OOM/IM: The brawl

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut knows the feeling of being so angry, so out of control, that only outright violence will grind peace back into your bones. He's felt it more times than he cares to count, himself.

He's never gotten quite that sense from Baze. Close, but Baze's anger is more sustained - the controlled fire of a flamethrower rather than the out-of-control inferno of a burning house.

This is something else entirely.

Chirrut immediately abandons his tea and scoops up his staff as Baze approaches, his whole posture tense and wary.

"Baze?"

Comments

[iprotectyou]

Baze reaches Chirrut with that fire blazing in his eyes, his anger limning him. "Outside," he says through gritted teeth, his fingers on the staff at his side creaking with how tight they grip it.

He stalks to the back door and shoulders it open, holding it open for Chirrut to pass through. Once they approach their usual sparring clearing, Baze lets his breath escape him in a gusty sigh.

He digs his fingers into his forehead. "He violated me! He wanted me to kiss him 'properly'! I don't even know what that means!"

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut frowns. He would reach out to Baze and check for himself, but with that sort of anger pouring off of him, Chirrut might just as easily find himself eating Baze's fist in retaliation.

"You are alright?" He pauses, then adds, "Physically? I can tell you're not alright, obviously."

[iprotectyou]

"Yes," Baze says, threads of his rage giving way to exasperation. His hand moves down to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Just... wound up, is all. Chirrut, you could tell who he was. I couldn't. He had taken on a female form, and... we were cuddling. He kissed me. He used me."

He slams the end of his staff into the ground with one hand, grounding it. Baze spits into the dirt. "And he called me a 'good man.' Said he wanted to get to know me, and that's why he lied."

[idontneedluck]

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." A Force signature is more difficult to mask, after all. "And you are a good man, Baze Malbus - this isn't less true just because a coward uses the term."

[iprotectyou]

Baze stretches his shoulders rather than answering that statement, trying and failing to ease the tension out of them. Pain has gathered in his lower back; when he jerked away from Sinric, he pulled a muscle there, and the irritation chafes his temper.

He doesn't want to tell Chirrut that he's wrong, that Baze Malbus is not a good man, but hearing it from his friend's lips rather than that coward's... Well, Baze can almost believe it. Almost.

"You're a better one," he says, closing his eyes. "And I don't blame you at all for not being there. You did come and rescue me."

He kicks his staff into his hands and levels it at Chirrut's chest. "Now, come spar with me, my friend. My blood is still hot."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut doesn't answer in words. Not full ones, anyway - just a sharp bark of warning as he charges Baze, closing the distance to strike.

Since he isn't battle-mad himself, he can decide how hard he wants to fight, how much work he wants to give Baze. Right now? All of it.

[iprotectyou]

Baze is grateful that his friend understands him, understands--intimately, having had it himself--the rage. Violence, a controlled outlet, helps bank the flames.

Baze listens to Chirrut's footfalls in the dirt, and opens his eyes just as his friend is about to swing his staff towards the larger man's knees. He whips his staff around, jabbing it into the ground to meet Chirrut's in a block that rattles his arms. That feels so good that Baze seeks out another shockwave, slamming his staff into Chirrut's and taking aim at his chest.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut's style is usually built for evasion, for allowing blows to deflect or simply miss while he gets into position... but that's not what this is about.

He bulls straight into Baze's attack, his staff rattling heavily in his hands. This might not be the longest fight he's ever been in, but it will make up for it in brutality.

[iprotectyou]

Baze snarls. He appreciates Chirrut's meeting him head on, but if his friend lets Baze hit him... The larger man is shoved into a defensive position, and the smaller one slips through his guard more than he'd like. Baze has been improving since he came to heaven, relearning the steps of the dance after nineteen years of neglecting staffwork, but his skills have still slipped considerably. Fire arcs up his ribs as Chirrut lands two hits in rapid succession, and Baze's arms quickly grow numb from blocking.

His still burning anger galvanizes his muscles, and he strikes at Chirrut's head, going on the offensive.

Baze hopes he blocks; that hit will knock him out otherwise.

[idontneedluck]

Luckily for everyone involved, Chirrut does.

Barely.

He reverts back to his usual form, grounding his staff and whipping around it so he can be entirely out of the way of that brutal momentum. He's not so lucky to get out of the way of Baze's next series of strikes, grunting as the impact nearly folds him in half. He has to scramble to get back into position, back into form.

[iprotectyou]

Baze should draw back. He should back off, let Chirrut recover.

But Baze is too angry. He rationalizes it by thinking that Chirrut knew what he was getting into by accepting Baze's challenge. And Chirrut hasn't called off the match--not that he'd ever surrender.

So Baze continues pressing his advantage, chasing his friend down and forcing him to defend himself. Baze's strikes are precise and measured, his rage driving him to be more and more controlled--and thus more and more dangerous.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut is so proud.

He understands that is ridiculous, he understands that right now he needs to focus on not getting hit like that again, he understands that he might need to revert to form entirely if he wants to avoid serious injury.

But despite his rage (or perhaps because of it), Baze is fighting with a grace that Chirrut has missed for decades.

So it's impossible to keep the grin off of his face. He's just so terribly pleased.

He shows it by sliding free of Baze's attempt to box him in and launching a vicious offensive.

[iprotectyou]

At some point, while Baze defends himself, his rage, that fire that nearly consumed him, gives way to pleasure. The fight, while serious and risky, is fun. Chirrut's grin--not mad-dog or feral like his usual smile, but oh-so-proud--sparks one in Baze, all tooth. He'd laugh if he weren't so focused on blocking Chirrut's vicious attacks.

Baze is pleased--beyond pleased--that he's doing better at sparring, that he can begin to keep up with his friend. All those endless hours of forms have paid off, and Baze has started to recover a modicum of his former skill.

He engages Chirrut, blocking as much as Baze is able and growing annoyed with himself when his friend's strikes slip past Baze's staff.

[idontneedluck]

He refuses to be put off or slowed, pressing his advantage now that he's having an easier time getting past Baze's control. He strikes viciously, determined to wear Baze down.

It's that or deal with his friend still in a rage after this fight is over.

[iprotectyou]

Baze is easily worn down at this point. His arms were already numb from blocking, and sweat courses down the back of his neck. His breath hitches as he tries to catch it, and he feels the sting of bruises all up and down his body.

"Okay! I yield," Baze says, blocking once and using his momentum to step backwards. He grounds his staff, leaning heavily on it, blowing hard. He bows his head, filling his burning lungs with oxygen. "Thank you, my friend."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut pauses, his head cocked and considering, poised to continue his charge.

Then he smiles and flops to the ground, boneless.

"Oh good - I was getting tired. You're getting better, Baze."

[iprotectyou]

Baze beams at his friend, who is graceful even in repose. "Only because you've drilled me," the larger man says, lowering himself to the packed earth and settling in the lotus position. He leans his head against his staff, held in a two-handed grip. "I'm sorry I was so angry."

[idontneedluck]

"Do I look like a Jedi?" Chirrut laughs, dragging his sleeve over his face. "You can be angry if you like - just give me time to catch my breath if you want to go again."

[iprotectyou]

Baze often feels loved by his friend, and this is one of those moments. Chirrut understands him, understands his mercurial moods, and knows exactly what to do to calm Baze again. He laughs, too.

"I might take you up on that," he says, drawing a slow breath through his nose. "When I remember why I was so wound up again."

Baze scoffs. "He didn't even apologize. He ran away."

[idontneedluck]

"Maybe you should go back to threatening everyone with a blaster again." Chirrut grins, cheerfully. "That always seemed to work out well for you."

[iprotectyou]

"I thought you didn't like my blaster," Baze says, matching that grin with a cheeky one of his own. "An 'inelegant weapon,' you've always said. Besides, I can't really kill anyone in heaven--they'll just come back to haunt me--so I can't make good on those threats. And you know me; I'm not about to threaten someone when I can't make good on it. So I'm stuck. I'll just have to get angry and take it out on you again."

[idontneedluck]

"Work work work." Chirrut sighs, though his grin hasn't dimmed. "Always keeping me busy. I'll just wear away to nothing."

[iprotectyou]

"Don't worry, I'll feed you," Baze says, his burst of laughter loud and long. "Speaking of, would you like to get some food? I noticed you abandoned some tea when I approached, and I'm sorry about that."

[idontneedluck]

"Would you like to get some food?" Chirrut echos, laughing. "I didn't hit you that hard, did I? As long as it isn't something horrifically sweet."

[iprotectyou]

Baze guffaws, giving into it completely. Though his body is sore from being struck, his shoulders are loose. He feels good; working his anger out in a frenetic spar was just what he needed, and he's grateful to his friend for helping him.

"Fair, fair, you unrepentant chowhound," he says, using his staff to leverage himself up to his feet. He helps Chirrut up and loops an arm around his waist, heading to the bar for dinner.