Participants:
| Scene Title | Armlock |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | For Devon, it comes as a surprise, which means that Graeme insists he needs to learn. |
| Date | March 27, 2011 |
Dorchester Towers: Remi & Graeme's Apartment
The morning had come and gotten well underway, uneventful in spite of the activities of two certain men. An hour or so spent at the shooting range in Brooklyn offered both a chance to improve their marksmanship. Devon's skills have once again shown themselves to be useful, a small improvement over last time with one or two more holes in the silhouette in lethal places. He'd managed to keep it together, too, unlike the time before. The anxiety he'd displayed before regarding actually using the weapon in practice for its intended purpose visible only after the activity. But even then it's quickly recovered from, pushed away with a deep breath in and out.
After the range, the two had returned to Dorchester towers. There was still more work to be done, skills to hone. Arrival had Devon disappearing to change into clothing a little more suited for working out in, board shorts and a t-shirt as opposed to the long-sleeved tee and blue jeans he'd had on at the range. Belongings stowed just inside the door to the bedroom-slash-work out space, the younger man pads out onto the mats to begin stretching, focusing on his shoulders, while he waits for Graeme to join him.
Graeme emerges from the small bathroom that adjoins his bedroom, having changed shirts from the one he'd worn out to a more plain teeshirt suitable for further practise. The teacher's own marksmanship has improved markedly, if it can be put that way, in the time that he's owned a firearm again, the chance to put long unused skills back into use meaning that he's at least gotten close to only hitting the silhouette. Eight years is a long time, but not long enough that Graeme cannot relearn what he'd already learned once before.
Now, though, he wanders to a section of the wall, leaning against it before beginning a long series of stretches and basic exercises, in contemplative silence and an occasional glance over at the teenager. It's the same routine that Devon's seen Graeme go through many times, by now, though, one that is nearly second-nature for the man. It's also the same one that Graeme days not long after waking each morning, with some modifications to the stretches.
Pale eyes flick toward Graeme on the teacher's entrance, but Devon's acquainted enough with the older man's habits that he doesn't speak. He'll wait until Graeme initiates the lesson, content to focus on his own stretching. He rotates his shoulders, working especially the one that had taken injury not so long ago. He holds the stretch, arm across his chest to stretch the muscles across the back portion of his shoulder, for a good thirty seconds before switching sides.
A couple longer moments pass, and then Graeme moves closer to the wall. His own stretches finished as far as the younger man can tell, there's a couple of false starts before Graeme's settled in a handstand, using the wall for balance, and watching the younger man. Still, the handstand is remarkably steady, for something that the teacher hasn't known how to do for very long. "Whenever you're ready," he says.
Arms swinging open then closed like a butterfly, Devon turns to more fully face the teacher. he sinks into a more neutral, comfortable stance, giving brief appraisal to Graeme's position. He seems almost hesitant in consideration, trying to decide if he's going to attack while the man is handstanding, or simply show he's ready. He opts for the former by sending an easy kick, high in intention but low in actual force, to strike the older man's chest with the ball of his foot.
And this is why Graeme was doing the handstand against the wall. If he wasn't against the wall, it wouldn't be possible, but there's a bit of a grin. The teacher shifts backwards, leaning more against the padded wall, and as Devon begins to kick, moving all his weight to one hand, in order to block the approaching attack. His hand twists for a grasp on Devon's ankle at the same time as Graeme does something akin to the second half of a cartwheel to stand up.
It's not by far the most graceful of moves, but by the time he's upright, Graeme lets go of Devon's ankle, looking at the teenager. "You should have waited until I closed my eyes, or something."
It's not easy to tell which part of himself hits the mat first, but something in the vicinity of Devon's upper body or head gets very close and personal with the mat. A slurry of unpleasantries are cut off before they can even begin, as he clings to focus against the attack. He's belly toward the mat, face and shoulders resting on the floor just before Graeme releases his leg. And it's then, before his lower half has a chance to join his upper, that the younger man donkey kicks at Graeme's midsection.
This time, Graeme just steps backwards, several quick steps out of the way, letting the attack fall short, and giving Devon time to recover from the fall and get up. There's a glance at the wall, but further practise at the handstand will probably wait for another time. And it's there that he lets the relaxed stance take predominance, waiting.
After his feet thud against the floor, Devon picks himself up. There's no snark, no witticism to belittle his own failings nor Graeme's apparent cheating. He turns to face the teacher again, remaining casual yet observant. A minute passes, and then another, and it's when the older man inhales that the younger strikes again. This time it's with a fist that goes for Graeme's gut. A second follows a half beat behind, hooked to catch him on the side of the face.
The teacher is apparently still on the thing of letting the teenager attack and simply blocking. The first strike is allowed to connect, though. This, perhaps, is where the teenager accuses him of cheating, the blow simply not actually registering as more than a passing annoyance. The second one is where Graeme both blocks and takes the opportunity to grab Devon's arm, using what little leverage he has simply to disorient the teenager for a bit, a modified armlock pushing the taller downwards, buying him an opportunity to hopefully send the teenager to meet the mat again. Graeme's foot hooks with significant force to pull Devon's foot out from under him at the ankle, without letting go, quite yet, of the armlock.
In Graeme's grasp, as Devon goes down before he can catch himself, he can feel the younger man's shoulder's slip in its socket. Pain travels through his arm and across his shoulder, a tightening in his jaw and flaring of nostrils shown in evidence. His other arm comes up to grab hold of the teacher's, to keep his weight from being left to hang. "That one," he says tightly, feet getting under him and straightening again, "has issues." Carefully pulling his arm free of the lock, the teenager takes a minute to rotate, pain a fleeting thing now that he's control of the appendage again.
Graeme winces, immediately shifting his stance so that the teenager does not fall too much, and there's no resistance to let go, when Devon pulls free. "Sorry," he says, definitely apologetic. There was no actual intention on his part for it to be the teenager's bad shoulder, simply a miscalculation and that it becomes difficult to keep track of which one it is.
"It's fine," Devon says as he stretches the shoulder again, carefully. "I need to start stressing it, but maybe not that way yet." He lets out a breath, hunching that side a touch to stretch the tendons as well as muscle. Giving his arm one more full rotation, nothing damaged beyond what was already there, he nods to himself then looks at Graeme.
There's a nod from Graeme. "No, probably not," he agrees, still a small amount of concern on his face. "I think we'll go easy for the rest of the morning, though." It's a statement and a decision, even if he's said I think to make it less overbearing; Graeme just didn't leave room for objection. There's a moment of pause and quiet as he considers the change in plans, before he meets Devon's gaze, in some part expecting the teenager to argue.
"It's alright," Devon says again, minor as far as could be considered an argument, "you just surprised me. Never had an arm lock put on before." He shrugs, as typical only one shoulder rising and falling, then folds his arms over his chest.
Well, that's a possibility for today's change of plans. Graeme nods, brows furrowed for a moment. "Alright, which means you're going to learn how to do them, and how to get out of them without getting hurt," is the retort. And it's the usual response, when Devon admits to something Graeme's done being surprising or otherwise new. "Followed by shoulder locks."
Nodding, the younger man steps forward and offers out his arm for manipulation. The injured side, with a determined look. "Just go easy. Need to learn this side as much as the other, if not more."
"'Kay." Going easy was definitely in the plan, and so, much more slowly, demonstrates the same armlock that he'd done before. He grabs Devon's wrist first, and waits a moment, and then without as much as warning, goes through the rest of the hold, ending in hyperextension and rotation of Devon's elbow and Graeme gaining some amount of leverage, but without the rotation of the shoulder that had happened before, although there is some tension. "Usually, you force the shoulder to rotate, too," the teacher explains. "But not this time."
Devon watches silently, eyes following and locking onto points as they're shown. "Show me," he requests quietly, aware of the tension already placed in his arm and shoulder. His eyes tick up to Graeme briefly, then drop again to his own arm. "Just slowly, I'll tap if it's too much."
"Alright." It is not a way that the body is intended to move, as Graeme uses the leverage he has to force Devon's arm to rotate outwards, from the shoulder, forcing more hyperextension of the elbow at the same time. It's slowly, with attention paid to Devon's response, perhaps against the teacher's better judgment but it wasn't an argument that he cared to have. The end result is more leverage, allowing the teacher, despite his smaller size, a definite advantage. Graeme holds it, for a moment, before letting Devon go. "Alright, now, your turn."
Though he's anticipating the need to tap, to relieve the pressure, Devon's intent on how the lock works. His body responds as more pressure is put on, bending or shifting to Graeme's will, just a flicker of pain showing until the pressure is released. He straightens, then takes the teacher's arm to manipulate in the same way. His actions are slower, contemplative.
The first time through, Graeme simply lets Devon do so, not offering any resistance. "Your grip is too loose," is the only criticism that he offers, though at one point the teen's efforts actually earn a small wince from the teacher. "The way it is, I could just twist my arm out."
Retracing his steps, Devon starts over again. Still slow and methodical, more sureness to his grip. It may still be on the loose side, which is suitable for practice, but there's a measure to his touch that implies a readiness to clamp down.
There's a nod of approval, this time, and then Graeme steps back, freeing his arm still without too much difficulty. "Much better." The next hold that he shows the teenager, there is less criticism for the teenager. And aside from the slight change in plans, the morning ends up proceeding very much as planned for the two, without further incident.