So, I Was Minding My Own Business.... (Langley)
Nov 30, 2012 4:46:36 GMT -5
Post by Vincent Meian on Nov 30, 2012 4:46:36 GMT -5
OOC: If anyone wants to observe or comment on this fight in-thread, I have no objection. Seeing two teachers duke it out on-campus has got to be one of the most unusual and entertaining things to happen at Hammel in a while (though, granted, most staff won't see it that way). In any case, so long as no one interrupts the fight by breaking it up, you are welcome to watch, cheer, or taunt as much as possible.
Have fun, Hammelites! I know I will!
IC:
Light snow had mixed with rain much of the day, leaving the town of Pilot Ridge very cold and more than a little wet. Going anywhere was a hazard with so much ice and slush on the ground, but unsurprisingly the school had not been closed - it had seen far worse winters and remained open, and it was sure to stay that way all winter.
Despite the early dark of the day and the sharp temperature drop following shortly after, Vincent felt very little need to go home right away. Appoline was home taking care of Cassi (who had caught a bad cold a few days ago), and Nik needed to stay late to finish her reports for the (which, incidentally, included the documentation of all the children who had the same colds as their daughter). He would walk her home when she finished, but until then he had time.
So, he trained.
It was a bad idea to let one's physical state grow idle or lessen in any way. Since he very well could not rely on his powers much of the time, his body was all that he had between any threat and the well-being of those he cared for. Thus, it was maintained rigorously and daily - even when his students left him winded and aching, he still trained. He shadow-boxed, practiced stances and forms with patience and grace, and even did the simplest of muscle-toning work.
By the time six pm rolled around and the last of the clubs had ended (aside from the astronomy club, which had only just started), the rather spacious training room was much warmer than it had been earlier, though the thermostat had remained in the same position for nearly three hours. The extremely tall teacher currently stood on his hands just forwards of the center of the room, long legs bent back over his spine as he watched the form carefully in the mirror. He moved slowly, inch by inch with every breath as sweat dripped from his face to a towel on the floor and his feet moved ever closer to the top of his head. His muscles trembled as they held in nigh perfect balance, his hands shifting imperceptibly with the slow movements above him. He was tightly wound, strained to the edge of his flexibility, and his scars ached.
Yoga tended to do that to him a lot.
Releasing another breath slowly, he raised his legs up in unison, the slow motion and effort causing his left leg to twitch with a stab of pain; one more old wound complaining, though not loudly. He continued with the motion until his legs pointed straight up, then lowered his chest to the ground slowly. Bare skin and scar tissue touched the mat and towel before his hips and legs followed. Once his toes completed the downward motion, he pulled back over them, kneeling and stretching over his legs into a relaxed and inert pose. Sweat still dripped down his bare arms, back, chest and face, but he resisted the urge to brush the beads of salt water away for the moment. He was far too warm at the moment to do anything else but rest.
The gi he'd worn had not helped particularly with the overheating, so its top lay folded at the side of the room along with his outside clothes and shoes. So, he sat wearing only the old white pants, their starched legs reaching well above his ankles even when he stood normally. His long hair rested in a braid down his back, though as per usual his bangs had escaped the confines of the tie and stuck uncomfortably to his face. Once his breathing and heart-rate became subdued again, Vincent pushed himself to his feet and stretched.
Even in a room made for superhumans, his fingers almost brushed the ceiling, such was his height. His lean, tan form was tightly muscled and thoroughly scarred - especially his back, which was to the slightly open door. As he flexed his fingers to loosen them up, black ink shifted over his right hand and arm, making a serpentine flame dance over the tendons and muscle. Knuckles cracked loudly as he did so as well, and he frowned at the sound ever so slightly before pushing the sweat-slicked hair back over his head.
"Kore ijō no nokori," he murmured softly, stepping back into a fighter's crouch. He needed to practice more combat - his reflexes were slowing. Watching the reflection in the mirror before him, Vincent began to kick-box, mostly just to get his heart-rate up again and partially to work back into moving faster after his yoga forms.
Hey, people don't give it enough credit. Yoga is a tough art form.
Have fun, Hammelites! I know I will!
IC:
Light snow had mixed with rain much of the day, leaving the town of Pilot Ridge very cold and more than a little wet. Going anywhere was a hazard with so much ice and slush on the ground, but unsurprisingly the school had not been closed - it had seen far worse winters and remained open, and it was sure to stay that way all winter.
Despite the early dark of the day and the sharp temperature drop following shortly after, Vincent felt very little need to go home right away. Appoline was home taking care of Cassi (who had caught a bad cold a few days ago), and Nik needed to stay late to finish her reports for the (which, incidentally, included the documentation of all the children who had the same colds as their daughter). He would walk her home when she finished, but until then he had time.
So, he trained.
It was a bad idea to let one's physical state grow idle or lessen in any way. Since he very well could not rely on his powers much of the time, his body was all that he had between any threat and the well-being of those he cared for. Thus, it was maintained rigorously and daily - even when his students left him winded and aching, he still trained. He shadow-boxed, practiced stances and forms with patience and grace, and even did the simplest of muscle-toning work.
By the time six pm rolled around and the last of the clubs had ended (aside from the astronomy club, which had only just started), the rather spacious training room was much warmer than it had been earlier, though the thermostat had remained in the same position for nearly three hours. The extremely tall teacher currently stood on his hands just forwards of the center of the room, long legs bent back over his spine as he watched the form carefully in the mirror. He moved slowly, inch by inch with every breath as sweat dripped from his face to a towel on the floor and his feet moved ever closer to the top of his head. His muscles trembled as they held in nigh perfect balance, his hands shifting imperceptibly with the slow movements above him. He was tightly wound, strained to the edge of his flexibility, and his scars ached.
Yoga tended to do that to him a lot.
Releasing another breath slowly, he raised his legs up in unison, the slow motion and effort causing his left leg to twitch with a stab of pain; one more old wound complaining, though not loudly. He continued with the motion until his legs pointed straight up, then lowered his chest to the ground slowly. Bare skin and scar tissue touched the mat and towel before his hips and legs followed. Once his toes completed the downward motion, he pulled back over them, kneeling and stretching over his legs into a relaxed and inert pose. Sweat still dripped down his bare arms, back, chest and face, but he resisted the urge to brush the beads of salt water away for the moment. He was far too warm at the moment to do anything else but rest.
The gi he'd worn had not helped particularly with the overheating, so its top lay folded at the side of the room along with his outside clothes and shoes. So, he sat wearing only the old white pants, their starched legs reaching well above his ankles even when he stood normally. His long hair rested in a braid down his back, though as per usual his bangs had escaped the confines of the tie and stuck uncomfortably to his face. Once his breathing and heart-rate became subdued again, Vincent pushed himself to his feet and stretched.
Even in a room made for superhumans, his fingers almost brushed the ceiling, such was his height. His lean, tan form was tightly muscled and thoroughly scarred - especially his back, which was to the slightly open door. As he flexed his fingers to loosen them up, black ink shifted over his right hand and arm, making a serpentine flame dance over the tendons and muscle. Knuckles cracked loudly as he did so as well, and he frowned at the sound ever so slightly before pushing the sweat-slicked hair back over his head.
"Kore ijō no nokori," he murmured softly, stepping back into a fighter's crouch. He needed to practice more combat - his reflexes were slowing. Watching the reflection in the mirror before him, Vincent began to kick-box, mostly just to get his heart-rate up again and partially to work back into moving faster after his yoga forms.
Hey, people don't give it enough credit. Yoga is a tough art form.
