ximilialog | nov. catch all

Entry tags:

mcu: erik stevens

nov. catch all

CHARACTERS: Itachi Uchiha and OTA! Hit me up if you want a custom starter
LOCATION: training room + sunshine room + simulation room
DATE: all of nov. might put event starters here too, i am Undecided
CONTENT: probably... much sparring because 'trains way too hard, all the time, forever' is basically his sexuality.
WARNINGS: itachi comes all inclusive with a lot of content warnings so please be mindful of them! i tend not to launch into the more horrifying bits unless it makes sense contextually in a thread but i do warn for the common things. i also have a powers opt-in bc this mad lad is dummy OP.

𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮;

（ itachi can be found in the training room most days, in the small hours of the morning. feel free to ask me for custom starters based on any of these l'il prompts, or hit me with your own spin on them! wildcards are also a+

find him:
◙ practicing kata that looks suspiciously like jūjutsu (0/1)
◙ throwing small knives with terrifying precision into targets he's set up. (0/1)
~~◙ re-wrapping his arm after a rough sparring session, which will be varying shades of badly burned throughout the month. (1/1)~~
◙ if someone is practicing and their form is slightly Off, he will approach them and very politely ask if they would like a partner. he'll instruct gently by example rather than with obvious Corrections. (1/2) ）

𝑺𝑼𝑵𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑶𝑴;

（ the sunshine room unsettles him.

it is not the light. it is neither the grass nor the trees nor the faint suggestion of wind. it is not the broad, boundless sky. it is not even the lack of animal ambiance, which he would find concerning were he in a real forest.

it is the fact that he has walked the length of this room with his eyes closed and knows it to be smaller than it seems. it is the fact that, despite considerable study, he cannot divine much of the illusion cast so completely. it is no genjutsu — that much he can tell. but there being a technology that can so thoroughly deceive the senses, an illusion he cannot break discomfits more than its comforts ease the mind.

yet, he has always faced the unknown, cruelties and terrors alike. so he comes here, and he sits by the brook and listens to the water, mind forever hunting for the wrongness he knows should exist. the moment the sound is not quite right. the moment the shadows do not quite align. the drop of a pebble in the water that ripples oddly outward.

today, he is drawing by that same brook. not art — but explosive tags, to replenish his supply. should anyone happen by he will greet them politely, and if they express curiosity with what he's doing he will explain (though the depth of his explanation may leave some people wanting...) ）

𝑺𝑰𝑴𝑼𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑹𝑶𝑶𝑴;

（ anyone who ventures into the simulation room while he's in a mission will find he's engaged all the parameters to their maximum levels. want to join him? as above, feel free to ask me for a starter if you'd like me to customize any of the below for you, or feel free to run with one of the options yourself or wildcard me!

◙ the first mission is the assassination of a high value target with considerable combat prowess, requiring stealth-based skills, traps and puzzles! the mission objective is to kill the target without them being aware! (0/1)
◙ the second mission is an escort mission, and involves protecting a wealthy lord from an ambush. this will require combat skills, possible medical knowledge and tracking! the mission objective is for the lord to survive the ambush. (0/1)
◙ the third mission is... rescuing a cat from a tree?? surely this is a malfunction... or maybe the computer's got a sense of humour. mission objective: rescue that cat. but maybe the cat has other ideas... (0/2) ）

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（ he is not thinking about the last time he used a sword. instead, he is focused on the weight of the one finn helped him make, the balance, the uncanny ease with which it sits suspended between the lifelines on his palm. its familiarity is a cold comfort, caught up on the tangled snarls of memory he does — by degrees — put away.

(his last had been a gift from his father. he left it embedded in the earth at the northernmost point of konoha's border. if it remains there, it has likely gone to rust.)

he is seated on a bench near the wall when he hears footsteps just beyond the room, and he lifts his head away from the careful re-wrapping of the sword's ito to assess the interruption. not a man he recognizes immediately, though he expects that is true for most of the population on the station. when no immediate threat is presented, itachi gives him a respectful nod. he has no reason to dismiss anyone out of turn, here. ）

[Yelena is currently sitting at a table with a few different kinds of guns laid out in pieces before her. She starts putting them together as quickly and efficiently as possible. Then she starts taking them apart again. It’s all about keeping her muscle memory sharp so she doesn’t have to think about it and get distracted in the field.

After she’s gone through the guns once she pauses long enough to see the new guy wrapping his arm.]

What happened to your arm?

[The question is conversational, but she also goes back to putting the guns together. Being able to do it while distracted is part of the skill.]

（ his previous opponent, quite by accident, had gripped too sharply at the bandages safeguarding burnt skin. the dressing beneath remained intact, and there is minimal damage to healing skin, but burns are susceptible to infection in lieu of proper care. there are healers and doctors here, but none he knows, and none he would risk turning a genjutsu against to treat him and leave unawares.

so he is sitting with a roll of clean bandages and the patience of a man accustomed to tending his own wounds to see to it. the woman's presence nearby neither concerns nor alarms him, he recognizes the familiar singlemindedness of care for one's weapons at work and expects she will remain so occupied.

what he hadn't anticipated was that she might strike up conversation.

he does not respond immediately — there is no sense that it's a dismissal, simply a man taking a considering moment. then: ）

It was burnt.

（ his tone is devoid of inflection, a simple matter-of-fact truth that neither reveals nor offers more than is stated. why it was burnt, how and by whom — those are all things he will safeguard. ）

[Yelena's eyes flicker from her work, to the man and then back again.]

Fascinating.

[Her tone is dry as she sets the first completed gun down. She starts on the next one and continues to talk.]

So, either you are obtuse or you don't want to give a real answer. I'm guessing it's the latter. If you were obtuse you wouldn't have paused to consider your words.

Do you feel you are owed a real answer?

（ his tone is mild, breaching censure only by association. his eyes are a vivid, exacting red, and they fix on her intently. instinct — in him a thing cultivated by deliberation rather than design — curls into the back of his mind like fragrant smoke. a warning. something about this woman is familiar. the surety in the purposeful dance of her hands, the way the words are weaponized, meant to goad reaction (he wouldn't be offended to learn she was using him as a form of practice. hands busy, mind sharp, it might almost be flattery.)

he is not troubled by danger, and goading has closed its teeth on his throat but once in his life, an instance he is still shamed by, though it was followed by greater sins.

he finishes the wrap, it terminates in vivid white against his palm, and he tucks the tail of it in and fixes it with little metal clasps that bite through the gauze. ）

[Unarmed, hand to hand fighting is not Sabriel's strong point. Given the inhuman strength of the Dead, fighting them with your bare hands is suicide, and Fighting Arts at Wyverley had focused mostly on armed combat, with the sole exception being some grapping, in case a human opponent got so close that sword and dagger were no longer useful.

But often, the opponents they've faced here have not been undead monsters or ancient spirits, but mortal men, so Sabriel's started learning, applying the same intense focus to it that she does to her study of magic and swordplay.

Which means drilling what she's been able to learn so far, again and again.]

Oh, probably not.

[They don’t know each other so, he doesn’t really owe her anything. Probably. Honestly she’s still figuring out how to communicate like normal people do. Widows didn’t exactly receive normal socialization.

Her sister was always careful with her words, mindful of the front she was presenting. Yelena is less like that. She’s more open, in a way, and cares less what people think, but it comes with a tendency to poke and prod and observe the responses.]

A vague answer is different from a fake answer, though.

[Being vague isn’t the same as outright lying. There’s information there, it’s just up for interpretation.

She pauses thoughtfully as she finishes the second gun.]

But, I guess if it were caused by something like machinery malfunctioning it would be nice to know about it so I could avoid getting hurt myself.

[She doubts that’s the case, but still hypothetically that would be one instance that having a more thorough answer would be helpful.]

[ it was hard not to get excited. erik had very little in terms of hobbies, having devoted himself singularly to the dismantling of power systems and destroying the status quo and that's a sentiment easier said than done. but anime had been a fun diversion for him. a way to delve into other worlds without the baggage that came with interacting with other media.

thankfully, erik is nothing if not incredibly proficient of having a guise ready and so his expression is well-schooled. ]

Yo. Lookin' to stretch some muscles?

（ much of his time has been spent thusly — training, with others and without. there is twofold purpose to it, there is no better to know someone's skills than in a bout against them, and with the ravages that illness laid into his body, he has spent not-inconsiderable months knowing he was not at his best.

he isn't well, but he is... improved. enough that he can fall back into the easy routine of conditioning himself. at the man's question, he tugs the final turn of the braid taut, and cants his head to one side. ）

I will spar.

（ it was more an offer than a challenge, but he rises regardless. he doesn't intend to use the sword — it seems a skill not many here are comfortable with, and he wouldn't wish to put anyone in a position where they feel they must pretend proficiency he would immediately see through. he slides it instead into its saya across his back. ）

What are your conditions?

（ he drops his attention to her hands. the sharingan tracks and memorizes the motions — he could do the same blindfolded now, if he wished. but unlike her, he does not know what the individual components are meant to accomplish. beyond it being a weapon and possibly a projectile (he can smell blasting powder, like the sharp, musty tang of sulphur) he isn't sure what to make of it. ）

It was done before my arrival.

（ there are many ways to needle someone for information. he recognizes hers — it's effective, but blunt. using a mace to crush a skull still kills a man, but a slit throat works just as well. ）

Well, then, I don’t have to worry about any space machines exploding. That’s nice.

[She starts putting the third gun together, methodical and efficient. It’s the last one and the largest, since it’s a sniper rifle with a scope and a silencer.]

Someone from my world arrived with a similar injury. [At least on the surface. Tony Stark had arrived thoroughly messed up from using the Infinity Gauntlet. His arm got the worst of it, from what she could tell.] You’re doing better than he did. He lost the arm.

（ the training room is a busy place — almost surprisingly so. it's rare to have the room to himself, something achieved generally only in the very early hours of the morning.

what has struck him here, more than anything, is the fact that despite the veritable differences, everyone is still working hard to build some sense of community. they may be displaced, dragged together by the winnowing hand of fate, but they are all driving towards a common goal.

itachi watches the woman from a distance. she has an elegance to her, a grace that speaks to experience, though perhaps not with the current method of her training. she's going through the motions of a martial art that is familiar enough to one of the taijutsu forms he can recognize when certain things are just slightly out. one hand held too high, a foot back too far. he is likely the only one that would notice — and even then, it is only because of the sharingan.

he approaches her from well within her field of vision, gives her a polite incline of his head. then: ）

I apologize if an intrusion is unwelcome. Would you care for a partner?

[Sabriel doesn't stop her movements until he speaks, but her eyes track his movement as he approaches. One of the newer crewmembers, as she doesn't remember seeing him in the last mission, or among those who'd been on the teleportation platform when they returned from Braccia.

Near her age, but a bit older, she guesses, and moving with the confidence of one used to combat. Sabriel stops, and stands up straight.]

Not at all. Although... unarmed combat is something I'm relatively new to, so I may not be the best sparring partner.

[She's making progress, but Sabriel's fully aware she has a long way to go.]

If you don't mind that, I'd be delighted to train with you.

[ his expression flickers over his headband and itachi's face before shrugging. ]

No dyin', no face wounds. Anythin' I'm missing?

( one fine-boned shoulder levers itself into a mild shrug of acquiescence. )

That will suffice.

( he is contented to play by the rules others assign, for the time being. there are no shinobi here, and war-forged ruthlessness is not yet a necessary sin. in many ways it reminds him of his childhood — the way everything hovered on the precarious ocean ice of newfound peace. there is a similar energy on the station, but people are — at least — trying. )

Do you have a preferred combat style?

Naw. I always find being chained to a single style has its weaknesses.

[ he borrows and takes from all that he learns, tailoring them to his situation. and erik has great situational awareness. ]

What 'bout you? Anything I should know?

I will adapt.

（ he doesn't mind. his life may have gone a different way, if he'd been permitted to find honest joy in teaching. by the time sasuke was old enough to hold a kunai properly in hands far too young for war, itachi was already pulling away from him.

right now, at least, his goal is a utilitarian one — helping others to improve elevates their chances of mission success. ）

My name is Itachi.

（ it seems only polite. ）

（ she gives the information as freely as a nicked artery surrenders blood to the air. the juxtaposition between the skilled motion of her hands and the earnest... chatter may in fact drive him mad.

what is he meant to say to that? he does not know that man. and even if he did, the loss of a limb is negligible to him. the polite thing would be to offer condolences, but perhaps she is testing him to gauge his reaction. ）

Then it was not a similar injury.

（ #nailedit. ）

I am difficult to hurt.

（ that's it, that's his one concession to necessary communication between combatants. itachi sees no point in giving people the choice of informed consent — he knows he will not hurt them and if they balk at a fraction of what he can do then perhaps they are ill-suited to their mission.

he steps towards the center of one of the marked-off rings. already, he has begun to heal, both his leg and arm are improving by degrees. there is no longer the fractional hesitation of a body guarded against pain when he puts his left foot down against the mat. the stitching will hold.

he simply waits for the other man to come to him. he laid the challenge, it is only fair that he should make the first move. ）

[Well, she laughs, so he didn’t do too badly. Though maybe his intention wasn’t to make her laugh, but she doesn’t seem bothered, at least.]

Ha! Maybe not.

[She finishes the sniper rifle's assembly and sets it down. She was testing herself more than him, really; seeing how efficiently she could put the guns together while distracted.]

Not bad.

[ for some reason, that makes erik grin. ]

Or you just hide it better.

[ difficult to hurt. that's probably true, but to erik, it's always more complicated to that. hurt has a way of worming inside of you. he strolls into the space, rolls his shoulders. and crouches, arms held up near his face.]

（ ????/ sorry, yelena, he's lost the plot, he's caused someone to laugh. his own expression doesn't change in any notable respect, but there's a faint uptick in the tension to his shoulders. ）

What is the point in disassembling them?

（ she's done it. gotten him offbalance with the laughter just enough that his innate curiosity, long stifled, bleeds out of the fissure she'd made in his composure. ）

Mine is Sabriel.

[Her tone is almost, but not quite formal, etiquette lessons at school worn away by the much more informal tone of the station. She shifts her stance back to what it was before- almost right, but not quite, her movements still too informed by her training to handle a longsword.]

I've been on this station for several months, and participated in the last two missions. If you have any questions, I'll do what I can to answer.

[If she's going to receive help, she'll offer it in exchange, even as she's practicing the movements again.]

（ it could be a reference to his bandaged arm, some assumption of injury. but the statement catches his attention regardless, twisting in the fell wind of a mind long entrenched in paranoia. itachi does not regard the man overtly, but wine-dark eyes have a predator's wary intent as he sketches out a reasonable distance between them. the sharingan etches each facsimile of the man's motion into his brain like an afterburn, every minute variation in posture and poise noted and deconstructed in a heartbeat.

there is no responding to that statement, and itachi is a poor conversationalist at the best of times — words have always run counter to action, for him, and the ones he chose came from a careful selection of falsities meant to foster and later break trust. he has spoken more words without some larger machination at hand here than in the entire last half of his life. instead, action will have to serve.

he steps forward, opens the floor of their engagement with an easy, scything kick aimed to the man's midsection. itachi has always favored speed over strength, though he does not lack the latter contrasted to most humans, but he is not intending to demonstrate his own skills, merely test his opponent. ）

[So, apparently he's from a world that doesn't have guns yet. She tilts her head.]

In training, to hone muscle memory. On the field, it can depend on the weapon and the situation.

[She picks up the semi-automatic pistol she was working on first.]

If you grab one of these from your opponent and can take it apart, you make it harder for them to get it back and use it against you.

[She puts the pistol down and points at the sniper rifle.]

If you're using that one, you are probably in a situation where you want to use it and then get out quickly and quietly. The faster you can disassemble and pack it up, the better.

Edited 2021-11-06 04:06 (UTC)

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nov. catch all

@scarcastically;

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training, Option three?

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