Starring:
Date: March 20th, 2010
Summary:
Claire-san begins her training with Adamiyagi.
"An Auspicious Start"
Central Park, New York City
Claire Bennet is pretty much sure this would be on her mother's list of things what not to do when grounded: meeting a four-hundred-and-something-year-old man in Central Park at sunset. If it's not on the list, it's only because Sandra never thought of it as a possibility. But a surreptitious phone call to Adam Monroe resulted in this arrangement — meeting in this remote corner of Central Park at this time.
Claire sits alone on a bench, hands in her jacket pocket, the gray hood up to cover her head. Her eyes watch the path, waiting for the man she thinks might understand her situation. And hopefully might be able to help.
Ah, how perfect is this. Sunset. Central Park. Early spring-ish weather, complete with mild breeze and light jacket temps. Lots of people are out and about in the park, jogging and playing Frisbee and what have you, but this old little part of the park is more heavily-wooded, a little off the main jogging paths, and typically ignored or avoided, particularly as it gets on toward dark. And there's a reason why.
She never even saw him. It took very little effort to just hide under one of the bridges then sneak up, using trees for cover. First, it seems he's 5 minutes late, then 10 minutes late. Then, there's a click from behind her, and the feel of steel pressed against the back of her head, through the hair. "Good evening. You're dead," the Brit tells her, calmly. "Didn't your father teach you to grow eyes in the very vulnerable back of your head?"
Her face drains of color and her lips gasp, about to yell for help before she hears the familiar voice of the man she spoke with on the telephone. Still, he can no doubt hear her heart pounding in her chest, as she has to question for a moment if she's made a very grave mistake in asking him for help — even if Angela and Nathan both seemed to approve of the idea — Angela enough to give her the phone number, at any rate. Who really knows what that woman thinks about anything?
"Sadly, the only body parts I can grow are ones I've lost, and in their original locations," she says, her voice husky but in a study of neutrality as she forces herself to be calm. She slowly turns to look up at him.
"Yes…I'm quite aware of the abilities you possess Miss Bennet. Familiar, you may even say." Point made, the gun is holstered back under the suit jacket he wears, so as not to arouse any additional suspicion from any passersby that may happen upon this little scene here in the park. "So, tell me…you want training, hm? To use your power? It's pretty easy, really. I don't know why the black widow would've sent you to me just for that." Mostly, he's thinking out loud, but he does manage to slide around the front of the bench and sit on the other end from her. Don't want to give the wrong impression, you know.
"She didn't send me," Claire corrects him, tilting her head to look up at him as even sitting he's much taller than she is. "I asked for your information." She swings her feet a little — they don't quite hit the ground with her back up against the back of the bench. "I know how to use my power — I mean, it's kind of just on. Doesn't take a lot of thought. I more want to learn how to fight. I've already been used and kidnapped a couple of times. Being able to heal myself doesn't mean I can keep myself from being abducted. Or killed." She nods to his suit jacket where the gun disappeared. "As you pointed out."
"Clearly. Well, the real secrets of fighting are two things. Always have a way out, and keep your enemy surprised. Clearly you had neither just a moment ago. Aside from those things, everything else is just gravy. Although, it does help if you weren't five foot nothing and weighed more than a sack of potatoes soaking wet." If it comes to fighting, well, there's not a whole heck of a lot Adam can teach, aside from sword play. His fighting method includes such moves as the 'kick in the jewels' (it's super effective!) to the 'throw sand and grit in the eyes.' Self-explanatory stuff like that.
Claire nods, glancing around the park to look for possible escape routes. "Sorry I'm short. I could get fat if you think it'd help," she says wryly, one corner of her mouth moving into a half smirk. "Surprise I might be able to do — especially since no one really expects someone to break their own arm in order to get away." She frowns and toys with a frayed thread on her cuff. She's never been one for fighting, but she sees it as a necessary evil in this case. "Any recommendations for weapons? Something I won't get arrested for having?"
"No, not really. Most of the good ones are illegal. About the best you can do is a few hidden blades. A sword…" Monroe says, motioning the blade that was on his back but is now at his side, sheathed. "These will usually confuse police for a while as they decide whether it's deadly, or for show, or what. If you tell them it's not sharp, or it's for one of those costume conventions or something, they usually won't bother to check. Nobody carries a sword, which is often an advantage." Unless they have impenetrable skin, regrow their limbs…or you lose your sword in the jungle anyway.
She glances down at the sheath at Adam's side and then looks back up with a 'are you kidding me' expression on her face. "I … don't think I can walk around with a big giant sword on my side. I'm kinda trying to lay low, be normal, unobtrusive, right? That would be a little … um… counterproductive, wouldn't it?" She sighs a little fatalistically, standing up and shoving her hands back in her pockets. "Never mind. I'll just go take jujitsu at the Y or something."
"How about something more concealable?" Sliding his jacket aside a bit, you can see that on the opposite side of that pistol holster is a rather wicked looking knife. Well, a dagger really. It's in a leather holster, with a long and straight blade. "Did you know that some hitmen prefer these to guns. They like to get up close and personal with their target. To me, it's just another way to fight someone off. And as a bonus, I never have to worry about cutting myself."
"That's a possibility," Claire says, though her brows knit together at seeing a third weapon on his person — did he bring them all because he was meeting her or is this his normal portable cache? "I guess that's a bonus. I need to learn… to not be afraid of getting hurt. I think that's the first hurdle. I'm afraid to fight because I'm afraid I'll get hurt, but that's kind of … well, stupid." Especially given that she doesn't feel pain anymore. Unfortunately, her little rendezvous with Sylar didn't eliminate her instinct to be afraid of pain. Just the actual sensation.
"There's only one way to get over that, really. The bigger hurdle is not wanting to inflict pain. You might think you're afraid of getting hurt, but as you said, there's no point. The problem is whether you're going to be able to pull the trigger or stab when you need to. You need to learn to fight dirty. Use every trick. Claw and bite and scratch. Threaten their family. Insult them." Appeal to their business sense. Adam leaves that last one out. He does, however, stand up from the bench after Claire.
There's a chewing of her lower lip for a moment as she considers this. "If it's me or them? Yeah, I can do that. Or if it's me or my family." She narrows her eyes a little as if to harden herself to the thought, to make herself tougher. "I want to be able to protect them and myself, and if I have to hurt someone else to do it, I will." She thinks. Maybe. She watches him a little warily as he gets up. She's clearly not overly trusting, at least she has that going for her.
"So then, if someone, does, say…" he starts to say, casually. But quickly he pulls the sword from the sheath and slashes out at Claire. It's not aimed particularly well, just in the general vicinity of her chest, but he is drawing from the hip, the traditional one cut, diagonal, upward slash that would kill someone rapidly. "…that," he finishes, checking out the damage, if any.
She starts to dodge, shoulders moving backwards, but then remembers that it's pointless. The backward dodge reverses, and instead Claire reaches out with both hands to try to grab the sword — by its blade — in both hands, to wrench it out of the grip of its wielder, turning her hands sharply so that if he holds on, and if she doesn't slice through her own fingers, his wrist will snap if he holds on.
It's…a draw then. She won't let the blade go and neither will he. So, of course, the force of the slash causes his wrist to break, predictably. There's a nice sickening crack to go with it. He winces, but it's not like it bothers him a whole heck of a lot strangely. Of course, there has to be some nice crimson spew from the direction of her little fingers; that blade is pretty danged sharp. So…who was expecting what and what was a surprise to whom? We're about to see.
The strange thing is surely the fact she doesn't wince as the blade slices her palms and her fingers, blood squeezing out of her grip and then dripping onto the ground — she does wince at the sound of that cracking bone. She looks up at him, eyes narrowed, wondering what comes next, but it seems he's waiting her out. She holds that awkward angle, knowing he feels pain, even if he's made himself almost immune, then turns the sword back, to bring the wrist back to the position he started in. She then stomps on his foot with all her scant weight.
"Ow…cheap!" he grins a bit, hopping a bit on his unstomped foot. Thing about girls is that they wear those damned heels, and when they stomp with those things, it's like, 10 times worse. Maybe sophmorically, his response is to just push on her fivehead, firmly, to send her spilling down on to her butt. The sword is forgotten, for the moment, as he gimps around on one good foot, rubbing his wrist…which he resets with a few more little cracks of bone. "The move, I mean. Definitely not the shoes."
They're not real heels, just boots with decent block heels that bring her height up another two inches and felt properly kick-ass for this little rendezvous in the park with Adam. When she goes sprawling, she wrinkles her nose, bloody hands coming in contact with dirty ground. She hurriedly brushes them off on her jeans so that the bits of dirt don't get stuck under the skin. Not because they'd get infected but because that'd be gross. She scrambles up to her feet once more and grins a little, his laughter infecting her. "Got them on sale. You likey?"
"I was talking about mine! Wingtips aren't cheap! But, ah…yours are nice. Good for this sort of technique, I suppose." Adam flexes his wrist a few times, this way and that, in circles, making sure it's not crunching strangely or turned ever so much or whatever. "That was a good start, for sure. Had I not known you didn't mind having a finger tip or 10 lobbed off, I would've been fairly surprised. Though, if you wanted to go for the KO, you would've hit in the…ah, the sensitive area, then pulled my own gun on me."
"I thought about it, but you're doing me a favor," Claire says with a smirk. "It might heal in a moment, but I didn't want you to damn me to hell in that moment, right? I would have done it if you were really after me though. I think. I just didn't want it to like, go off accidentally. Don't think we want the attention even if we both survived it." It sounds logical. It might just be because she doesn't like guns.
Adam gives a nod to the girl. "An auspicious start. However, a little birdy tells me one of us has a curfew, and it's not the one of us who's going to go enjoy an entire bottle of rum. However…" From his belt, he removes that dagger and the holster, offering it on over to Claire. "Here, this may come in handy. Practice with it, keep it on you, whatever. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know how to use. It's exceedingly sharp steel; it will cut flesh and muscle as easily as paper. We can schedule the next lesson when you have mastered this lesson, Claire-san."
Claire takes the holster, glancing at it with appreciation. "Thank you, Adam," she says quietly, then smirks and gives a little bow, hands coming together to thank him as one would a sensei in a karate movie. Hopefully it doesn't offend him! "I appreciate it. My uncle, my father — they're willing to teach me, but I don't think they'd be willing to injure me. And I think that's what I need to really learn." She tucks the holster into her baggy sweatshirt. "Enjoy the rum."
"Always…" He leaves just like in one of those campy samurai films. Is it on purpose though? He literally walks off toward the sunset, jacket billowing and sword put up on his shoulder. Granted, he limps a bit from that kick in his toes, and he gives his wrist a little shake now and then, but he's heading off into the sunset like the wise master…even if it's to suck down a bottle of booze.