"We can fight."
Jan. 20th, 2016 01:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
renferretBrom goads Ghost into a sparring match.
Edgewood House: Garage(#1947RAJh)
This old and spacious building was once a fairly large carriage barn, but has been converted first as garage, and then into something else entirely. It once had massive two-story front doors, but they've been permanently closed, and a smaller door built into them. (It seems to have been reinforced at some point recently.) The walls, too, appear to have been reinforced in some way, making them stronger and somewhat soundproof. The size of about two large rooms, the first floor is undivided. It's got wooden plank flooring, and has exercise equipment dotting its expanse, with free weights in one area on the door's side of the building, a punching bag in a corner, and other equipment scattered about. There's a rough ladder up to the second floor loft, which is carpeted, but has unfinished walls, a few dangling light bulbs, and is apparently serving as a somewhat informal bunk area. The lighting is, understandably, somewhat inadequate. The floor mostly consists of mattresses, innumerable throw pillows and bed pillows, warm bedding, and the occasional glimpse of carpet. There are a few shoes resting against the wall near the ladder; clearly, people are expected to take their footwear off once they get up here. One can peer down from the ladder-opening, or from the edge of the loft. (There's about three feet of space between the edge of the loft floor and the barn walls.) A wooden door on the upper part of the garage leads into the second floor landing of the house. There is no exit to the house from the first floor of the barn.
Obvious exits:
Meadow House
Brom has arrived.
It is later in the morning and Brom has breakfast on the saw dust table in the form of a large breakfast sandwich and a glass of orange juice. He has set up a punching bag and is currently beating the hell out of it with his large, meaty fists. The bag rocks side to side with each hummingbird fueled strike, causing it to jostle on the chain.
Ghost's entrance is not entirely unlike last night's; it's cautious, measured, and her expression is narrow eyed. Despite the chill outside--near freezing, in fact--she has both jacket and over-shirt draped over one arm, and there's the faintest sheen of sweat on her face and neck. She's also quiet, especially with the noise Brom is making, but the sudden draft from the door might announce her presence anyway.
Catching the bag in his hands, Brom jerks his head over towards the door, then rocks his shoulders about to loosen them up. "Hey, not sure where your new friend went." That would be Risa. "Have not heard her bitching this morning yet so either she escaped or she went to get herself some breakfast in the house."
Ghost's nose wrinkles. She steps all the way in, letting the door close behind her. "She's not my friend. She's a big-mouthed idiot." A brief glance is given upward, to the loft.
"Most of us are big mouthed idiots. You came here to check me out instead?" Brom says with a smirk upon his face, followed by a flex of his bicep to show off his muscles.
Ghost gives the flexed muscle a somewhat bland look, and her eyebrows lift almost imperceptibly. "I came to use the bag," she says. "But um, go ahead, I'll just wait."
Smirking, Brom cracks his neck back and forth. "The bag sucks. Why don't you just throw down with me some? I hit harder than the bag does.".
Emma has arrived.
Ghost's eyes move from Brom to the bag, and back again. "The bag's for routine and technique," she explains. "I spar with Mr. Salem when I can."
"Yeah, Salem who is now a thirteen year old. I am sure he is a great sparring partner." Brom says sarcastically, giving his fingers a flexing in and out. "But hey, by all means, go punch the bag then."
The lower level door opens and a familiar face steps in. Emma eyes her tribemate and the Walker and gives a momentary pause to gauge the mood of the garage. After just a moment, she gives a head nod, "Hey."
Ghost stands in place for a few moments, her only reaction to that comment being the faintest, most imperceptible lowering of her eyelids. "We can fight," she says. It sounds mild enough, but she doesn't so much as glance toward Emma as she says it.
"Up to you, I am just offering in case you didn't get anything out of the bag. I get bored easy after punching it. Yo, Emma." Brom lifts a hand towards his Elder. He is shirtless and breathing heavily after a work out in the garage. There is also a large meat stacked breakfast sandwich on a plate waiting for him with juice.
Another casual glance goes from Ghost to Brom at the words 'we can fight'. There's a barely noticable twitch of her lips into a subtle, short-lived grin before she moves toward the weight bench.
"We can fight," Ghost echoes in response. She sets both her jacket and over-shirt out of the way, then moves a little further into the center of the large open room.
Squinting his eyes at her, Brom starts to hop along his feet to continue limbering up, then rolls his large fists upwards as he flashes her a wide grin. "Rumor is you are part robot or some shit. No laser beams."
Emma sets up on the weight bench and throws a few plates on the bar. She keeps a bit of attention on the sparring match, but seems to be focusing on her own affairs for the most part. First up, the Get looks to work on her overhead press.
"No lasers," Ghost says in the same mild tone. There's no hopping from her, no visible attempt to loosen up--though she's loose enough, from appearances--and her hands remain at her sides. To all appearances she's not preparing for a fight at all.
Continuing to hold his fists upwards, Brom sways side to side like a boxer, shifting his legs apart a bit and bends them at the knees. He continues to grin at her as he stares her down with his intense blue gaze. "Can you actually shoot lasers?"
Ghost's only response is a small, brief smile.
"What? You don't bring out the lasers on the second date?" Brom asks as he starts to scoot closer, cracking the knuckles of his thumbs with his fingers closed over them.
Ghost slides a step back and to the side almost in tandem with his forward movement, a motion that's smooth and clearly well practised. Her weight seems evenly balanced.
As she moves, he continues to move as well, though Brom's gait is a lumbering stride. A grizzly bear about to attack an RV. He shifts himself as well, rocking his shoulders back again. "In the old days, I woulda rushed right on in blindly. But, you've been around for awhile and you've seen some shit. I take it you got some moves in you despite the fact you act like a submissive twit all the time. Some would call that cheating."
Ghost matches him; smooth, almost subtle steps to lumbering stride, speed for speed, so that they're essentially circling each other. Her hands remain at her sides, however, and her expression is unchanged. "There's no such thing as cheating when it's life or death."
From the peanut gallery, Emma runs through her reps. Though, at the end of the last, she puts the barbell down and looks over, "Well you might not rush in like the old days, but you still got that hang up of all that extra gabbing, eh Brom?" A chuckle accompanies this as she reaches for another set of plates.
"Yeah? This a life or death kinda spar? If so, you let me know, because I don't want my ass spanked by Emma after I tear your head off and use it as a basketball if that's the case." Brom says with a grin on his face, then turns his lips upwards in amusement at Emma's words. "I think you need fifty more pounds on that bar, Em." He calls over.
Ghost says, tone still mild, "All sparring is practice for real fights. And real fights are always life and death. Therefore, there's no such thing as cheating when you practice for them either."
"It won't hurt for you to laugh." Brom says, then blurs forward in a speed that belies his size and stature. He zips in a left to right motion, feints with his right, then swings out with his left, south paw style, looking to connect with the side of her ribs.
"I think you should pay attention to your sparring," Emma replies cooly as she starts in on a second set.
Ghost pivots on her right heel. It's a small movement, simple, but just as fast--Brom's speed makes it a very near thing regardless. His knuckles just brush her shirt, and as he's lunging forward, committed to the left-hand swing, as she's still in her own pivot, she strikes upward and forward with her open palm toward the underside of his nose. The move itself is as fast as Brom's, and far heavier than anyone of her build and size has a right to be able to pull off.
With that movement, Brom jerks his head up to one side so that her punch cracks him along the bottom of his chin. He can hear the bell ring in his ear, followed by the spark that explodes within him as he pivots back around. He has that look in his eyes. One of eager anticipation as he lunges forward, going lower in an attempt to ram his shoulder into her gut and use his arms to lift her upwards with the motion. If successful, he will slam her to the ground in a forward-whipping motion.
Ghost's striking hand has pulled back almost as soon as the blow lands, and her weight is once more evenly distributed as Brom comes at her again. This time she pivots on the left foot, and chops down hard with both hands at the back of his neck as he goes low, but it's not quite enough to fully avoid the grapple. His shoulder misses her gut but strikes her side, enough that she recoils, and while she manages to twist away before he can actually slam her down, she still lands unevenly, more on one foot than the other, and has to stumble back, with a quiet but sharp exhale.
As she starts to twist away and stumbles on her foot, Brom lunges in again, looking to get his hands on her with a deep purchase and tug her inwards so that he can slam his knee into her stomach. He looks to continue to keep her off balance as he moves, while keeping her close to his body.
Ghost turns both her hip and one knee into that blow as she's grabbed and pulled in close, and then she fairly explodes with motion; nothing fancy, just a flurry of sharp, powerful blows at Brom's unprotected face now that she's inside his reach. They aren't punches; the experienced might recognize them as 'hammer strikes', short, powerful hits with the meat of the fist, rather than the knuckles. They certainly feel like their namesake.
As his face is battered beneath her strikes, Brom's nose cracks sideways with a loud pop as one sneaks in as his head jerks in the wrong direction. A loud snarl erupts from the Fenrir and his own rage explodes in the form of an uppercut that zips in under her chin as he puts his entire body into it.
It's an awkward angle for an uppercut, but Rage can make up for a hell of a lot. The blow strikes her jaw hard and knocks her head back--it should by all rights crack bone, but Brom doesn't feel the bone give. It's clear he's landed a significant blow, though she recovers with considerable quickness, taking advantage of his loosened hold to twist partly out of it, duck a little, and attempt to knee him hard in either the crotch or the abdomen. Her hands have drawn back in close to her own body, a tight boxer's stance.
The pleased expression on Brom's face only lasts for a moment as he watches her head snap backwards like a tetherball, half expecting to put her into a two week coma. As she recovers, his teeth grind against his sore jaw and he steps right into her knee as it slams him between the legs. With a loud 'whoof' of air that tumbles out of him, he hacks out a, 'That's fucked up' in a sputter of noise, stumbling off to one side as he grabs his crotch with one hand, trying to straighten up. "Least I gave you a big target."
Emma does mind her own business for the most part; afterall she came here for a reason. But she keeps an eye yet on the two combatants much like a mother watching her two children rough house, ready to call it quits once that intangible line is crossed.
Ghost takes the opportunity to step well back as he recovers, keeping her fists up and protecting her torso and face area now rather than letting them slack to her sides. Her breathing is heavier, and there's a very large reddening area that, were she not metis, might already have been turning purple along her jaw and one cheek. There's no smile, no sense of satisfaction or anger, merely that same mildness as before, although now the calculating look is more obvious. "Mr. Salem is a very good sparring partner," she says, simply.
Letting out a loud grunt, Brom gives himself another ham fisted adjustment, then straightens up again as he holds his fists upwards at the ready. Smirking, he says, "Pretty sure you aren't kicking him in the balls. That's a bitch move. You're lucky I already have seven kids and ain't looking to have any more." He cracks his neck to one side, then starts for her in a lumbering march. "Alright, fucking around time is over."
"I do if he gives me the opening," Ghost says, flatly. He comes for her; she's moving again, back and to the side, matching his speed, turning it into another game of circling. The fists remain up, her footwork is loose but balanced and sure.
This time, Brom looks to shift himself so that as she moves to circle, he looks to cut her off. He moves like an animal in the wild, one who is trying to corner their prey. He snaps his nose in place with a twist of his fingers, then licks the blood away from his lips. With an insane amount of speed, he taps into his totem's boon and blurs in a motion so quick the eye may not catch it. Out comes his fist, looking to slam into her temple, followed by another for her breadbox as he moves from left to right. One can feel the rage in the air as he reaches inwards to yank the monster out.
Ghost strikes as he does, a sort of fencing maneuver not uncommon to glove-less boxers, but with an open hand rather than a fist. Her palm hits the forearm of the hand trying to punch her in the head just enough to deflect the blow, but his second strike gets past her despite her efforts--she's just a little too slow to respond to it--socking her hard in the stomach. Air is forced out of her, but she responds in kind, a quick one-two punch to his throat, with her first and second knuckles angled to deliver the brunt of the sharp attacks.
Finding himself in the zone, Brom continues to blur with supernatural hummingbird speed as his second attack lands into her stomach. The knuckles find him in the throat and a loud noise rips out of his chest, followed by a roar of rage that is gargled. His hands seek to wrap about the back of her head, pulling her forward as he rises upwards with his knee to drive it straight into her face as his movements zip again with the crackle of speed.
All the while Emma has been lifting her weights in quiet as she spectates. She's no stranger to the thrum of rage that fills the air when Garou practice what they're born to do, but as the fight progresses, she comes to a decision. "Wrap it up in the next volley," she states with a tone of cool authority.
Ghost's hands close suddenly around his reaching wrists, holding them, with her superior strength, from being able to complete the grab. It might be a strange sensation, the decidedly smaller woman doing that, but she doesn't leave time for pondering. She uses her grip and his own balance to jerk one leg up and attempt to stomp her foot hard into the side of his waiting knee.
As her foot comes down upon his knee, pain flares up through Brom's leg as he feels a solid crack shoot through the bone. With her clinging to his wrists, he jerks his arms upwards, following forward with a headbutt square into her face.
"It's done!" calls out the Athro Get, and despite still being over by the weight bench, it carries all manner of seriousness in tone. She reaches then for the pair of towels she brought in with her, and tosses them toward the fighters.
Ghost lets go as soon as she feels herself being yanked up, but it's not quite enough. Brom's head smashes into her forehead rather than her face, hard enough for both of them to feel a little dizzy--it's like headbutting a concrete slab--before she drops back down to the ground. She lands on her feet, only just. Emma's words have her backing up rather than responding, and while her inner beast seems thoroughly leashed, there's something in her eyes--not the eagerness the Get was showing, but a distinct intensity that's impossible to miss. The towel is, for the moment, missed and unreached for.
Thunk. Brom stumbles back a step and puts a hand over his forehead, trying to rub out the dent or the welt that he most likely received. "Fuck sake, Terminator." He grunts out as his eyes grow cross-eyed for a moment, then straightens up to take a deep breath. Pushing one finger against a nostril, he snorts out a jet of blood from the other, then flashes a grin towards her. "You all limbered up?"
"Sparring's over," Emma says at that. "Was a good match though." She gives Ghost another look though, eyes stalling curiously on her before she offers a quick smile to change subjects. "I was actually hoping to catch up with you at some point Ghost. If you're free later, I'll spot the bag for you while we talk."
Ghost starts to reach toward her own forehead in unconscious mimicry of Brom's gesture, but the redness there is already fading from sight. What should have been a glorious bruise growing along her jaw has likewise vanished. Her hand drops. "I'm free," she replies to Emma, without looking away from the male Get. "Limbered up?"
"Yeah, you came here to throw punches at the bag and loosen up, right?" Brom says with a grin as he ambles over to his breakfast sandwich with a bit of a limp in his step, favoring his nuts as well as his knee. Plucking it up, he takes a hearty bite out of it. "Was a good fight, yeah. Better than most I've had around here. Then again, I ain't ever fight a half cyborg before. I would have broke most of your bones with those hits. Felt like I was punching concrete."
Emma nods, "Ghost is sound. And she's not just about brute strength, she has a good eye for tactics and doesn't waste her energy." A grin then, "She also had the benefit of healing up almost as fast as you could hurt her."
"I came here to train," Ghost replies. "Daily regimen to maintain physical aptitude. If there's room anyway. Stretches, long run, climbing exercises, obstacle avoidance, push ups, sit ups, punching bag, weights. Break and then repeat at least once." She scoops up the towel and pulls it around her neck, but her serious business expression is briefly broken by a swift and quickly schooled smile as Emma points out the healing.
"You could get all of that with a membership to the Y as well." Brom grins as he gives Ghost a swat on the shoulder, then picks up his sandwich and ambles for the door. "Gonna heal up and meet Thane for a manager meeting. I'll catch you both later soon."
Emma gives a nod of farewell to the other Get and moves toward the straight bar. Jumping up to grab hold of it, she just sort of hangs there for a while, getting a good stretch down her back until she starts doing mini-pull ups by using just her scapular muscles. As Brom leaves, she turns her attention back to Ghost. "How ya been? I've been out of town for a bit, and out of the loop beyond that."
Ghost reacts to the swat in a similar manner to how she reacted to oncoming blows in the fight--one hand immediately comes up to parry it, though she stops short of doing so. There's a faint but noticeable tensing in her jaw to follow, and Emma doesn't get a response for a little while. "...Okay," she says eventually. "There's some uh, some mage that likes to look like a cougar working with us now. He found out some things."
"I've heard a bit about that. What can you fill me in on?" Emma drops from the bar then, and closes the distance to the other, apparently wanting to talk in quieter voices.
Ghost wipes her face with the towel. She hesitates again, even looking back toward where Brom exited before she responds. "We went to where my pack died. Recovered the bodies at least. There were monsters there. Ooze monsters, I guess. The mage said he could look back and see or...I don't know. Mage shit." There's a sense of more, but Ghost doesn't go on.
Emma nods, "I heard about what your potential connection might be. And I'm promising you right now, that I will not let urgency lead to stupidity or rashness in how we use this information." She pauses there, then lifts her arm to wipe the sweat from her brow. "What are your thoughts on this Sept Ghost? You've been here a while, but- no pack, right?"
Ghost looks a little surprised at the mention of a pack, as if she can't quite understand why Emma would think that was possible. "It's..." She pauses. Hesitates. "I trust you. Mr. Salem. Mr. Kavi and Ms. Vencenzo too. The rest of them? I don't know." Her jaw tightens. "I think at least a few of them will want to kill me once this is over."
"Kill you? Why would they want to do that? And even more so, how would they get past Salem and I?" Emma offers with a serious look. "Listen, what I'm getting at is this... what are your feelings toward this Sept as a whol e. Are you willing to fight with us and for us? Because where your heart stands on that question goes a long way. And don't go thinking that your answer dictates whether or not I've got your back. That goes unquestioned. I just want to know how much of our back, /you've/ got."
"The part about being a mage's science experiment isn't going to help," Ghost says, her tone brittle. "Ciuraq doesn't hide it. I think Mr. Thane thinks he's hiding it, but I've known Shadow Lords. They never give you anything without it costing, his entire attitude changed when he took over...and he's trying to make that other Ronin go on a suicide mission."
Edgewood House: Garage(#1947RAJh)
This old and spacious building was once a fairly large carriage barn, but has been converted first as garage, and then into something else entirely. It once had massive two-story front doors, but they've been permanently closed, and a smaller door built into them. (It seems to have been reinforced at some point recently.) The walls, too, appear to have been reinforced in some way, making them stronger and somewhat soundproof. The size of about two large rooms, the first floor is undivided. It's got wooden plank flooring, and has exercise equipment dotting its expanse, with free weights in one area on the door's side of the building, a punching bag in a corner, and other equipment scattered about. There's a rough ladder up to the second floor loft, which is carpeted, but has unfinished walls, a few dangling light bulbs, and is apparently serving as a somewhat informal bunk area. The lighting is, understandably, somewhat inadequate. The floor mostly consists of mattresses, innumerable throw pillows and bed pillows, warm bedding, and the occasional glimpse of carpet. There are a few shoes resting against the wall near the ladder; clearly, people are expected to take their footwear off once they get up here. One can peer down from the ladder-opening, or from the edge of the loft. (There's about three feet of space between the edge of the loft floor and the barn walls.) A wooden door on the upper part of the garage leads into the second floor landing of the house. There is no exit to the house from the first floor of the barn.
Obvious exits:
Meadow House
Brom has arrived.
It is later in the morning and Brom has breakfast on the saw dust table in the form of a large breakfast sandwich and a glass of orange juice. He has set up a punching bag and is currently beating the hell out of it with his large, meaty fists. The bag rocks side to side with each hummingbird fueled strike, causing it to jostle on the chain.
Ghost's entrance is not entirely unlike last night's; it's cautious, measured, and her expression is narrow eyed. Despite the chill outside--near freezing, in fact--she has both jacket and over-shirt draped over one arm, and there's the faintest sheen of sweat on her face and neck. She's also quiet, especially with the noise Brom is making, but the sudden draft from the door might announce her presence anyway.
Catching the bag in his hands, Brom jerks his head over towards the door, then rocks his shoulders about to loosen them up. "Hey, not sure where your new friend went." That would be Risa. "Have not heard her bitching this morning yet so either she escaped or she went to get herself some breakfast in the house."
Ghost's nose wrinkles. She steps all the way in, letting the door close behind her. "She's not my friend. She's a big-mouthed idiot." A brief glance is given upward, to the loft.
"Most of us are big mouthed idiots. You came here to check me out instead?" Brom says with a smirk upon his face, followed by a flex of his bicep to show off his muscles.
Ghost gives the flexed muscle a somewhat bland look, and her eyebrows lift almost imperceptibly. "I came to use the bag," she says. "But um, go ahead, I'll just wait."
Smirking, Brom cracks his neck back and forth. "The bag sucks. Why don't you just throw down with me some? I hit harder than the bag does.".
Emma has arrived.
Ghost's eyes move from Brom to the bag, and back again. "The bag's for routine and technique," she explains. "I spar with Mr. Salem when I can."
"Yeah, Salem who is now a thirteen year old. I am sure he is a great sparring partner." Brom says sarcastically, giving his fingers a flexing in and out. "But hey, by all means, go punch the bag then."
The lower level door opens and a familiar face steps in. Emma eyes her tribemate and the Walker and gives a momentary pause to gauge the mood of the garage. After just a moment, she gives a head nod, "Hey."
Ghost stands in place for a few moments, her only reaction to that comment being the faintest, most imperceptible lowering of her eyelids. "We can fight," she says. It sounds mild enough, but she doesn't so much as glance toward Emma as she says it.
"Up to you, I am just offering in case you didn't get anything out of the bag. I get bored easy after punching it. Yo, Emma." Brom lifts a hand towards his Elder. He is shirtless and breathing heavily after a work out in the garage. There is also a large meat stacked breakfast sandwich on a plate waiting for him with juice.
Another casual glance goes from Ghost to Brom at the words 'we can fight'. There's a barely noticable twitch of her lips into a subtle, short-lived grin before she moves toward the weight bench.
"We can fight," Ghost echoes in response. She sets both her jacket and over-shirt out of the way, then moves a little further into the center of the large open room.
Squinting his eyes at her, Brom starts to hop along his feet to continue limbering up, then rolls his large fists upwards as he flashes her a wide grin. "Rumor is you are part robot or some shit. No laser beams."
Emma sets up on the weight bench and throws a few plates on the bar. She keeps a bit of attention on the sparring match, but seems to be focusing on her own affairs for the most part. First up, the Get looks to work on her overhead press.
"No lasers," Ghost says in the same mild tone. There's no hopping from her, no visible attempt to loosen up--though she's loose enough, from appearances--and her hands remain at her sides. To all appearances she's not preparing for a fight at all.
Continuing to hold his fists upwards, Brom sways side to side like a boxer, shifting his legs apart a bit and bends them at the knees. He continues to grin at her as he stares her down with his intense blue gaze. "Can you actually shoot lasers?"
Ghost's only response is a small, brief smile.
"What? You don't bring out the lasers on the second date?" Brom asks as he starts to scoot closer, cracking the knuckles of his thumbs with his fingers closed over them.
Ghost slides a step back and to the side almost in tandem with his forward movement, a motion that's smooth and clearly well practised. Her weight seems evenly balanced.
As she moves, he continues to move as well, though Brom's gait is a lumbering stride. A grizzly bear about to attack an RV. He shifts himself as well, rocking his shoulders back again. "In the old days, I woulda rushed right on in blindly. But, you've been around for awhile and you've seen some shit. I take it you got some moves in you despite the fact you act like a submissive twit all the time. Some would call that cheating."
Ghost matches him; smooth, almost subtle steps to lumbering stride, speed for speed, so that they're essentially circling each other. Her hands remain at her sides, however, and her expression is unchanged. "There's no such thing as cheating when it's life or death."
From the peanut gallery, Emma runs through her reps. Though, at the end of the last, she puts the barbell down and looks over, "Well you might not rush in like the old days, but you still got that hang up of all that extra gabbing, eh Brom?" A chuckle accompanies this as she reaches for another set of plates.
"Yeah? This a life or death kinda spar? If so, you let me know, because I don't want my ass spanked by Emma after I tear your head off and use it as a basketball if that's the case." Brom says with a grin on his face, then turns his lips upwards in amusement at Emma's words. "I think you need fifty more pounds on that bar, Em." He calls over.
Ghost says, tone still mild, "All sparring is practice for real fights. And real fights are always life and death. Therefore, there's no such thing as cheating when you practice for them either."
"It won't hurt for you to laugh." Brom says, then blurs forward in a speed that belies his size and stature. He zips in a left to right motion, feints with his right, then swings out with his left, south paw style, looking to connect with the side of her ribs.
"I think you should pay attention to your sparring," Emma replies cooly as she starts in on a second set.
Ghost pivots on her right heel. It's a small movement, simple, but just as fast--Brom's speed makes it a very near thing regardless. His knuckles just brush her shirt, and as he's lunging forward, committed to the left-hand swing, as she's still in her own pivot, she strikes upward and forward with her open palm toward the underside of his nose. The move itself is as fast as Brom's, and far heavier than anyone of her build and size has a right to be able to pull off.
With that movement, Brom jerks his head up to one side so that her punch cracks him along the bottom of his chin. He can hear the bell ring in his ear, followed by the spark that explodes within him as he pivots back around. He has that look in his eyes. One of eager anticipation as he lunges forward, going lower in an attempt to ram his shoulder into her gut and use his arms to lift her upwards with the motion. If successful, he will slam her to the ground in a forward-whipping motion.
Ghost's striking hand has pulled back almost as soon as the blow lands, and her weight is once more evenly distributed as Brom comes at her again. This time she pivots on the left foot, and chops down hard with both hands at the back of his neck as he goes low, but it's not quite enough to fully avoid the grapple. His shoulder misses her gut but strikes her side, enough that she recoils, and while she manages to twist away before he can actually slam her down, she still lands unevenly, more on one foot than the other, and has to stumble back, with a quiet but sharp exhale.
As she starts to twist away and stumbles on her foot, Brom lunges in again, looking to get his hands on her with a deep purchase and tug her inwards so that he can slam his knee into her stomach. He looks to continue to keep her off balance as he moves, while keeping her close to his body.
Ghost turns both her hip and one knee into that blow as she's grabbed and pulled in close, and then she fairly explodes with motion; nothing fancy, just a flurry of sharp, powerful blows at Brom's unprotected face now that she's inside his reach. They aren't punches; the experienced might recognize them as 'hammer strikes', short, powerful hits with the meat of the fist, rather than the knuckles. They certainly feel like their namesake.
As his face is battered beneath her strikes, Brom's nose cracks sideways with a loud pop as one sneaks in as his head jerks in the wrong direction. A loud snarl erupts from the Fenrir and his own rage explodes in the form of an uppercut that zips in under her chin as he puts his entire body into it.
It's an awkward angle for an uppercut, but Rage can make up for a hell of a lot. The blow strikes her jaw hard and knocks her head back--it should by all rights crack bone, but Brom doesn't feel the bone give. It's clear he's landed a significant blow, though she recovers with considerable quickness, taking advantage of his loosened hold to twist partly out of it, duck a little, and attempt to knee him hard in either the crotch or the abdomen. Her hands have drawn back in close to her own body, a tight boxer's stance.
The pleased expression on Brom's face only lasts for a moment as he watches her head snap backwards like a tetherball, half expecting to put her into a two week coma. As she recovers, his teeth grind against his sore jaw and he steps right into her knee as it slams him between the legs. With a loud 'whoof' of air that tumbles out of him, he hacks out a, 'That's fucked up' in a sputter of noise, stumbling off to one side as he grabs his crotch with one hand, trying to straighten up. "Least I gave you a big target."
Emma does mind her own business for the most part; afterall she came here for a reason. But she keeps an eye yet on the two combatants much like a mother watching her two children rough house, ready to call it quits once that intangible line is crossed.
Ghost takes the opportunity to step well back as he recovers, keeping her fists up and protecting her torso and face area now rather than letting them slack to her sides. Her breathing is heavier, and there's a very large reddening area that, were she not metis, might already have been turning purple along her jaw and one cheek. There's no smile, no sense of satisfaction or anger, merely that same mildness as before, although now the calculating look is more obvious. "Mr. Salem is a very good sparring partner," she says, simply.
Letting out a loud grunt, Brom gives himself another ham fisted adjustment, then straightens up again as he holds his fists upwards at the ready. Smirking, he says, "Pretty sure you aren't kicking him in the balls. That's a bitch move. You're lucky I already have seven kids and ain't looking to have any more." He cracks his neck to one side, then starts for her in a lumbering march. "Alright, fucking around time is over."
"I do if he gives me the opening," Ghost says, flatly. He comes for her; she's moving again, back and to the side, matching his speed, turning it into another game of circling. The fists remain up, her footwork is loose but balanced and sure.
This time, Brom looks to shift himself so that as she moves to circle, he looks to cut her off. He moves like an animal in the wild, one who is trying to corner their prey. He snaps his nose in place with a twist of his fingers, then licks the blood away from his lips. With an insane amount of speed, he taps into his totem's boon and blurs in a motion so quick the eye may not catch it. Out comes his fist, looking to slam into her temple, followed by another for her breadbox as he moves from left to right. One can feel the rage in the air as he reaches inwards to yank the monster out.
Ghost strikes as he does, a sort of fencing maneuver not uncommon to glove-less boxers, but with an open hand rather than a fist. Her palm hits the forearm of the hand trying to punch her in the head just enough to deflect the blow, but his second strike gets past her despite her efforts--she's just a little too slow to respond to it--socking her hard in the stomach. Air is forced out of her, but she responds in kind, a quick one-two punch to his throat, with her first and second knuckles angled to deliver the brunt of the sharp attacks.
Finding himself in the zone, Brom continues to blur with supernatural hummingbird speed as his second attack lands into her stomach. The knuckles find him in the throat and a loud noise rips out of his chest, followed by a roar of rage that is gargled. His hands seek to wrap about the back of her head, pulling her forward as he rises upwards with his knee to drive it straight into her face as his movements zip again with the crackle of speed.
All the while Emma has been lifting her weights in quiet as she spectates. She's no stranger to the thrum of rage that fills the air when Garou practice what they're born to do, but as the fight progresses, she comes to a decision. "Wrap it up in the next volley," she states with a tone of cool authority.
Ghost's hands close suddenly around his reaching wrists, holding them, with her superior strength, from being able to complete the grab. It might be a strange sensation, the decidedly smaller woman doing that, but she doesn't leave time for pondering. She uses her grip and his own balance to jerk one leg up and attempt to stomp her foot hard into the side of his waiting knee.
As her foot comes down upon his knee, pain flares up through Brom's leg as he feels a solid crack shoot through the bone. With her clinging to his wrists, he jerks his arms upwards, following forward with a headbutt square into her face.
"It's done!" calls out the Athro Get, and despite still being over by the weight bench, it carries all manner of seriousness in tone. She reaches then for the pair of towels she brought in with her, and tosses them toward the fighters.
Ghost lets go as soon as she feels herself being yanked up, but it's not quite enough. Brom's head smashes into her forehead rather than her face, hard enough for both of them to feel a little dizzy--it's like headbutting a concrete slab--before she drops back down to the ground. She lands on her feet, only just. Emma's words have her backing up rather than responding, and while her inner beast seems thoroughly leashed, there's something in her eyes--not the eagerness the Get was showing, but a distinct intensity that's impossible to miss. The towel is, for the moment, missed and unreached for.
Thunk. Brom stumbles back a step and puts a hand over his forehead, trying to rub out the dent or the welt that he most likely received. "Fuck sake, Terminator." He grunts out as his eyes grow cross-eyed for a moment, then straightens up to take a deep breath. Pushing one finger against a nostril, he snorts out a jet of blood from the other, then flashes a grin towards her. "You all limbered up?"
"Sparring's over," Emma says at that. "Was a good match though." She gives Ghost another look though, eyes stalling curiously on her before she offers a quick smile to change subjects. "I was actually hoping to catch up with you at some point Ghost. If you're free later, I'll spot the bag for you while we talk."
Ghost starts to reach toward her own forehead in unconscious mimicry of Brom's gesture, but the redness there is already fading from sight. What should have been a glorious bruise growing along her jaw has likewise vanished. Her hand drops. "I'm free," she replies to Emma, without looking away from the male Get. "Limbered up?"
"Yeah, you came here to throw punches at the bag and loosen up, right?" Brom says with a grin as he ambles over to his breakfast sandwich with a bit of a limp in his step, favoring his nuts as well as his knee. Plucking it up, he takes a hearty bite out of it. "Was a good fight, yeah. Better than most I've had around here. Then again, I ain't ever fight a half cyborg before. I would have broke most of your bones with those hits. Felt like I was punching concrete."
Emma nods, "Ghost is sound. And she's not just about brute strength, she has a good eye for tactics and doesn't waste her energy." A grin then, "She also had the benefit of healing up almost as fast as you could hurt her."
"I came here to train," Ghost replies. "Daily regimen to maintain physical aptitude. If there's room anyway. Stretches, long run, climbing exercises, obstacle avoidance, push ups, sit ups, punching bag, weights. Break and then repeat at least once." She scoops up the towel and pulls it around her neck, but her serious business expression is briefly broken by a swift and quickly schooled smile as Emma points out the healing.
"You could get all of that with a membership to the Y as well." Brom grins as he gives Ghost a swat on the shoulder, then picks up his sandwich and ambles for the door. "Gonna heal up and meet Thane for a manager meeting. I'll catch you both later soon."
Emma gives a nod of farewell to the other Get and moves toward the straight bar. Jumping up to grab hold of it, she just sort of hangs there for a while, getting a good stretch down her back until she starts doing mini-pull ups by using just her scapular muscles. As Brom leaves, she turns her attention back to Ghost. "How ya been? I've been out of town for a bit, and out of the loop beyond that."
Ghost reacts to the swat in a similar manner to how she reacted to oncoming blows in the fight--one hand immediately comes up to parry it, though she stops short of doing so. There's a faint but noticeable tensing in her jaw to follow, and Emma doesn't get a response for a little while. "...Okay," she says eventually. "There's some uh, some mage that likes to look like a cougar working with us now. He found out some things."
"I've heard a bit about that. What can you fill me in on?" Emma drops from the bar then, and closes the distance to the other, apparently wanting to talk in quieter voices.
Ghost wipes her face with the towel. She hesitates again, even looking back toward where Brom exited before she responds. "We went to where my pack died. Recovered the bodies at least. There were monsters there. Ooze monsters, I guess. The mage said he could look back and see or...I don't know. Mage shit." There's a sense of more, but Ghost doesn't go on.
Emma nods, "I heard about what your potential connection might be. And I'm promising you right now, that I will not let urgency lead to stupidity or rashness in how we use this information." She pauses there, then lifts her arm to wipe the sweat from her brow. "What are your thoughts on this Sept Ghost? You've been here a while, but- no pack, right?"
Ghost looks a little surprised at the mention of a pack, as if she can't quite understand why Emma would think that was possible. "It's..." She pauses. Hesitates. "I trust you. Mr. Salem. Mr. Kavi and Ms. Vencenzo too. The rest of them? I don't know." Her jaw tightens. "I think at least a few of them will want to kill me once this is over."
"Kill you? Why would they want to do that? And even more so, how would they get past Salem and I?" Emma offers with a serious look. "Listen, what I'm getting at is this... what are your feelings toward this Sept as a whol e. Are you willing to fight with us and for us? Because where your heart stands on that question goes a long way. And don't go thinking that your answer dictates whether or not I've got your back. That goes unquestioned. I just want to know how much of our back, /you've/ got."
"The part about being a mage's science experiment isn't going to help," Ghost says, her tone brittle. "Ciuraq doesn't hide it. I think Mr. Thane thinks he's hiding it, but I've known Shadow Lords. They never give you anything without it costing, his entire attitude changed when he took over...and he's trying to make that other Ronin go on a suicide mission."
