2237-05-29 - Hips Don't Lie

Lyn helps train Aldrich a little to throw a proper punch since he has intentions of going into battle with the Marines.

Date: 2237-05-29

Location: Gym -- Vanguard

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1066

Jump to End

It's morning on the Vanguard and the chaplain spent the night in the chapel attending to one of the more grievously wounded marines. Anyone who knew where Aldrich had been all night would probably be expecting him to be in bed by now, but instead he's in the gym. More specifically, he's at one of the punching bags, wailing away on it in a manner most unbecoming of a chaplain.

Lyn spent a good part of the day down on Scorpia. She even bought a bathing suit although she didn't brave the water more than sticking her feet in along the shoreline. She had to be back on board for PT in the afternoon, so she could get her stupid stitches out tomorrow and not look like a mummy with all her bandages. She has a list of things she has to do on the machines and get signed off on by a witness to bring back to sick bay.

The sergeant is in workout gear, shorts and a tank top, and she arches a brow when she spots Aldrich hitting the bag like it done him wrong. She heads over his way, tucking the list into the waistband of her shorts, and steps behind the bag to steady it for him. "What did poor Pummels the Heavy Bag ever do to you?" she murmurs with an arched brow.

Aldrich must have been pretty focused, because he doesn't notice Lyn on the approach, and stops punching with a bit of a startled look when she steps behind the bag. He's a bit out of breath, and pauses to brush some sweat off his brow. "Huh?" He glances to the bag. "Oh. Nothing. I was just...working out. Sorry, am I in your way?"

"If that's what working out looks like, I'd hate to see you angry," Lyn says pointedly. She shakes her head at the question, and continues to hold the bag steady for him. "Carry on. Want to talk about it, Al?" she asks.

Aldrich stretches his shoulders a little, with a vague smile. "I don't get angry," he claims. Since she isn't taking the opportunity to replace him at the bag, he goes back to punching it, but with a bit more reservation this time. "If I'm going to be going out with the marines, I need to train like them."

"A good idea. Training that is. Going out with us is about the dumbest idea ever. We tend to get chewed up a lot, Al. You sure that's what you want to do?" Lyn asks curiously, watching his form to make sure he's doing it right.

"Yes." Aldrich gives his simple answer to a complicated question, and keeps punching the bag, without looking over at Lyn. Gotta focus on that bag in case it decides to hit back, right?

"Why?" Lyn asks pointedly. "Why risk yourself like that? Most of us were born into a military life, it's what we know, but you have choices." She pauses a bit and adds, "Keep your chin down. When you throw the punch, make sure your arm stays level with your shoulder, that's where your power is."

Aldrich pauses to take in her instructions and question. He goes through the motion of punching in slow-motion, to try out the adjustment. "Back on Canceron, those...creatures took people I knew. People who were very kind to me, once. They killed some of them. The ones who survived... They are never going to be the same. But they'd probably be dead if it weren't for me." He meets Lyn's gaze, solemnly, "Besides, the medics never have enough hands, and /someone/ down there should be asking the gods for their blessings. If there is good that I can do, how could I look the other way?" And then he goes back to punching again, trying to incorporate Lyn's adjustments.

"Good, you're head and your heart are in the right place, which tells me you're serious about learning to fight so you can stay alive down there to do more good," Lyn notes. She moves around the bag to take his punching hand in both of hers, and she taps the first and second knuckles. "With a front punch, you want to drive through with these two knuckles, straight ahead. This isn't a punch you're going to use much, it's usually for distance gauging. You might need to tilt your wrist down just a bit to do it."

Aldrich snorts faintly, raising an eyebrow. "What, you thought I had a death wish?" But he listens to her instructions with the same attentiveness that he'd use to listen to a visitor in the chapel. "I see..." he says, slowly, but he doesn't sound all that sure. "Distance gauging. So if this isn't the punch you're going to use, which one is? Just, out of curiosity."

"The front punch is pretty much the starting point for a jab-cross combo, which is what most boxers use because it's effective. In a link double motion you gauge your opponent's distance, put them on their back foot, and then hit them blindside with a cross to the body when they're watching the jab retreat." She moves behind the bag again to watch his form for issues. "And aim a bit lower. Punching someone in the face is rarely going to do more than bloody their nose and hurt your hand unless you hit the right spot. You want to aim for the throat with the jab. The trick to the throat is, when they see the punch coming, they'll put their head down and you'll probably get them good on the chin. Ever hear of a glass jaw? That's what you end up hitting, dropping them like a rock."

Aldrich nods a little, taking all that in, and then goes back to try it out, shifting his punch a little lower. "Nothing we did back home was this...carefully thought out," he admits, breathlessly, between punches. "I'm used to just... hit something soft as hard as you can, preferably before they can hit you."

"Your cross is going to aim for the body. If you're hitting from the left side, aim for the liver. Right, aim for the heart. It's going to hurt them and wear them down a lot more than you. A skull is solid bone, ribs and organs are not so tough or protected," Lyn says. She watches his punches carefully, nodding her approval as he gets it right. "And there is a LOT of downtime at Arctic Station Thula. My dad used it to make sure we were always in training. Whiteout Arda was not a man to be messed with, and he taught us all well." She frowns, "We'll have to work on your hips."

Aldrich smiles distractedly as he tries that out. "I didn't get any training until basic on Leonis. I just got beat up a lot as a kid," he gives a half-grin, then steps back to catch his breath at that last. "My hips?" he asks, doubtfully. "Why?"

"A punch isn't just about your arm coming out and your fist hitting something. It's an extension of your whole body, and the majority of the power behind it comes from your core, directed by your hips," Lyn explains. She moves behind him again and places her hands on his waist. "Not getting fresh, Al, I promise," she chuckles. "Now, when you extend your arm to punch, you need to turn your hips with it. It makes your shoulder support it and you're less likely to swing wild." She snorts softly, "Why did the kids beat you up?"

Aldrich rolls his eyes. "I'd start to worry for your sanity if you were," he remarks, and directs his attention back to the punching bag. "All right. That makes sense." He goes through the motion of punching, again in slow motion. Then he answers the question, with a philosophical, "Why do kids do anything?"

"Why would that be so crazy, Al? You're a good-looking guy with a heck of a kind soul. Surely some of the wolves have been trying to get into your bunk?" Lyn teases. She moves back around the bag once he has the hang of it though. "Much better. And I dunno. My brother and I were the only kids at Thula when I was little. Other than him tugging on my pigtails, I dunno how other kids act."

Aldrich chuckles a little. "Only the crazy ones," he answers, with a smirk, and goes back to practicing the new technique at full speed. "Boys pull girls' pigtails, but they beat up on each other. It's just part of growing up."

"Huh, well remind me to punch the next little boy I see, just because," Lyn quips. "Really though, we both know why I'm a virtual hermit with no social skills. Why aren't you looking for someone to pair up with. Love seems to be in the air on the Vanguard. Maybe it's something in the water. I'll have to just drink juice from now on." She monitors the technique and seems satisfied he has it down.

Aldrich punches a little harder at that question until he catches himself and pauses to catch his breath and shake out his fingers. "Because I'm not stupid?" he replies, with a faint chuckle. "I'm aware that no one is going to be genuinely interested in a Gemenese chaplain. Anyway, that's not what I'm here for."

"Don't sell yourself short, Al. Remember, we all have to have hope, right? And you're not JUST a chaplain anymore. You're a damned Marine. And people are going to notice. Just don't come to me for advice, I am awful at it." Lyn chuckles.

Aldrich snorts faintly at that. "I have hope enough for us all. It's kind of my job... But right now I think it's best to focus on that job and not allow myself to get distracted." He gives the punching bag a last half-hearted punch, and then steps away to leave it free for someone else, while he stretches and cools down.

"Probably a good idea," Lyn admits. "It's what I've been doing for the last two years myself. Still seem to get shot in the head all the time though, so maybe it was bad to ignore everything else around me, hm?" She has a point, as she tries to tell him to smell the flowers while he has the chance. She throws him a towel off a pile and moves to the treadmill herself, putting it on low. "You should make sure to hit the firing range a lot too. Until shooting is second nature to you," she advises.

"I'm not ignoring everything around me," Aldrich replies, a little more gently. "But there's no point getting distracted by the idea of something that isn't going to happen. That's all." He catches the towel and wipes of his face, then the back of his neck. "And I will. Thank you."

"Anytime, Al. That's what friends are for, right?" Lyn says with a sad smile. She's known what it's like to be afraid to make connections that might vanish on your in the flash of a missile strike or a spray of bullets. She doesn't bother him further, working on her PT.


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