You don't think I know that? [ Andyr snaps, whipping around to him for a second. Yes, if he gets out of control, he'll be ditched, and everyone person he cares about will be on their own, and he won't have any way to protect them. He knows that, and that's what's kept him far from any kind of fight outside of sims since getting here. Shaking his head, Andyr moves away from him, heading towards a barbell to start loading it up. 100, 200, 300... ]
I know how to spar. I taught at a competitive martial arts school for three years. [ 400, 500, 600... He stops there for a second, looking down at the barbell like it's the sole cause of this entire issue for him. He knows how, he knows how it works, he knows what you're supposed to do, how to hit, how much to pull punches. The problem is that his mind snaps and his body acts before he can catch up. Whatever it is - anger, fear, desperation. It takes hold so, so fast, and for all these years it hasn't been a simple episode of PTSD. It was very literally him trying to escape being strapped down for another vivisection. Needles in his spine, bonesaws ripping him open, hands inside his ribcage. He closes his eyes a quick moment, and reaches down for the bar. ] Just not what I am anymore.
[ However, instead of a typical lift, Andyr's grabbing the bar with one hand in the center, and lifts it up easily, like a dumbbell, pressed up overhead. As if to say, this is what you're hit with if I snap. For even a second, if he can't stop himself, this is what goes into someone's face or throat or solar plexus. ]
cw: mention of gore/torture
I know how to spar. I taught at a competitive martial arts school for three years. [ 400, 500, 600... He stops there for a second, looking down at the barbell like it's the sole cause of this entire issue for him. He knows how, he knows how it works, he knows what you're supposed to do, how to hit, how much to pull punches. The problem is that his mind snaps and his body acts before he can catch up. Whatever it is - anger, fear, desperation. It takes hold so, so fast, and for all these years it hasn't been a simple episode of PTSD. It was very literally him trying to escape being strapped down for another vivisection. Needles in his spine, bonesaws ripping him open, hands inside his ribcage. He closes his eyes a quick moment, and reaches down for the bar. ] Just not what I am anymore.
[ However, instead of a typical lift, Andyr's grabbing the bar with one hand in the center, and lifts it up easily, like a dumbbell, pressed up overhead. As if to say, this is what you're hit with if I snap. For even a second, if he can't stop himself, this is what goes into someone's face or throat or solar plexus. ]