Cold be Damned

[andrend]

WHO: Kylo Ren
WHERE: Around the village, the mill, the fountain,
WHEN: Sunday (Morning -> Late Evening)
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: Potential for violence
STATUS: Closed

---

Guard Duty at the Fountain - Early Morning
Closed

Ren volunteered to keep an eye on the fountain and he intended to keep up with it. Torches seemed a precious resource, and while he appreciated the suggestion, and the light and minor warmth on his hand in the evening, the moment the sun's light begins to touch the sky the torch is out. With a re-purposed curtain rod in one hand, and the grizzly appearance of the dead, alien creature that had been dragged through the inn still in his mind, Ren's senses were on high alert.

There was no room in the village for complacency or allowing himself to get comfortable. He wasn't comfortable. They had not been put in this place for a vacation. At best it was a prison, and for now, he was making himself a guard rather than a prisoner.

Sparring at the Mill - Morning/Early Afternoon
Closed

Ren had made two visits back to the Mill since learning about the location from Sam. The first to check for clues he or Hux may have left behind in the building and the second to search the grounds around it. The snow was too built up now for much searching. The river that passed between the Mill and the Village looked like a waiting threat, with chunks of half frozen snow pulled by the water drifting by. Ren had flattened an area of snow down into a packed circle in front of the mill. It was farther from the center of the village, farther from prying eyes and that was what he needed for the sake of his focus.

He twirled the rod with one hand and switched it off, testing the weight and balance of it. Most of the ones he had tried initially had been hollow, but this one was solid and a good four feet in length. Heavy but durable, and the weight was no issue for him. Despite the chill in the weather, his coat was hanging off one of the mill's window shutters at thee far end of the circle. He had finally submitted to wearing the long john pants under the black cotton trousers, but for this his top was nothing more than a white tank top and two cotton socks he had destroyed to fashion into arm warmers.

He let the anger, frustration and doubt ebb away with the isolation and found his grip on the rod where the balance was best. Fighting with a staff was not his strongest suit, but he had trained in it, and he knew the ways to move it and move with it to defend himself and retaliate. Within fifteen minutes of repetitions and drills the snow beneath his feet was packed thin and solid, firm to stand on. He could barely feel the cold from the work out, and he had no intention of stopping the sweeping strikes, lunges and footwork he needed to get down properly any time soon.

Early Evening - The Inn
Closed

Ren disliked relying on the people in the village with him. He needed to get weapons and a way to reliably start fires and get fire wood beyond the branches he broke from the forest trees. The house he shared with Jean had amassed a fair collection of branches over the month, and they did fine for keeping the furnace going where needed but it wasn't smart to rely on such meager supplies and they still mostly needed the inn and the help of the village for supplies.

When Ren entered, he had the curtain rod tied to his back and his coat draped over the far too thin tank top he had worn beneath it. His arms were full with a large stack of thick branches from the trees on the other side of the river, and a rabbit he had found at the river edge. He didn't have the tools to clean it, or the experience, and rather than take it back to keep for himself and Jean, he decided to make a gesture. Until he could avoid relying on these people he had to at least appear to be helpful.

He set the frozen wood against the wall in the room with the fireplace, picked the rabbit back up and carried it to the kitchen, laying it out on the counter for Kate or whoever else decided to make use of it. Surely someone would find a use for it that evening or the next afternoon. He leaned on the counter, twisting the sink on a little further to wash his hands and face with the water, drinking a handful against whatever better judgement anyone might have. What didn't kill him would make him stronger.

OOC: If you would like to hit me up in a pm or on plurk (punctuation) to plan anything else out, I'm all for it and willing to work things in. Onward into the week will be a similar routine for Ren, other than the days with sleet where his practice will be in the cellar of house 40.

Comments

[andrend]

He considers her for a moment when she volunteers as a sparing partner and gestures towards the far wall of the mill after a moment. A second curtain rod of similar size and weight is resting against the wooden frame. He had been testing them both out to see if their weight or balance was any different but both seemed to be made of the same material and were more or less identical.

He twists the rod in his wrist, stepping back a few steps across the many overlapping tracks left behind by his footwork and gives her a moment to pick it up and try it for herself if she wants.

"Did they mention where it is or mark it on the map?" If so he intends to find it for himself.

[womanofvalue]

Peggy walks over with a brusque and efficient gait, taking up the curtain rod and inspecting it for a moment before she holds it with both hands like a staff, eyeing the height difference between them to determine how she's going to have to take this. Jarvis had been of a height, if a little shorter, so she does have some practice against such an opponent, at least.

"Somewhere in the canyons," she replies, stepping forward as she watches his footwork and mimics it with perhaps less grace and more power than she ought to. "Those bloody canyons, I should have known."

[andrend]

Ren readies his stance, watching her movements carefully as she prepares herself. He's never been one to fight fair, but for the moment, sparring is a different matter. It's not about survival and he isn't keen on the idea of revealing exactly what he can do to anyone. Perhaps Jean, but everyone else gets the softener edge of his fighting techniques.

He points the leading end of the rod toward her and then tilts it back, welcoming her to make the first strike. His focus has shifted from offensive routines to defensive, but he fully intends to work his way back to a full onslaught. He might be holding back some styles of his fighting, but he refuses to allow himself to be seen as weak by holding back his intensity and strength.

"I'd like to see it for myself." He voices his thoughts, not as much a question as an observation. It's possible the pod is a ship, or part of one, and the others just failed to realize this. If he sees it for himself maybe he could find some further clues or repair it and escape.

[womanofvalue]

Peggy turns an aggressive look at him, eyes tilted down as she eyes the area around him, the breadth of the room they're in, and when she has a plan, she strikes with a sharp step forward, wielding the staff with no elegance and quick twists, but rather the onslaught of someone used to brunt force working its way, when calm spywork doesn't work, poking and jabbing when not bringing the rod clanging against his.

When she pauses for a momentary breath, the curtain rod still pressed to his, she raises a brow. "Perhaps you can have someone take you there," she says. "Hopefully you won't find another creature."

[andrend]

Ren matches her strides and strikes, focusing on defense when she steps forward, and putting a good amount of his weight into his own lunges. His fighting style is wild, wide and unrelenting. His strikes, when they come, fly hard and fast enough to vibrate metal in both their hands. But he fights with a flourish that leaves some weakness, sacrificing a bit of speed and efficiency for style.

He watches her movements critically and intently, observing and learning as they go. If she steps the same way more than once, he steps or swings in a way meant to throw her out of her rhythm.

"At this point I would welcome a chance to have my own go at one of those creatures. Whatever species they might be." It had not looked half as bad as some of the races or creatures he had seen in his travels, though its smell had been among the fouler.

"I might just see to getting it marked on the map if it isn't already." He was a sufficient navigator. He could find his way on his own. Poor of a choice as it would be.

"You trust the group who went not to have missed something?"

[womanofvalue]

She assesses the way he defends, feeling her palms shake when he attacks, though she uses everything in her to defend herself. This is no battle against Whitney Frost and rather relies on elements that she can control, something Peggy is quite in favour of. She'd much rather settle for punches, but it's good to pick up an element or two outside of that, never knowing what you'll need to fight your enemy with.

"I trust them enough that I believe them when they say that whatever evidence was out there fell apart," she counters, wielding the rod into a neutral position as she inhales deep before she turns it to strike again, with a forward, vertical strike downwards.

[andrend]

Ren grips the rods in both hands, sliding one down the rod to block her strike with an upward shove of the sturdier balanced pole. The strike still vibrates through his bones, and the start of a grin cracks at the corner of his lips. He's enjoying himself, and relaxing a bit into the routine of actually having someone to challenge him and fight against. Training alone was meditation worthy, but overall not enough of a challenge no matter how much he pushed himself.

Having a force to go up against that isn't predictable and static is a welcome change.

"They could have overlooked something vital. Did the pod fall apart as well?" He shoved upward at an angle as he spoke, attempting to knock her rod off and to the side, before unleashing a series of swings meant to bare down on her weapon wherever she moved it. He was attempting to force her to either continue to back up or disrupt his pattern.

[womanofvalue]

Peggy feels better for every clash of the rods, the sound of it sweet to her ears. She hasn't had anyone here to spar with that doesn't look at her and hold back, as far as she can tell. Even if it's subconscious, she knows that they won't treat her like anyone else, but to Ren, she's a stranger. For all that they might butt heads, she finds she's enjoying herself immensely at this exact moment.

"The pod didn't, as far as the story they told," she admits. "My concern is that it's still where they think it is. The canyons are notorious for shifting," she explains. "It doesn't make sense, but..." She trails off to bat at his rod with a sharp sound of alarm, swinging back at him with blunt force to push him back with the oncoming swings. "You're not going to distract me!"

[andrend]

Ren laughs, not the short and sarcastic laugh he had used once in the village to express frustration but a genuine sound of amusement. He bats her weapon right back, taking a large stride backwards to give her room, and spinning the rod once in his off hand to stretch out his wrist, leaving her an opening.

"No? I'm sure you are capable of multi-tasking." He isn't taunting exactly, though there's an edge to his tone that's sharp and dark as always. "Tell me about the canyons."

[womanofvalue]

Peggy uses the opportunity and the opening to strike forward, swinging for it with the hopes that she can give him one good smack as they go on. "They shift," she says, moving to a more defensive stance now. "And they go on far past what they ought to. They break and they want to trap you, and when they offer you an opening, it's only so that you can play right into their hands, whomever is controlling this place," she says knowingly.

"I got a warning, I'm fairly sure. I think that if I go out there one more time, I won't get even that," she says darkly.

[andrend]

The way she talks about the cliffs like they're alive is unsettling but it leads him to wonder if they are on a planet at all, or a repurposed one like Starkiller. It had been a planet until they had transformed it into a weapon. Perhaps thee village was a different kind of weapon. One intended to work on much smaller scales.

He takes the hit, only turning and knocking it enough to make it glance off and along his arm. The hit sends fire racing through him. It burns and lances with pain, and the pain ignites something in Ren he was waiting for.

He slams forward as if fueled by her landed blow, his next series of swings come hard and fast, one after another. His footwork pushes forward, working to back her up again, and then just as ruthless as the onslaught began, he side steps out of the way of her and her weapon, letting her retreat or follow as he backs himself away on the defensive.

"You think the canyon face is being controlled?" Unlike their first conversation, the question isn't laced with that trace of contempt at a ludicrous suggestion. It seems he might actually be asking in earnest.

[womanofvalue]

Peggy stumbles backwards, but doesn't fall when he attacks so furiously, stabilizing herself with the rod pressed into the floor as she stares at him from where she's panting now, her breaths coming faster despite the fact that he wants to continue a conversation while they do this. "Yes. Controlled," she agrees, because when he says it like that, it makes sense. Maybe this is all simulated or false, but the cliff face and the situation around them being controlled makes sense.

"Perhaps even remotely," she adds, because if the siren had been connected by wiring to somewhere far from here (a control room, perhaps), then they wouldn't ever meet the people there. She hefts up the rod again, catching it in both hands, and ducks low to try and catch him with a hard smack to the knees, if he doesn't move.

[andrend]

He jumps back, the rod moving against the fabric above his kneecaps, only barely missing his knees themselves. She's not bad. He's impressed. He takes only a second to allow himself time to recover and then he swings for her head. She seems to have good reflexes. He doesn't hold back and trusts her to duck out of the way in time.

"It would make the most sense, unless this planet is alive itself." Not impossible he supposed, but unlikely.

[womanofvalue]

"It's also the most frustrating possibility," is her return, ducking down swiftly as her hair gets in her face (she needs more ties to keep it back for when she's training). "If it's someone that isn't here, that means that it's someone I can't haul in and punch in the face," is her bitter remark, rolling out of the way to give some space between the two of them.

She breathes out sharply, trying to decide how to attack next. "If the planet is alive," she says slowly, "what else is out there? Who else might be out there?"

[andrend]

Ren thinks he could think of more frustrating possibilities, but he keeps the thought and the list forming in his mind both to himself. There is at least a shared sentiment between them in the desire to have someone to put the blame to. Someone to target his rage and his revenge toward. He takes a step back, looking for a moment like he might consider switching back to a defensive tactic, but then he taps into his frustration instead and lets it fuel him and push him forward for an onslaught assault.

This time the repeated swings are meant for the pole rather than the woman herself, and he isn't driving forward so much as trying to see where their weapons clash.

"Even if the planet isn't alive, we have no way of knowing that." Or if this canyon was the only one. Perhaps the entire planet was artificial and made of tiny prisons disguised as villages or other habitats. Maybe the planet and its prisons were designed by the Architects, found and put back into use by another race or group.

Or the Architects themselves? It was something to consider.

"The planet could be a ship or a construct itself and still be covered in unknown life."

[womanofvalue]

If this is a ship or a sentient planet, Peggy feels entirely out of her depth. She compartmentalizes that aside and shoves those worries to the back of her mind because the harsh clanging of the rods is all that she wants to focus on, steam building as she works to the balls of her feet in aggression to push back, wishing that she could abandon the weapon in order to use her fists, but this sparring requires elegance and grace and not that kind of brute force (unfortunately). It makes sense that they're in some sort of bioformed environment.

Everything is so controlled and precise, from the good to the bad, and Peggy has to wonder if there aren't little switches being toggled in order to control what they do next. It's that thought and useless lack of control that makes her slip, her rod accidentally grazing Ren's arm to the point that she worries there might be bleeding. "Sorry," she pants out, trying to get a hold of herself. "This whole situation gets me a bit pent up."

[andrend]

Ren drops his defensive stance after the hit, letting his own weapon rest to the side hanging from one hand. He shakes out his other arm, watching her recover from her onslaught, his own breathing heavy but even and controlled. He had been working at his routines for hours, he could do for a short break, and he takes that opportunity now while she is still.

"It's fine." He offers, his tone calm and almost understanding. "We're isolated and imprisoned without even a sliver of a clue as to our captors. If it doesn't get you pent up, there's something wrong with you." Which was exactly the problem he often had. Any appearance of acceptance or nonchalance in the village uncomfortably knocked against his fear of one day accepting something he absolutely refused to accept. That they had no control and no way out.

"You don't seem the staff fighting type." He adds after a moment, and moves back and to the side to rest his weapon against the wall. If she wanted to attack him while he was unarmed he knew he could hold his own and get his weapon back in his hands, but he didn't think she would.

[womanofvalue]

"I don't like feeling controlled," she says, given that she likes to apply control to her own life and situation, from the way she dresses and carries herself to the very situations she places herself in. Peggy prides herself in feeling like she has a modicum of control and to think that someone else is pulling these cruel switches is something she doesn't even like to entertain. "Worse, given some of the things that have happened, whomever is doing the controlling doesn't seem to like me very much."

She arches a brow when he accuses her of not being a certain type. "You shouldn't judge someone by the way they look," she advises. "I fenced, quite a bit, and the staff is an extension of that. I much prefer boxing, though, as far as both a workout and defense goes."

[andrend]

Ren would say he sympathized, but to a degree he could not. Control was important, and on occasion, an necessity for him to not always be his own control held over him. He did not, however, appreciate being controlled by unknown forces meddling in his destiny and his survival.

"I doubt anything that liked us, as you put it, would toss us into this allegedly inescapable canyon in the first place." Though he could see Leia Organa doing something of the sort in some ill-thought out attempt to 'protect' her son. The thought makes him internally seethe all over again but he is quick to funnel that anger away for later use.

"I was not going off your look. I was referring to your footwork and rhythm. You put force above finesse." He doesn't speak of it as if it's a fault so much as an observation. She wasn't the only one to prefer direct and brutal techniques, but Ren had always found a mix of brutality and finesse to suit him best. "I have trained in weaponless combat, but I'm unfamiliar with boxing."

[womanofvalue]

"You can't spend much time on finesse when your opponents don't give a damn about it either," she says curtly, having learned quickly that the only way she was going to succeed was if she could brawl as mean and as tough as the next man, even if that man happened to several inches taller than her and possibly a hundred pounds heavier. "There's a good reason why I didn't keep pursuing fencing. Useless, that, in a war," she notes sharply.

"Besides, force will be helpful here," she says. "In a place that positions you against your elements so frequently, a lot of force might be needed."

[andrend]

For a split second Ren's lip curled up in a slight grin. Barely there and gone as fast. Maybe you can't, he thinks to himself, but for once he doesn't voice the thought that comes so quickly to his tongue. He has never had issue marrying finesse and force, never sacrificed his fighting style wholly for power when he could merge the two. Footing and style were as essential to his fighting techniques as force, and they served him well in maintaining a rhythm and flow to his battles, keeping his balance and upsetting his opponents. Fighting unfairly helped, but even in that it was an extension of his style that flowed into backhands and violently ruthless attacks.

"Not so useless for some." Is what he offers instead, shifting his grip to swing the pole idly in his offhand for a moment, balancing it and allowing its weight to shift comfortably back and forth.

"Keeping my balance when my opponent seeks to offset it, maintaining a style of combat that serves me well while forcing my opponent to alter theirs. Nothing is useless if you learn how to move it to your advantage."

[womanofvalue]

She wonders where it is that he's fought, but as she narrows her eyes to argue with him, she already knows that doesn't accomplish much. Peggy's a sharp, quick learner, and she knows that telling him that the battles in the European theatre hadn't afforded anytime for his method of fighting won't go over very well, so she bites her tongue to avoid saying anything of machine guns and barrages of shells and dismals, dark forests.

"One on one fighting, then," she clarifies, to get a better picture of the sort of fighting experience he's had in the past. "I do prefer fists, in that case."