milliways_bar | (no subject)

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baze malbus

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The sun is deliciously warm here. Chirrut may never get over that - how even in the depths of winter, most times he can tell if the sun is overhead. He can understand now how there are cults on some planets that worship their respective suns - if Jedha's sun had been like this, he would have been tempted, as a younger man.

As it is, he's definitely doing his daily staff practice outside while the air is warm and smells of happily growing things. There's an area outside - he doesn't know if it is meant for such things, but the ground is as flat as you can hope for, and far enough from the trees that the demon bunnies don't hop underfoot. Besides, it's close enough to the water that he can hear the splashes when whatever it is that swims in it surfaces.

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Logan has found the weather to be a bit warm for his tastes, and so he's been up the mountain taking advantage of the cooler temperatures.

He's coming back down to the bar for a drink when he happens upon the stranger practicing.

Giving the man plenty of space, Logan hangs for a moment, watching the style. Rather than continuing on to the bar, he takes up a seat on a large rock, lighting a cigar to sit back and watch for a bit.

Chirrut had thought he'd heard something, but the smell confirms it - he has an audience! You could almost believe that he didn't know, but... his form changes subtly from 'routine practice' to 'fair-day showing off'. If his old masters were here they'd probably be irritated, but....

Eh.

With no more fair-days, why not show off just a little?

When he lands soft-footed after a kick that would take a man's head off, he almost-correctly looks at Logan (his gaze a few inches to the left) and smiles.

It's the smile of a man knowing exactly how ridiculous he's being showing off like this, and having an immense amount of fun doing it.

"May the Force of others be with you."

It's not hard for Logan to tell when things switch from standard practice to something more showy, but that's alright. He actually gets a kick out of watching the guy enjoy himself, although Logan's own demeanor doesn't shift much.

It reminds him a bit of watching Kurt, or Remy, two guys who have always got to throw a little flair in, even in an actual fight.

The greeting he recognizes from talking with Baze Malbus and he figures the man for the one Baze mentioned he trained with.

"How's it goin'?" he returns in greeting.

"It goes well, thank you for asking." Chirrut replies, cheerful and just on the edge of being out of breath. He shifts his weight a little to drop into a stretch - less to show off this time, and more because despite many predictions throughout his life, he did manage to become an old(er) man.

Standing around idling after a workout has painful consequences.

"I am Chirrut Imwe. Good to meet you."

"Logan," he replies. While Chirrut stretches Logan kicks back, puffing on his cigar.

"Quite a fightin' style yer usin'. It got a name?"

"It is zama-shiwo, a style developed by my temple." Chirrut explains, "I was once considered good at it."

Can you be considered skilled, if there's only one other practitioner to compare to anymore?

"And yer not anymore?" he asks, the question asked without much inflection, allowing Chirrut to give as much or as little explanation as he'd like.

Chirrut smiles, a slight stretch of the lips, because even a blind man can see that trick.

"It is difficult to be ranked without proper comparison." He allows, breathing out with a new stretch. "I will never know if I have the ability to best my masters."

Logan grunts, understanding that angle on it.

"Still, seems like you could kick some ass, if you had a mind or reason to," he notes.

Even without ever having fought the man, or seeing him in actual action, Logan can tell there's something formidable about Chirrut.

Chirrut's smile turns sharp, the grin of a shark on the face of a native desert-dweller.

"I could, indeed, 'kick some ass'." He laughs, "My masters would be disappointed if I couldn't. They put enough work into me as it was."

He does wonder if Master Sheotar would have approved of him picking fights in the back streets of NiJedha... well. If the Force wanted him to know the answer to that question, maybe it shouldn't have sent the Empire.

"You've kept up with it. They'd probably be pleased by that."

Not everyone does, once they're away from their masters.

Chirrut's buddy Baze, for example, isn't nearly as honed as this man. Though Logan has been impressed with Baze's progress, and his commitment to sticking to things.

Baze scurries across the dirt, stripped to the waist and barefoot. He beams when he spots his friend, and draws the staff Baze carries on his back.

"Chiiiruuut!" Baze calls, swinging his staff in the air as he runs. He stops right in front of the other Guardian rather than bowling him over in a hug.

"I have good news! X let me rejoin Security! I'm still on probation, so it's not a full position, but I'll earn that in time."

Chirrut pauses his forms when he hears Baze approach, head cocked and smiling.

"Well done. There was never any doubt in my mind you would be able to rejoin." He's feeling he's allowed to be a bit smug, now that the threat of non-re-enlistment is over.

"You've always had faith in me, my friend, but I'm glad in this instance that it wasn't misplaced," Baze says, laughing. His next words are sheepish.

"She gave me a test: she punched me in the shoulder to see how I'd react, and when I didn't dodge or block, she told my instincts are rusty. I thought for sure that she'd not let me join again, but she did! I've got to carry a blaster set to stun."

Chirrut shakes his head.

"I knew I excused you from too many practices." He tsks, taking the failing as one of his own. "It's something to work on."

Baze lays a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself. This is my fault for being lazy. I'll just work harder, is all."

Chirrut snorts, unimpressed by that logic. Baze allowed him to train him - thus any failure in training falls on Chirrut's shoulders.

"If working harder was the cure for everything, we would have lived idyllic lives."

Baze presses his lips together into a thin line.

"Working harder isn't the cure for everything," he says, agreeing, or so it seems, "but it is the cure for rusty instincts. Isn't that so?"

Agreeing his ass. Chirrut huffs at this gainsaying and shifts to move into a stretch.

"I am not so easily going to change my mind."

"I just don't want you to blame yourself," Baze says quietly, frowning. He moves into the first stance of their usual workout.

"Barry finally chose his superhero name. He's calling himself the Flash and he's super excited."

Chirrut moves like a striking snake, sinuous and intent, ending with one hand ready to seize Baze's staff.

"If you came out here to train with me, there is something else you must do first." There's a hint of a warning in his tone. Baze is grown man and can handle it, but Chirrut has never allowed any shenanigans during training.

Shenanigans are for after training. Or before.

On instinct, Baze jerks his staff backwards, out of Chirrut's reach, but then lowers it again when Baze sees that his friend is unlikely to take the staff from him.

"Get my head in the game?"

"Get your head somewhere." Chirrut replies sternly, "Or did you not run over here like an initiate that has to be told staves are weapons, not toys?"

If Baze had kept away from training, he wouldn't have mentioned it - everyone is allowed to be giddy, it's natural. But not if coming to train.

Baze winces. It's true, he did draw his staff while running, and he was giddy while coming over here. He hangs his head.

"I'm sorry."

"If you came over to celebrate, then celebrate. If you came to train, then do so. But not both." It's something he heard, something he said, so many times in the temple. The temple is gone, but that doesn't make it less true.

Baze straightens his shoulders. He tugs on his staff, trying to get Chirrut to release it.

"I'm ready to train, teacher."

Chirrut doesn't look entirely convinced, but there's no formal order here, no line to hold and keep. Only his training, which he kept up as faithfully as he kept his robes and weapons in order.

"Then train. And make it count." Chirrut replies, releasing Baze's staff and stepping back, retreating into his own pattern.

Baze steps back to give Chirrut and himself more room to swing their staves. He snaps into their regular routine, dipping and twisting and thrusting his staff forward. He moves with grace born from muscle memory, swinging the bo and lifting his feet in kicks that can break bone.

When he's finished with the first workout, he starts running through the routine backwards, intent on working up a sweat.

Chirrut winds down though the last steps of his routine, settling sprawled on the grass, plucking a longer stem to chew on, idly, as the sun warms his bones. He is content here, like this.

Baze continues to bend and thrust, gripping the wooden bo with one hand up and one hand down. He works through the routine backwards, and then starts up from the middle, twirling his staff above his head in the appropriate move.

His movements aren't for show; every dip and twist is ecenomical, meant to stretch his muscles and hone him. They're a demonstration of prowess, true, but the routines aren't meant to be watched, except by a master offering correction, or an acolyte hoping to study.

By the time he finishes the three routines, sweat rolls down Baze's bare back. He stretches through his cool down, extending his arms and legs and loosening sore muscles. When he's finished, he settles in the grass next to Chirrut. "Whew."

"So, Barry is a superhero? I can't say I'm terribly surprised, but I'm glad he has a place he can relax and be safe about it." Chirrut notes, around the stalk of grass in his mouth.

"Yeah. He's not afraid to use his superspeed around Milliways anymore," Baze says, grounding his staff and leaning his head on the bo.

"He says his new name makes him more official, and Iris is spreading it around like wild fire."

"Super-speed, huh? I guess I shouldn't be surprised." He laughs, considering the boy's rambling abilities.

Baze laughs, too, throwing his head back.

"Hey, now. I can't think of anyone better to be blessed with superpowers. Kid's got a good heart."

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