apocalypsehowcomm | closed; and i grew a hairy skull

( If he's completely honest, that's not what he expected Ches to look like. It's just the whole fighting lessons thing, mixed with the werewolf thing. He was expecting some thick MMA fighter looking guy covered in too much beard and an uncomfortable amount of body hair. Ches just looks like... a dude. Just a normal, good-looking, lean dude. Not as slender as Jack, of course, but enough that it seems promising — fighting at his size is different than fighting at two hundred pounds.

He doesn't exactly own a lot by way of athleisure, and somehow he figured jeans wouldn't make the cut, so he spent like thirty minutes at the store staring down at work-out clothes. It was like trying to read a foreign language. Finally he just said screw it, grabbed a pair of black basketball shorts that were hopefully his size, paired it with a black t-shirt and some shoes that... probably wouldn't pass on a gym floor.

It's a lot more exposed than he typically is from the thighs down. Normally he's in jeans or sweatpants, and his whole leg situation isn't all that noticeable. Right now it's on full display, starting just below the knee and ending in something reasonably foot-shaped he's stuffed into a shoe for good measure. He feels practically naked. It's weird.

As if the leg thing wasn't enough, it's rounded out with a wave of a four-fingered hand. )

Hey... you? ( He returns uncertainly, because he's awkward as fuck and terrible at introductions. He pulls a face, self-aware and clearly judging himself, and then rolls right on past it. ) Cool... punching bag.

[Fighting is certainly different at his size than it is at a larger size. It was one of the first things that Jasha had taught him, that he would do better to punch fast than hard because of his build, and it's something he intends to teach Jack too.

The guy is awkward but in a cute way, and he's at least dressed for the gym unlike the last student he'd had at a punching bag. Ches spends the time while Jack crosses the room getting a feeling for his gait and the way he moves on his prosthetic leg. He's never trained someone with a prosthetic before, which is frankly surprising considering the number of people he's helped train, but he thinks he knows well enough to work with it. He'd meant it when he said everyone can fight.]

Hah, thanks. It'll do the job alright. Good to meet you.

[He wipes off the hand he'd used to touch his hair on the thigh of his sweats, then holds it out in offer of a handshake.]

We should probably wrap your hands up and do a bit of stretching first. Maybe while we do that, you can tell me how comfortable you are on the prosthetic. You know, balance, speed and all that.

( Oh. Okay. He's a handshake guy. It's been a while since he's had one of those, but he can do that. There's definitely not about a two second period of overthinking it where he tries to find the right grip strength that isn't weaksauce, but also isn't testosterone fueled overcompensating. He's not really sure if he hits the mark by the time the shake is over. )

Okay. ( Hand wrapping makes sense, he's totally seen that on TV. He'll follow Ches's lead there — he may not be an athlete, but at least he's a pretty quick learner. He answers while he wraps. ) I just got it two or three weeks before I showed up here, I spent a few months on crutches before that. I didn't really... get the chance to learn how to run on it before everything. I've been meaning to figure that out, but I... Okay, I can't think of a good excuse in a reasonable time limit, so honestly I just don't want to look stupid in front of strangers.

( It's been weird thinking about jumping on a treadmill at a gym in public and doing his best to pirate-walk at increasing speeds. )

[While Jack is overthinking the handshake, he's not really thinking about any kind of implications around how hard Jack holds his hand or anything. It's just a handshake.

Chester's hands are already wrapped, so he watches as Jack wraps his own - there's a science to it that Jasha had taught him over a period of weeks. When Jack misses something, Ches reaches out without thinking and takes the other man's hand into his own, adjusts the band, and starts wrapping them for him. Carefully, he folds the band over Jack's knuckles while he listens to him talk about the prosthetic and when he'd gotten it, how he doesn't want to look stupid in front of strangers. The honesty is pretty refreshing, and Ches is starting to like him more already.]

Well, this'll help you get used to it, but you gotta tell me if it's getting sore or if it's too much, okay?

[Finishing up with the right hand, he tucks the band underneath itself, then takes Jack's other hand and starts wrapping.]

It's an extra challenge, for sure, because guys with smaller builds like ours, we have to hit fast instead of hard, which means being mobile. I doubt you're going to look stupid, but if that's what you're worried about, I can promise I won't be judging.

Edited 2022-01-18 03:58 (UTC)

( Oh, he's not just a handshake guy, he's a hand hold guy. That's... Weird, but not in a bad or insulting way. Weird and nice, it's just that Jack's not all that used to being touched. He gets the occasional hug, but that's pretty much all he's had since Her. He stands still, not particularly sure how he's supposed to react — so he doesn't. Quietly compliant. Probably for the best anyway, he wouldn't really know how to wrap the one with the missing finger. )

That makes sense. For what it's worth, I don't have total spaghetti arms. I dug a lot of holes before all the crutching. I have pretty good aim, and I've thrown a couple punches. I'm solidly medium-useless. Four out of ten, easy.

[It's mostly practical, but Ches has always been a touchy guy anyway, someone who's comfortable squeezing people on the shoulder or cuddling up to them at night.

Tucking in the end of the other wrap, he lets go of Jack's hands and pats him on the shoulder, laughing softly at his comment about being medium-useless.]

Sounds more like at least a six to me. I've met people I'd score a four who never threw a punch or dug a hole. Alright, so, over here...

[He gestures languidly with one hand toward the punching bag and heads over to grab another pair of gloves. Coming back over, he hands them to Jack and gives a nod.]

Alright, first step is learning how to stand. Hands up like this-

[He stands in the correct position, hands up in front of himself.]

-and the rest of you relaxed.

( Hands come up to match, curled into appropriate punching form, thumb on the outside and all. The rest of him relaxed thing is a little harder to manage. It's instinct for him to tighten up — shoulders and hips, overcompensating for the leg like he doesn't trust it, which is probably the root of his problem.

A little deliberate, mindful correction on Ches's part gets him on point, and the few he throws actually aren't half bad. He's no boxer, but he hits hard exactly where he's supposed to, and he's a little quicker than he gives himself credit for. He's got ducking and dodging down like muscle memory.

The explanation comes out a little distracted; )

Before I got here, I had to- ( Out-maneuver and kill in self-defense— ) deal with this guy that kept showing up every day for weeks trying to murder me. He was fucking huge, it was like a mongoose trying to fight a grizzly bear.

( Which is exactly why he bought literal bear traps. Man, did those things come in handy. )

[It's obviously hard for the guy to relax and put weight on his prosthetic leg, which makes sense to Chester, even though he's never had to use one. It must be hard, he thinks, having to trust a chunk of metal and plastic with your balance, especially on the stump of a leg which must be sensitive still.

But whoever had told this guy he couldn't fight had definitely been giving him bad information. Jack is surprisingly good at it, and Ches can tell that despite being skinny, he's not weak by any means. It's pretty impressive, how quickly he moves and how well he ducks and dodges considering the leg and how hesitant he'd been to put weight on it when standing still.

Every now and again Ches adjusts his stance just a little, placing a hand on his shoulder or arm to shift his position, but other than that it's mostly just commentary on how he's doing, what he's doing right, where he could improve.]

Yeah? You know, I've beat up guys way bigger than me. If we're talking bog-standard human here, you could easily beat up a big guy. They punch hard, but if you can dodge and they miss, they gas out pretty quick. Get tired and aren't on their game. It's a lot of weight to carry around.

Well, he wasn't... really just... big.

( Breathless, and already sweating.

He might be doing okay in terms of form and enthusiasm, but man is he lacking in cardio. From the day he broke his leg onward, he's been limiting himself in terms of mobility. At first unable to, and then reluctant to, and now he's capped out generally at a brisk walk and the occasional life or death incident to get his heart rate up. )

He's like this... military trained... monster-hunting badass. Or, they're clones of him, which is basically the same thing. But it was... way too close a few times. Plus, I have this sociopath asshole stalker that keeps showing up and stealing the occasional limb, so.

( That's why he's here. The very long story made very, very short. )

I was wondering about that.

[The lack of cardio is a drawback, but it also makes sense that he'd be a little out of shape considering he'd lost a leg and only recently had his prosthetic made. But either way, if that enthusiasm holds up through the sweating and breathlessness, it'll get better. Fighting at the bag is surprisingly good for cardio and strength training both, for the whole body.]

Wait, so a military-trained monster-hunting guy kept coming after you, and then his clones did too? Can I ask why? Should I ask why?

[The last part about a sociopathic stalker is concerning too.]

And the sociopath stalker- lift your right arm just a little- anyway, the stalker is different than the military-trained clone guy?

[It's genuinely alarming how many people are out to kill Jack, and Ches can feel that little bubbling sense of protectiveness again.]

Hopefully none of those guys are here, right?

Different guys, ( He pants with a nod, lifting his right arm up an inch or two. ) The clones came first. It's just- just clones. Not the actual guy. He's-

( He hits his limit, arms dropping, back bending forward a little, so he can brace himself on his knees and breathe.

He forgot about how cardio is the worst thing since pineapple on pizza. )

It's... a really long story. This thing... god... monster, whatever, The Collector, he started replacing people in my town. He made a bunch of Benjamins. That's- the. Big guy. They're like sleeper agents. He keeps cloning him, sending him in to my gas station, and then activating him. But they don't- know they're clones, and they don't know what happened to the last clone, they're from the same... save point, so I started...

( He does a vague, hand-wavey gesture as he straightens up again. )

Do they have the movie Home Alone where you're from? I've been Home Alone-ing him with bear traps.

[The pause to rest isn't unwelcome, even if Chester hasn't been doing much exercise himself. Leaning against the punching bag, he sways a hip out and crosses his arms, watching Jack and then listening as he starts explaining his story about the big guy who'd been trying to kill him, and the rest of it.]

The Collector sounds ominous. Was he uh, replacing people with clones so he could keep the original? And why kill you instead of just replacing you too...?

[Both brows raise as he asks his questions, but there's no disbelief in his expression, because he's seen some weird shit in his time and he's not going to act like Jack's shit is unbelievable.]

( He shakes his head. )

I think the originals are dead. And I think- I think he's flat out trying to kill me, he just hasn't been able to yet. Because of the whole... bear traps situation.

( He scrubs his forearm over his forehead. Tries to push his damp hair back out of his face. He really needs a haircut. )

I work-- I own this a fucked up gas station. It's on some kind of energy source or rift or something that he wants to get his hands on. He doesn't need to replace me if he can just get me out of the way.

Sounds rough.

[A beat.]

Yeah, by the way. We did have Home Alone in my world. My kid brother used to watch it every Christmas. You pull that off in real life with bear traps and shit? Pretty impressive. I know from experience how hard that is.

[When he sees Jack trying to push his sweaty hair back from his forehead, he digs into a pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a bandana, the classic kind you'd see farmhands or construction workers wearing, and hands it over to him.]

Here, this'll keep your hair under control. And uh, wow. What an inconvenient place for a gas station.

Oh, no thank you, I'm not really a bandana person- oh, okay.

( Is he... is he supposed to fold this, or just wear it like a half-triangle? Could he pull that off? Would he look cool in a bandana? Does he look cool now?

Well, maybe a little. He has his hands wrapped, and he's been punching stuff, that's kind of cool. )

Yeah, kinda. But- what about you? Why does a werewolf need to know boxing?

That's fine. Use it to wipe down if you want.

[Any way is fine, and as far as Chester is concerned any of them will look fine on him. He's a cute guy, and he does look pretty cool in the wrapped hands and boxing gloves.]

I don't always fight in wolf form. Sometimes you just need to defend yourself. You know, in case you get stuck in a bar brawl or something, you know? Or you're in a public place and can't just wolf out.

( He's just gonna spend some time fiddling with it and pretending like he isn't trying to strategize the best way to put it on without looking like a total dork. Don't mind him, nothing to see here. )

That makes sense. I guess you're from one of those worlds where there's a huge stigma around it, or it's super hush-hush or something?

Yeah.

[He lets Jack fiddle with the handkerchief, not looking at him on purpose because he's obviously still self-conscious. Knowing how to fight will help with that, Ches knows it's good for the self-esteem to be able to defend yourself with some skill.]

The humans found out about supernatural beings about, oh, a decade or so ago. They don't like us much. Scared, you know? I guess I don't blame them, really, even though they pose way more of a threat to us than we do to them.

( He ultimately winds up folding the thing into a vaguely rectangular shape and tying it around his hairline — something he'll have to scope in the mirror later to retroactively assess. Time to table that concern for the moment and focus on werewolves. )

Yeah, that's... that's not really surprising. Humanity kind of sucks. Racial prejudice is pretty much guaranteed in any universe.

( A beat. )

Or is it species prejudice? Species-ist? Is that what it's called?

Looking good.

[Ches grins at Jack, gives him a little thumbs up. The topic at hand is a little more sobering, though, and Ches sighs a deep sigh.]

Yeah, it really wasn't surprising when it happened. And I'd say species prejudice more than race, yeah. A lot of werewolves still consider themselves human, but I don't.

[A shrug.]

People are afraid of what they don't understand, especially when it's more powerful than they are. And the fear makes them angry.

( Ches gives him a thumbs up, and thus it is officially decreed: Jack likes Ches. He did already anyway, mostly, but he'll file the paperwork on it with the Liking People department now. )

You're not wrong.

( He agrees, slowly hobbling his way over toward a bench to lower himself down onto. Hobbling not because of his leg, for once, but because he's tuckered himself out doing all this Moving His Body stuff. Crazy that some people just do that all the time for fun. )

Fortunately, I have the advantage of not understanding anything that happens to me almost ever. I'm pretty desensitized to it.

[That is a feeling that's pretty mutual. It doesn't take Ches very long to decide whether he likes a person or not, and he'd pretty much decided he liked Jack during their first conversation on the network. In person, his opinion hadn't changed at all.]

You know, I don't understand half the shit that happens to me either. There's a hell of a lot of supernaturals that I'd never really learned about that've cropped up where I live lately. It's a lot of not knowing the rules and having to follow them anyhow unless I want to be, I dunno, screamed at by a banshee until my ears bleed or something.

[A little laugh.]

That was a thing that actually happened to me.

Preaching to the choir.

( He agrees with a soft laugh. )

I honestly don't know the names of... ninety percent of the things that come through my gas station. You just kind of learn to embrace it. Not necessarily the banshee thing, I bet being a werewolf makes hearing that way worse.

( A beat. )

Wait, is that- that's probably stereotyping or something. I shouldn't assume.

I never know what they are until it's too late, usually. Thankfully none of the encounters have been as bad as it sounds like yours were. Most of our nightmares were with these creatures called Wraiths that had no smell and were...well, really tough. Or this hive of disgusting...things...we found in the woods that had acid blood.

[A shrug, and then a laugh when Jack says it's probably an assuming stereotype to think being a werewolf would make hearing a banshee scream worse.]

Not really a stereotype, just the truth. My hearing is more sensitive than a human's, same with smell, and I can see better at night. That kind of thing. There's a little extra strength and stamina and speed that goes along with it too.

( He wrinkles his nose at acid blood. Sounds awful, no thank you. He has a hard enough time keeping his clothes from falling apart. That sounds like a potentially leg-ruining issue and he's not about that life.

He is relieved he wasn't just a racist asshole himself. )

Oh, wow. That's cool. ( Don't ask how much- ) How much can you lift? I mean, not in pounds because I'll be honest, I have absolutely no real tangible concept of like... weight when it comes to body building or whatever, but are we talking bench-press a grown man, or bench-press a truck?

closed; and i grew a hairy skull

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