(no subject)

[ballhoot]

who: Emma & Mason, a proud papa and her boy
what: Training that’s also an improv game, as you do.
when: Let’s say it was last weekend.
where: The Room of Velvet
warnings: We started this shit in October and there’s no way in hell we checked any kind of continuity here.

Emma stands against the wall, idly twirling a stick in her hands. It's not Paul, her morningstar and very good friend, just a light wooden staff. Today is not the day she accidentally concusses a member of her own squad, she's decided. That can come later. “Alright, bud, you ready for this?” she calls out to Mason, though it's clear it doesn't matter if he's ready or not. Emma drops into a batting stance, a disconcerting grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Because we ain't takin’ any kinda break ‘til we get from A to Z.” “Cool,” Mason says. Have they already started? He’s not sure whether they have, and if he should be on C, or if he’s starting and should begin with A. However, he has learned that Emma isn’t worried so much about the letter of the law. “Don’t break my glasses,” he says, leveling his nerf gun to take aim at her and pop off a test shot that doesn’t come close to hitting her. He’s a good shot, but he notes that the plastic gun doesn’t shoot totally true. He doesn’t do well when enemies get in close, but he won’t be able to attack from a distance if he wants to stand any chance of hitting her. “Easier said than done, son,” Emma says with a grin, and it’s a grin that could either say she’s proud of Mason for jumping right in, or she’s about to eat him alive. It ain’t like this game is a breeze for her, to be perfectly honest—knowing what words are coming out of her mouth and remembering the alphabet aren’t two things Emma Lane’s traditionally crushed it at, but she ain’t about to let her opponent know that. Not as she steps forward, staff swinging lazily from side to side, eye on the nerf gun in Mason’s hands. “Fightin’s all about knowin’ weaknesses, after all, not pointin’ ‘em out at the start.” She feints right, jabbing the staff in that direction for one brief moment before diving left and swinging the pole at his legs. “Guh!” Mason sputters. The staff almost knocks his leg out from under him, but he manages to dance away. His shins still hurt, but he’s able to ignore it and take a shot at Emma. Emma lets out a laugh as the Nerf dart grazes her arm. It's really more of a giggle, though it sounds less playful and more… sinister? Hm. “How ‘bout that there fancy footwork, baby boy,” she calls out as she moves in a circle around him, looking for another chance to catch him off guard. Emma may seem like she only takes this position about 3% seriously, she may not seem like someone that knows shit like strategy and training techniques with proven results, but she knows what the squad can and cannot do. She knows Mason likes to plan out his moves and make sure he's got a perfect shot lined up before pulling the trigger. And she knows she's gotta scare that shit right on out of him. “Ima hafta ask your ass for a dance next time there's some--” another swipe with the staff as she rolls (unnecessarily, but also awesomely) to the left to dodge his panic shots “--fancy ass shindig.” Mason keeps his eyes locked on Emma. They’re different kinds of fighters on the most fundamental levels. Mason tries to keep his distance, seeking an advantageous, out of the way spot to fire from without drawing attention. Emma presses in close with wild abandon. Mason tries to plan his moves ahead of time, taking calculated risks, scared to miss. Emma dives in head first, the epitome of chaos. It’s frustrating, trying to fight with her, because she won’t let him do what comes natural, won’t let him back up, won’t let him think. He knows that’s what makes it good training. Shadows don’t always let him do what comes natural either. “Ja- uhh,” he says, trying to think of something to say that starts with a J while also keeping track of his squad second. “Just wait until you see me play DDR,” he finally says. It kind of works. “Kick my ass, I dare ya!” she calls out, an unnerving grin on her face as she circles their training area, back to the wall like she's expecting a surprise attack. It wouldn't be in Mason's character to bring in someone else to help with the fight, someone hiding in the shadows or behind a door, ready to pop out when she's the most vulnerable. But if he was serious about learning from Emma, he would have considered it. Emma sure as hell did. “Let's just say it's been a minute since I been properly whupped, my man.” J K L M Mason thinks, struggling to follow both the game and the fight and not get walloped again. His shins are still throbbing, and his nerf gun doesn’t have many shots left. Two, he thinks. “Maybe today’s the day.” He squeezes the trigger, aiming for her torso, and then bolts, already reaching for more darts so that he can reload on the run. Emma tries to pull a super dope move, spinning her staff to deflect Mason's squishy bullets, like a ninja turtle or a jedi. “Not today, my--” The super dope move, while certainly looking hella cool, does not work. One nerf dart catches her right below her ribs, and Emma lets out a shout. “Okay,” she gasps, holding her side with one hand, white knuckles wrapped around her staff in the other hand, “maybe today.” It may just be a nerf dart, but Emma Lilywhite fucking commits to her bits. Mason leaves a trail of nerf darts behind him. They aren’t as easy to hold onto, too light, but luckily he brought enough to lose some. He knew that Emma wouldn’t go down easy. “P p p p,” he mumbles to himself, loading the clumsy darts one at a time. “Prepare to meet your end!” he shouts over his shoulder as he ducks behind a pillar, which has a bit of a negative impact on the coolness rating of his one liner. Emma drops to her knees, drags herself forward with her staff, groaning like she’s never known such pain, such agony. “Quick, kid,” she rasps, inching closer to his pillar. It’s really not the most strategically advantageous move, to put herself out here in the middle of the room where someone with a long-range nerf weapon could pick her off. But it looks cool, is the thing, and she can always make a dive for a pillar of her own, or shield her weak meatbody with her arms. “Right now, ya gotta finish me off, have some mercy.” Mason barely peaks around the edge of the pillar, more hair sticking out than his actual face. “Sure.” He sounds skeptical. “That sounds like a trap.” Everything is potentially a trap with Emma Lane. There’s a grin on Emma’s face, like a proud papa. Look at her baby boy, all grown up and paranoid, already spouting conspiracies and making corkboards. She pulls herself up to a standing position and plants the staff on the ground for support. “Usually that shit works, you know,” she says after a minute, and takes a step back and to the right. There’s an echo as the staff hits the ground again, and again, with each step she takes toward the other side of Mason’s pillar. “Very fuckin’ impressive, I tell you what.” “Well… I learned from the best?” Mostly, Mason is just thinking through how not to get (pretend) murdered by his squad second. He still wants to do as he’s asked, to get it right, though. Even if the next letter is X. Mason leans around the pillar, squeezing off a couple of shots to cover himself while he takes a look at Emma’s position. She’s closing in, nerf darts suck, and he doesn’t have many left besides. His instinct is to run, to maintain distance, but he can’t keep doing that forever. Maybe he can take a page from Emma’s book and do the unexpected instead. He pops out from behind the pillar and chucks his gun right at her forehead. “XEROX!” he yells, then runs straight for her legs. Oh shit, look at him. Look at her boy. The nerf gun aimed at her head legitimately takes Emma by surprise, and the earnest shout of the only X-word either of them know elicits just the slightest hint of a giggle. Which turns into a guffaw. Followed by a very serious, very unironic, “YEE-HAW, YA FUCK,” when she sees Mason headed her way. She throws open her arms, inviting him to tackle her as hard as he fucking can. Then, because she can’t think of anything good that starts with a Z and there’s no one here to stop her, she shouts, “ZIPPITY-MOTHERFUCKIN’-ZOP.” They hit the floor hard. Emma’s staff clatters away, Mason’s gun is gone, and Emma is still cackling. So, they’re done, right? “Whew,” Mason says, sitting up to his knees to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Emma’s definitely cackling, and there’s only ever about a thirty-five percent chance Emma Lane cackling is something you want to hear. “Zonked me the fuck out, my good man,” she says, still on the floor, ignoring the tender feeling of a new bruise forming on the back of her head. With a grunt, she pushes herself up to rest on her elbows, and looks at Mason with a real shit-eating grin. “Y'all fuckin’ ready to go back the other way now?”

Comments

[empereurs]

i LOVE my babies

[ballhoot]

zippity zop

[empereurs]

emma lane training best training

[coalblooded]

emma is a good dad and flint is a good mom

[unironickylorenfan]

I love love love these children :(

[lucillefer]

♥ ahhh