Luceti Appointments

[vor]

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[vor]

"That, or I just know him."

[herotypical]

She began picking at the less-than-decent punching bag. Critically examining its seams, eyeing its hook.

"Kind of a Casanova, huh?"

[vor]

"He'd like to be. I think his method tends more toward 'ask enough women and one is bound to say yes,' though."

[herotypical]

She glanced across the room at him -- eyebrows up.

"Gee, suddenly I feel a whole lot less flattered by his attentions." Which was probably a good thing, in the end.

[vor]

"I didn't mean he doesn't have taste. You're a beautiful girl."

[herotypical]

"And now I think I feel a little too flattered."

Wow. Flushed in the face, she sought out a distraction in dismantling the old punching bag.

"Why don't you, uhm -- why don't you tell me about those classes you apparently take every year? So I know how hard I shouldn't hit you."

[vor]

"I'm the Emperor of Barrayar. They teach me to survive."

[herotypical]

Survival. She found her smile and lowered the punching bag to the floor, knocking it back against the wall with a well-forced heel.

"If I asked you to hit me with your best shot, would you?"

[vor]

"Probably not." She's still a woman. And tiny. Drou is taller than he is.

[herotypical]

"...Even if I told you that I'm fairly certain -- barring any surprises -- you can't hurt me? Not with your fists, at least. But we can stick to the bag for now, I suppose."

She crossed back over to the new one.

[vor]

"...Buffy, I'm trained to incapacitate people as quickly as possible. It's not sport for me."

[herotypical]

"Trust me. Sport is the furthest thing from my mind. But..."

Oh. She might be a supernaturally strong warrior woman but she was still short. Hooking up the new bag was gonna be a trial, unless--

"Can you gimme a hand? I'm more than little vertically challenged."

[vor]

He walks up, grabs the chain, and is surprised at the weight she seems to bear so easily. He eyes her frame again, then hefts it up. Slowly.

[herotypical]

She supported it from the bottom, guiding the punching bag gently into place until its strap snags on the ceiling hook. Voila. Her face peeked 'round the bag's curve with a smirk.

"Thanks."

[vor]

He smiles back on reflex. How cute.

"You're welcome."

[herotypical]

Buffy was absolutely the sort of person who felt utterly gratified when someone else smiled back at her. Perhaps it was a side-effect from spending so much of her life around brooding men.

"Aaaand you're welcome, too. 'Cause you can sonsider this a very belated house-warming gift." A decided nod. She stepped back and surveyed their work.

[vor]

He glances up at the new bag. "I'd...sort of thought you...never mind. Thanks." The smile widens a little in surprise.

[herotypical]

"I stole it from the barracks. Don't tell anyone -- I'd hate to impugn upon my village-wide honour. But they have spares out the wazoo out there, anyway. No one will miss it.

Right," she clapped her hand together. "If you're not gonna try and hit me? I'm just gonna have to try and hit you."

[vor]

"Go ahead." He goes naturally into a defensive stance. A good one, too.

[herotypical]

She noted that stance with another nod and slid comfortably into one of her own. Side-facing: less of a target. Arms up. Fists loose. Front knee slightly bent to take most of her weight but her back leg was ready to take that burden should it be necessary. Like a looser version of a soto uke block. They had talked about Judo before -- and Buffy did want to return to that thought -- but for now she simply needed to coax Gregor into showing her what he was capable of achieving.

"Solar plexus," she called the shot because to do otherwise would be cruel. Better to let him block it. "In three, two, one..."

Buffy stepped into a middle lunge punch. She didn't want to hurt Gregor but she would do him no favours by going easy on him; instead, she tried to lash out with just about as much strength as if he was being attacked by a man of his own comparable size.

[vor]

Gregor swiftly blocks the attack. It's not just Judo, or twice-a-year defense courses. It's also eightish years of military and pre-military training. With his free hand, he'll attempt a jab at her throat, intending to pull at the last second.

[herotypical]

For those who didn't know her -- or know Slayers in general -- Buffy's behaviour might come across as reckless self-endangerment. She made no attempt to stop his jab (assuming she could soak that hit even if it wasn't pulled), and chose instead to snap her elbow against his side. Just below his rib-cage.

When the jab was pulled, she glanced up to catch his eyes for the half-second. Another smile. Clever, she was telling him. Nice move.

[vor]

He absorbs the blow with an intake of breath. While she's trying to communicate telepathically, he'll try to grab her throat, twist her arm, and take her to the ground.

[herotypical]

Buffy was okay -- good, even -- up until Gregor went for her throat. Although they were well-healed now, the last week had seen dark and unhealthy bruises around her neck from when the General had met her with the same move. From when he'd pinned her there and sank his blood into her veins.

Her desire to not be caught by the throat inspired more strength in her muscles. Her head bobbed down; she ducked. She pushed much of her might first into resisting his twist and second into hauling him up, off the ground, and over her shoulder. He, she hoped, would be the one on the ground. Not her.

The throw was clumsily started but it had the benefit of being powerful.

[vor]

He is so astonished at being picked up that he indeed winds up on the ground, winded. Then, he's simply still, trying to figure out what just happened.