Fight Club 2 - Supernal Bugaloo

[Macavity]

A look of sudden dismay flashes across Chariot's face at the suggestion of him cutting Tuesday up during a sparring match, but he nods in acceptance of her accounting of her own well being. " God. I'm glad you're good. I'm glad your boyfriend was here to... attend to your health." Chariot winces at his delivery, internally cringing at how awkward that sounded.

"I think it would have gone faster," he says, thankful for the change in topic from how Chariot knocked out Tuesday to how the match went. "I don't mean to disparage your skill Tuesday, but I think I might have had an advantage in that case."

[Tuesday]

Shit. Hazels widen. "Yeah, we'll head home and nom and movies and sleeps." It sounded like a plan. A good one even.

"He's not my boyfriend." says Tuesday. Because Stuff, wasn't. "Cabal-mate. Hearthmaster." the newbie didn't need to dragged into their Stuff.

Tuesday snorts. "Yeah. It'd have gone waaaaaay faster. I would have been out in a punch or two. I'm scrappy. Not hardy." a head shake. "I need Armor. A tank top and jeans. Not cutting it."

Another snort, "You're a Talon, Char-dude. Odds in your favor, but no Shields. Maybe I'd have swung the odd into mine." cheeky grin.

[Macavity]

"Oh!" Exclaims Chariot. "I apologize for assuming, I didn't mean to offend either of you."

"Well, odds were in my favor because Thunderbolt Guardian Black Fox made me do one-inch punches into a stone wall for a week." Chariot rubs his knuckles in remembered pain as he speaks. "Then she'd beat me with a baseball bat until I learned how to take a hit and not embarrass her. So it's not just because I'm a Talon. There's probably bad talons out there, it just took a lot of work to make sure I wasn't one of them."

Chariot exhales in pain as his ribs complain about the beating he just took from Tuesday, causing him to poke and prod gently at himself to explore just how much he was injured. "I'm wondering, what was your plan with all the evasion?"

[Tuesday]

"Not offended." honestly she knew her and Star were a little....weird together, what was strange that it was their newest newbie who'd commented on it.

"Thunderbolt. Guardian. Black. Fox." how were those words a person(?)? "Question mark?"

Eye brow arches. And yes Star it's perfectly impressive.

(no it's not)

"...not getting hit. Getting hit sucks. Getting hit hurts. And unlike you mister leather coat. I'm in a tank top. So hits. More then just hurt. Reasons why I face planted into the lawn." Obvi.

[Macavity]

"Thunderbolt Guardians are our... teachers? Specialists? Delta Force Special Ops?" Chariot gestures apologetically, as if to explain that it's more complicated than that but he can't really explain it interestingly. "I'm honestly worried that if word got back to Thunderbolt Guardian Black Fox that I wasn't being completely respectful of her and her title, that she'll jump out of a teacup and kick my ass again."

"I asked, because every moment someone forces you to concentrate entirely on defense is a moment they can be focused entirely on offense." Chariot holds up a finger on each hand and tries to illustrate the concept with them, before realizing that it wasn't helping and putting his hands down. "I mean, every time we got a solid hit each other, it stacked the deck a little more in our favor, right?"

[Tuesday]

"Ahh-kay." Arrorws were weird. "Ha." Tuesday was imagining Avis, Drill Sargenting. Because Space. Teacup. But Avis would be more staring 'you're an idiot' looks.

Fingers go up, and fingers go down.

"Yeah sure. But you getting a hit on me....welp. This unicorn had more to lose, and less to gain. Maybe if I could keep on dancin', I'd ware you out. But prolly not. Since. I'm scrappy. Not hardy. And baseball bat beatings...kinda sends a dude you hardy message." shrugs. "S'why I kept trying to Curse you."

[Campanella]

Campanella strode over, flush with victory. He brushed dust from his shoulder and... struck a pose?

"There. Did I not do well?"

Campanella is affected by Bedlam Derangement: Megalomania.

[Macavity]

"Oh!" Chariot's face lights up at Tuesday's complement on his hardiness. "Thank you. I think your tactics would be pretty effective if you were working with someone else. If I was fighting with another person and you were in hiding or just at a small distance while supporting them? A lot of what you were doing would really make my life harder."

When Campanella comes over and poses, Chariot's face takes on an expression of bewilderment. He looks from Campanella to Archangel Michael, still burried in mud, and back again. "You just left him there?"

A distinct thread of scorn threads it's way through the question. Chariot gets up, against the protestation of his side, to help the buried man dig himself out of Campanella's mire.

[Star]

*snnrrrrrrk*

Don't laugh, yo. This is super serious sparring session. But... Campanella. Going Gladiator.

And Michael.

Michael.

Muddy Michael. In the mud.

"Yes! I am entertained!" Like popping champagne. "HaaaaaAAAAA!"

He laughed. Out loud. Loudly.

[Thrope]

Thrope shakes his head as he walks back to the group. That had been pathetic. Not Bolide though. Damn magic. Even after years of trying to brawl with other mages, it still feels wrong to Thrope. Not the moral "o no, that's a friend wrong" but in the "why can't I fucking punch you" sort of wrong.

The Thyrsus turns to the Apostate. " Bolide , I'll fix the damage if you're ok with it." Leaving allies wounded isn't good practice, nor a way to make friends.

"Speaking of, does anyone need healing?" Eyes roam over those gathered before hopping back to Star. The hell did he do to himself?