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Even during a training session, Able is as stylish as ever. He's wearing a snug-fitting athletic shirt, comfortable linen pants, and a pair of shoes with soft, flexible soles. Black is very much in evidence.
The danger room is always a good choice for activities like this. Less chance of incidental damage and it's far less likely that a student will stroll in with questions that are difficult to answer. These are basic hand-to-hand combat drills, but anything can happen.
While he has some martial arts knowledge, Able is a brawler by nature. He specializes in the unscientific art of punching and wrestling as taught by the German military during the Great Wars. His experience is practical and comes from winning and losing more fights than he'll ever remember. "Your abilities give you an advantage," he admits to Jean, who stands across from him. "But don't rely on that. If you're ever caught without them, chances are that you'll face off with a larger, stronger opponent. One like me. Turn my advantages into disadvantages." He raises his hands in a loose boxer's stance and cocks an eyebrow inquiringly. "Well? I don't have all day."
Danger room training sessions. It's been a while since Jean has been down there, and what better than to test the meddle of a man by showing him up with a few moves learned from the old Canuck. His style was more brawler-ish. Hanging around Frank Castle eons ago, mimicked the same style but more uncaring. Scott and Scarlett and Alex? More.. finesse. There were a combination of things that she could draw from but.. nothing that sticks.
Well, sticks in a fair fight, that is.
"I know." She states, rolling her shoulders to loosen them, wearing her all too comfortable Teddy Bear with Ice Cream shirt and pajama pants that were just a soft green but doesn't match. She could move in them, at least, with her hair done up into a ponytail, she was bopping back and forth, the redhair swinging as she works up her own method of adrenaline. "Kinda why I go out and just use my fist instead of my powers. Though roof jumping its a bit fun."
Though, he was ready for a fight, and for his impatience she wanted to bowl him over with a level of TK, but instead, she skitters right on up to fake a left, then through a right uppercut that was obviously held back and lackluster. Besides, he didn't give rules of engagement.
Able lets out a quiet puff of air. Even at half speed he moves faster than the average thug. Like a bullfighter, he leans out of the way and pirouettes behind his partner. For good measure, he aims a smack at her rump as she passes and then wags his finger back and forth reproachfully. "I'm tough and I heal fast. I'll be disappointed if you hold back."
His grin can only be described as cheeky. He's been poking and prodding and teasing all day, but this is a new high (low) point. "Come on. I have reach and strength on you. So what do you do? Use my weight and overconfidence to your advantage."
Rather than force Jean onto the offensive again, he throws out a straight left. Despite his words, he's pulling his punches. No need for an infirmary visit today. Unless she cheats, of course. Then someone will be stitching himself up.
That was not fair. It was almost like her being picked on as a kid. Brothers holding things high in the air while she jumped for it, but this was a new low. His spin was quick, the slap upon her bottom had her stumbling forward with a turn. More words of wisdom, more words that'll tempt her, and then a throw of a punch that -seemed- a bit too rough that nearly made her want to dodge and curl up!
But she doesn't. Thankfully those needful days are over, for she tries to catch his wrist with her own right, a lead and lean in with solid back slap and a straight palm to the nose. This time, not holding back.
A betting man would've guessed it'd take a couple more passes before Jean really cut loose. As such, Able is caught off guard. Not by the grab, or even the slap. He accepts the former and bats away the latter. The palm catches him solidly on the tip of the nose, leaving him backing up and blinking his watering eyes.
"Ow," he says pointedly, but he's chuckling. "And good work. That's the overconfidence I was… ow."
Rather than wounded or irritated, he seems pleased. He sniffles one more time and shakes his head to clear it, then raises his hands again. "You learn fast. Overconfidence, check. Now momentum. Be faster and smarter than me."
Most street fights degenerate into wrestling and tussling on the ground at some point, which is why he opts for a very simple tactic. A football tackle.
Thankfully, her hand didn't hurt. She didn't even curl her fingers with that palmed punch, nope. It was flat handed and quite literally, insulting. But she manages to break away, almost ready to call it quits. In fact, she was staring at his nose to see if there was any blood. "Sorry..?" She says with a wince, fully thinking that he'd just give up then and there. But nope!
If she would have even -tried- to read his mind, she would have seen that coming.
"WHOOP!" The football tackle tackes her down flat upon the ground, her body not splaying but curling up. Curling up to the point of where she tries to bring her knees up, twist her body so that she's in the fetal position with arms shielding her head. Yup, she cracked and curled. Folded faster than Superman on Laundry day. Felt just like a bad hair salon, crimped, curled and all over the place.. the list goes on.
"You were supposed to move out of the way!" Able exclaims. "Or… I don't know, do something else."
His unique construction makes him heavy, even for his size. With Jean underneath him in her potato-bug ball, it's not hard for him to start poking and prodding her ribs in a merciless round of tickling. She could stop him. Maybe. "How do you get out of this one without cheating?" he teases, his voice light and airy. "Better think of something fast."
"Well I've never been tackled before!" And yes, he's heavy, even for her little noodle arms he was heavy. Without cheating, that would be something, with her curled underneath him and jerking this way and that, her face turning a beet red as she tries to fight and slap the hands away from the tickling. Yes. She was holding her breath. No. She didn't want to break into laughter. Whatever good work she could have been doing this day would have totally defeated whatever purpose it was down here.
"Staaaap!" She shrieks out, her arm lashing out to try to wrap around the back of his neck, a huge attempt to bring him down further so that she could start roughly pinching his sides until he moves. -And-, she has nails!
"Ow. Ow! Those are sharp. You have…" Able squirms away from the fingernails. He can and has been hit by a car, but a good pinch has him on the ropes. Unfortunately, he can't go far when he's wrapped up by Jean's arm. "Staaaap!" he echoes.
Still wriggling, he digs in for another round of tickles, all while wincing at what he's sure will be visible pinch marks. Now it's a matter of who gives up first, but things aren't looking good for the doctor. Abruptly, he leans into the pull of Jean's arm and pecks a kiss on her cheek. It's the last weapon in his arsenal.
Yup. She has nails. Glorious nails that dig, twist and pull. No holding back right? But, it wasn't as if she were attempting to draw blood. "Nope! Nope! I am not gonna stop! You stop!" This was the most childish thing ever, and for once, it felt good to pretend to be a teeny-bopper, something that she missed out on.. well.. the entire fifteen years of her life.
But what brings it all to a crashing halt was the peck upon her cheek, her face scrunches ever so slightly as she finally withdraws from the pinches, only to push him sideways with a lead of her own shoulders to flip him off. And christ, doing -that- alone made her chest hurt. "Ow.." She manages to squeeze out, holding that part right there within the middle, rocking a little bit to the side until she finally wills herself upon her knees. Should it be something she ignores.. or.. man.. this is totally awkward..
"Uh.." She starts off, then hunches forward, and back again, one hand planted down upon the ground so that she could push herself upright. "..uh.." She starts again, what in the world to say?! "..My back itches."
"Uh." Awkward, indeed. Flopped over onto his backside, Able leans back and props himself on his hands with his knees tucked up to his chest. He looks at Jean for a long moment, as if searching for something, then gives his head a minute shake.
A quick clearing of his throat, then he says, "I think we'll call that today's lesson. Well played. I figured I'd have you over a barrel." He shoves himself upright, then offers his partner a hand up. Something very new is happening. He's blushing, albeit faintly. He coughs again and then wiggles his fingers. "Come on, up you get."
"What does that mean?" Jean asks, well.. right from where she was. There was a little twist and turn, her arm flexing to bend behind her back to scratch that itch, her fingers curling against her skin until she was totally satisfied. Relief. Sorta. "We don't have any barrels down here I don't think.." And she actually looks around. Though, once he's in front of her offering a hand, she watches his features, one brow lowering and the other raising, her hand reaching out to smack his own in a brief low-five and a grasp to pull herself up.
"I think that hit to your nose is going to make you bruise." She states, her fingers circling around his face to point out the faint hints of a blush. "You're turning red."
Pointing out the blush is definitely not helping it go away. Quite the opposite, especially when coupled with an all-too-innocent question. "It's… a turn of phrase. Like. I have you at a disadvantage. Because back in the day, you'd put someone over a barrel. And then, y'know."
Fuuuuuuuuuck.
"But now it's just something people say. Apparently, no one you've ever met. But yeah. People say it." WHOOOSH. Able lets out a deep, deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Uh huh. So. Time to hit the showers. Not together! I mean. Shit."
"So…" Jean states, listening to the explanation. "You get the upperhand, and you hold them over a barrel." Her brows shoot up as she seriously thinks about this, then looks around for a barrel. "I get it, but to be honest, it sounds like some form of torture." Yes, being held over a barrel with snapping turtles inside -is- torture.
Though, his face is turning even a bit more red, and her nose wrinkles, along with a step forward with both hands to reach for his nose. "Yeah, this is getting bad." She states, her fingers clasping in an upside down V to try to capture his nose, then to press around it if he doesn't stop her. "I don't know, wouldn't steam make it bleed?"
Or wouldn't this conversation make him want to kill himself?
Able closes his eyes briefly when Jean reaches for him. After a few seconds they flicker back open. "It's not… well, yeah, I guess it is. Kinda. And it would. Probably."
Mercenary. Doctor. Scientist. Embarrassed. These are things that he can confidently add to his resume at the moment. The only thing that saves him from crawling away to die is Jean's relative innocence. He makes eye contact and shrugs. Oddly, being closer to her seems to dispel at least some of his hesitance. He's still blushing, but now he's a regular shade of pink. "I don't have any better ideas. Do you?"
With a press here and there, she really couldn't tell it was broken; but just touching him was an excuse at payback for the smooch. Not that she'd tell him, anyways. But she finally lowers her hands, turning away from him to head towards the exit. She wasn't rushing but.. the training session was pretty much over. "I'd say I'd like to learn how to shoot a gun, but I really don't think anything that I'm doing would ever come to that point."
Besides, she could -probably- stop a bullet, or stop a person from shooting said gun, or something else fantastical. Why waste the time? "But.. I guess I could go for a bath. Uh.. alone of course. A bath and a nap.."