Carolina's stance is wide. She bends forward at the hip, head sunk low between her shoulders like a prowling animal. No one learns anything when you've resigned to taking it easy, and she doesn't plan on it.
Half the game is keeping balance; a previous lesson. Transfer your weight where it needs to be while throwing your opponents. If you feel your control slipping, bail out. You want to survive, not die showing off. Not until you're good enough to do both.
She has no doubt Fever will get there.
For now, she'll have fun bodying her. Taking control and maintaining it in her fist.
"Your hips are still too high." Carolina circles her, teetering on the edge between defensive and offensive. She throws her arms out to grip Fever's shoulder and nape.
They've been over this - that she needs to fix her stance, be more comfortable on the ground than giving into her innate instincts to dodge, to move. It serves you well in some fights, but it means it's easier to knock you off balance, when your feet aren't fully centered. Long held habits. Too high - there's barely any time for adjustments before she feels the hands on her. But she had been clear.
Enemies won't go easy on me. No reason for you to.
She tries to use her bodyweight as leverage, to not pull against Carolina's grip - too strong, when she's on her feet - but to shift it, redirect her own while she reaches to grab at her wrist and use the motion to try and pull Carolina with her. Out of that grounded state, out of balance - the same way she'd use a staff to sweep someone's legs out and force them to reconsider. Start there, and keep going.
There's a grace to grappling, she thinks. Skill required that you might not find throwing punches. Insight lost in closed fists. Burning hips and knees. Fever grabs her wrist and by doing so apportions apart of herself; loses and gains; opens herself to being grabbed, but could just as easily do the grabbing. That's the risk in hand to hand combat.
She could dance like this all day— locked an arms length away, circling and making no progress— but she won't. Her tastes are aggressive. Her eyes are set on the woman across the mat.
She'll need to get in close.
Carolina's palm drops from nape to shoulder blade. Her grip is bruising. She leads with her head and oppresses the distance that might have been used to wrench away from her. Let's Fever keep the wrist— she doesn't need it.
(And tucked beneath skin and tendon, a racing heartbeat.)
Being at a disadvantage from the start makes one swallow their pride. It stings, but it's a stinging Fever's used to at this point. She didn't set her mind to understanding a sword by refusing to recognize when she's being overtaken, when she needs to move. Innately, she wants to push back, and crushes the spark in her mind that would summon electricity to her skin and fight on her behalf.
She's too close now, the distance that could have been utilized to wriggle free quickly vanished. So she has to make a new plan. And the challenge of it is enough to sink her teeth in.
Free hand to elbow, fingertips pressing in at the soft interior of the joint, trying to force Carolina's arm to bend and let go, to move away from her so that there's more of a gap. But the other arm has to be kept off of her too - she knows it will not be idle, and her grip on Carolina's wrist shifts, trying to force it into flexion to keep it occupied.
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no subject
Carolina's stance is wide. She bends forward at the hip, head sunk low between her shoulders like a prowling animal. No one learns anything when you've resigned to taking it easy, and she doesn't plan on it.
Half the game is keeping balance; a previous lesson. Transfer your weight where it needs to be while throwing your opponents. If you feel your control slipping, bail out. You want to survive, not die showing off. Not until you're good enough to do both.
She has no doubt Fever will get there.
For now, she'll have fun bodying her. Taking control and maintaining it in her fist.
"Your hips are still too high." Carolina circles her, teetering on the edge between defensive and offensive. She throws her arms out to grip Fever's shoulder and nape.
no subject
Enemies won't go easy on me. No reason for you to.
She tries to use her bodyweight as leverage, to not pull against Carolina's grip - too strong, when she's on her feet - but to shift it, redirect her own while she reaches to grab at her wrist and use the motion to try and pull Carolina with her. Out of that grounded state, out of balance - the same way she'd use a staff to sweep someone's legs out and force them to reconsider. Start there, and keep going.
no subject
There's a grace to grappling, she thinks. Skill required that you might not find throwing punches. Insight lost in closed fists. Burning hips and knees. Fever grabs her wrist and by doing so apportions apart of herself; loses and gains; opens herself to being grabbed, but could just as easily do the grabbing. That's the risk in hand to hand combat.
She could dance like this all day— locked an arms length away, circling and making no progress— but she won't. Her tastes are aggressive. Her eyes are set on the woman across the mat.
She'll need to get in close.
Carolina's palm drops from nape to shoulder blade. Her grip is bruising. She leads with her head and oppresses the distance that might have been used to wrench away from her. Let's Fever keep the wrist— she doesn't need it.
(And tucked beneath skin and tendon, a racing heartbeat.)
meanwhile back on the island
She's too close now, the distance that could have been utilized to wriggle free quickly vanished. So she has to make a new plan. And the challenge of it is enough to sink her teeth in.
Free hand to elbow, fingertips pressing in at the soft interior of the joint, trying to force Carolina's arm to bend and let go, to move away from her so that there's more of a gap. But the other arm has to be kept off of her too - she knows it will not be idle, and her grip on Carolina's wrist shifts, trying to force it into flexion to keep it occupied.