with, and he still had hair. And a beard. Crow stared at it, then a smile creased his features, and he laughed.

"So that's why he told me to use this gym! Yeah, that's him. Back during the Red Hand days, this must've been where he'd train or work out. Heh...go figure."

The second generation-hero cracked his knuckles and then his neck, moving past the window and to the door, holding it open.

"Well, Brian, last chance to avoid a thumping."

He winked, patting his own bag containing his headgear and kneepads; older and more broken in, but still useful.

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Brian didn't move, didn't seem to hear Crow for a good while. He just stood there, barely touching the glass, wondering what it must have been like to grow up with a hero for a father, instead of a villain. Granted, his parents had never involved him in their illegal deeds -- in fact, he now understood that they'd gone to great lengths to keep him insulated from that part of their life -- but it hadn't exactly worked, had it? How might his life had been different if his parents had actively prepared him for the life he was leading?

After a minute or so, the young hero shook his head and have Crow a confident grin. "It's good that you're young," he said, following hie new friend into the locker room. "It means you'll heal faster."

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Morgan looked curiously at Brian's arrested expression as he stared at the photo, and cocked his head to the side. He'd felt an odd kinship with his roommate since day one, but could never quite place why. Crow rubbed the back of his head and followed his friend into the locker room, once inside switching from jeans and a hoodie to a basic tracksuit.

"Heh, I'm the one with the magical heal-everything coat, mate. Though I might let you use it to clean up the bruises...if you ask nicely."

Morgan grinned at Brian at that one, reminiscing about some of the verbal sparring he used to have back when he worked the rookie circuits in Boston. Nothing like the sweet science for getting a good workout, and letting out some tension from exam weeks.

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Brian sat down on a bench and changed out of his jeans and tee-shirt, into track pants and a different tee-shirt. He stuffed his clothes and duffel into an empty locker, pulling out the pads and shaking them loose. He strapped on the kneepads and started fiddling with the headwear. He nodded at the gloves sitting on the bench -- not really boxing gloves, but thicker than handwraps, it would stop an errant fingernail from scratching a cornea. "Gonna have to help me with those. Can't say I ever used them before. And don't lace them too tight or anything, okay? I don't want you to have anything to blame when you lose."

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Morgan grinned, jamming his own headgear onto his head and moving to his own pads. The gloves beside him were surprisingly pristine, at odds with the worn pads strapped to his knees and elbows.

"I'm actually used to the thicker gloves when I'm in the ring, tournament rules and all that. Bad guys though, bare-knuckles all the way. First time I'll be using these, funnily enough."

He finished strapping on the pads and walked over, examining Brian's gloves briefly before holding it open for the teen's hands.

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Brian slipped his hand in the glove and waited passively while Morgan tied it off. While the other teen worked on his other glove, he flexed his hand and arm, feeling the tension of the laces against his wrists. It was pretty good, firm without being too tight. Apparently Morgan spent more time in the ring than he let on.

Once he was ready to go, Brian strolled out to the main area, bouncing a bit and pouncing his fists together. "So? Any rules we following? If we gouge out eyes, are we handing them back or keeping trophies?"

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Morgan's excitement was palpable as he looked around the gym, hopping up easily onto the end of the apron and vaulting over the ropes. He looked at his erstwhile opponent and gave a sly smile, then sat on the second rope and held up the first, giving Brian an opening to go through.

"Rule number three, man, never be afraid to fight dirty. No permanent damage, try to avoid groin-shots, but otherwise go nuts. We are kinda supposed to be practicing for dealing with bad guys here..."

On 'kinda' and 'supposed' he gave quite the innocent look, though the twinkle in his eyes made the effectiveness of said look...somewhat lackluster.

"So, you ever been in any kind of ring before, or you been sticking with the long-range stuff for a while now?"

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Brian shrugged and turned the movement into a roll of his shoulders, loosening his neck muscles. "If I get in too close, the bad guys ruin my face, and that would be a crime against nature." He flashed the other teen a grin, bouncing on his feet a few times before setting himself squarely, one foot forward, weight resting on his rear foot. "Mom taught me a few tricks, though. Couple of take-downs, couple of throat chops, couple places to hit a guy where it doesn't bruise... that sorta thing, you know? She also taught me tactics, like doing this." Brian exploded from his stance, taking three short steps forward and aiming a short jab at Morgan's chin.

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Crow took the blow easy, rolling his neck with the punch and flowing under the arm with ease right under Brian's guard. He popped up his legs, putting his smiling face right in front of Brian's. The young boxer said nothing, merely extended his smile into a horrible rictus of a grin, before rolling his shoulders to the side and popping off a similar jab to his friend's gut.

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Brian jumped back, Morgan's glove just barely touching his shirt. He reacted quickly, his entire body controting as he chopped at Morgan's extended arm before the young man could recover. He was rewarded with solid contact against the other teen's muscled arm, dancing away before Morgan could retaliate. He kept his arms and hands close to his body, protecting his core and keeping his distance.

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Crow spun away from the hit, feeling a bruise well up on his arm, and winced.

"Damn, nice tag. That 'Glasgow smile' usually scares the spit out of people..."

He did a little dancing of his own, the two circling around each other and the ring.

"So, never asked...how'd you end up at Claremont?"

The second the school's name was out of Morgan's mouth, he lunged forward with a thunderous right, barely ducking under Brian's guard, and sunk his fist into his friend's stomach. Except the second the punch connected, he realized he'd left himself wide open!

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Brian didn't have a chance to answer. Morgan's punch hit him in the gut and all the air in his lungs was forced out in one great explosion, and a moment later he fell over onto the mat, his vision going dark around the edges. He woke up sometime later laying on his back, Morgan's concerned expression filling his sight. He winced and breathed in experimentally, then wiggled his toes and fingers. It hurt to breath but he seemed to manage it, and everything moved just fine. He half-sat up, felt the pain spike, and dropped back flat. "Cheap. Shot," he grunted, pushing Morgan lightly.

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The amateur rune-mage let out a breath that was both amused and relieved, before moving over to his duffel bag and rummaging around in it.

"Yeah, next time you might want to tighten the belt before the blow hits. Keeps all the air from whooshing out in one go." Morgan yanked his coat out and walked over, leaning down and draping it over Brian.

"Still, should've pulled my punch a bit, sorry mate. Give me a sec and I'll have you right as rain..." He reached over and tapped one of the runes, looking at it quizzically. When nothing happened, his quizzical look changed to chagrin.

"Ah...okay...give me a sec...ok, think you can tap that rune there? S'pretty easy, just reach over and picture the shape in your head?"

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Brian grabbed the coat, turning it around and squinting at the odd designs. The one that Morgan was pointing at was an oddly soothing mix of curves and interweaving lines, in the vague shape of a human body -- or something bipedal, anyway. He touched it with his glove, blinked at the sight, then fumbled them off and touched it with his bare fingers. He closed his eyes and focused on the image under his fingertips, not really knowing what to expect. For a moment nothing happened, then a warm, heavy feeling seeped through his body. Brian blinked and sat up to get a better look at the coat. He didn't even seem to realize that the pain in his chest and head had disappeared.

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Crowe watched as the rune glowed and smoked briefly, then petered out as the energies revitalized Brian. A strange look was on the teen's features as he quickly snapped the coat up when it finished, folding it up and placing it back into his bag. After he'd placed it at the side, Morgan moved back and held out a hand, his head cocked to the side.

"Feeling better?"

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Brian reached out and took Morgan's hand, but he managed to roll to his feet without barely pulling. Upright, he shook his arms and legs, rolling his shoulders and basically working all his joints, "Yeah," he said, his tone quietly amazed. "That is to say... yeah. Uh, that's a heck of a coat you've got there." He eyed the fabric, moving away from Morgan. He stretched and gave the other young man a quick glance up and down. "So? ready for round two?" Brian snapped his gloved hands up into a high guard, dancing around like a boxer. "No cheap shots this time around, right?"

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"Heh, it's not cheap if it works!"

Morgan snapped his hands into his usual stance, shuffling left and right with his feet with a bob and weave. He threw a quick glance towards his gym bag, then shrugged, moving towards Brian and snapping off a couple of easy jabs.

"So anyway, like I said before you so rudely interrupted by kissing the canvas, how did you end up at Claremont?"

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Brian swayed away from the quick jabs, circling around to Morgan's right. He didn't answer for a minute, feinting an advance, faking left, and moving in close to grapple with Morgan. He grabbed the other man around the shoulders, trying to throw Morgan to the ground. While they were locked together, he took the chance to answer. "Luck. Just started using my powers one day." When my parents were arrested by AEGIS. "Kinda a scholarship deal, you know? At least until I get things under control." Or until I go crazy and try to blow up the city. Brian gritted his teeth and strained against Morgan, trying to put the distressing thoughts out of his head.

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Morgan strained against the grapple, and for a brief period the two were deadlocked. Twisting his shoulders abruptly, he shifted under Brian's arm and launched a vicious right hook that whiffed past his sparring partner's head.

"Huh, really? Talk about your package deal, eh?"

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Brian ducked the punch and danced back, waving his hands in front of his face, trying to keep Morgan guessing as to what he was actually trying to do. He settled back into a steady rhythm, jabbing with his left fist while his right hung back. "So how about you? The beautiful brochure catch your eye?" He shifted his weight suddenly and threw a hooking right at Morgan's midsection. It was heavy but slow; if it hit, it could be spectacular, but it would leave Brian overextended and exposed. Again. For someone who boasted of his training, he was making some obvious mistakes.

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Morgan caught the fist in his hand, shaking his head. Taking a moment, he stepped back and reset his stance, nodding at Brian as he demonstrated. Short jabs, save the haymakers for when your opponent is tired. The teen was obviously pondering as he explained, and finally he tilted his head and launched into a small flurry of jabs to make his point.

"That's a bit of a long story, mate...you remember the wind sidhe who showed up a few weeks back?"

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