4823/Old School Training

Old School Training
Date of Scene:	22 January 2021
Location:	Athletics: Triskelion
Synopsis:	May assesses Jethro's hand-to-hand ability and they talk a little about being displaced in time.
Cast of Characters:	Melinda May, Jethro Glass

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Melinda May has posed:
Mid-afternoon in the gym. Melinda May is, surprisingly, glad to be back at work. Maybe not so glad to be doing training assessments, but still. She is one of the best hand-to-hand trainers the agency has. So, it's not an unusual situation for her to find herself daling with someone who needs to be taught the ropes.

She stands in the middle of the mats in a black and grey jumpsuit, barefoot and with a bit of tape around her knuckles. "Alright," she says, giving Jethro a once over. "Let's see what you've got, Cowboy." Almost casually, she settles back into a neutral stance and waits for him to attack.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro is dressed in one of the Gym training uniforms, and has taken some time to adjust to it. He's groomed up fairly nice for someone who spends most of his time living in the middle of the woods hunting the local wildlife.

     The stench of tobacco, gunpowder and death never quite leaves him no matter how many trips to the showers the man might take but at the very least he's dressed for the occasion now with his hat left off to the side of the training room.

     His arms go down to chest level his legs fall into something of a defensive stance. It's a lot more bar-room brawl then traditional combat training yet there's a bit of something else mixed in with his fighting.

     He goes in low with a duck and a lunge off the bat, a good deal of force behind the initial force. While the strike lacks precision his footwork goes off soundlessly as he moves across the mat. Each step is calculated out of a force of habit to give off a minimal degree of sound while rooting him in place, slowing his overall motions.

     All of his strikes are made with his hands balled up into fists. Firm strikes above the belt from the traditional school of pugilism while his footwork comes far more in line with the martial arts of the first nations. Far from professional work, but above an amateur.

Melinda May has posed:
May has smelled a lot worse than smoke and gunpowder. Most of it's connected to death. And if he always smells like death warmed over, he's going to end up with a far more unflattering nickname than Cowboy before he reaches Probie.

As he attacks, she pulls back out of reach of his punch, blocking and sidesteping his force. Her trick is often to use a bigger opponent's momentum against him, and Glass is presenting a lot of momentum in his lunge. Still, she doesn't strike. She blocks, she dodges, she feints, and she presents him with opportunities to strike.

As she does, she watches his footwork and his body language to see where he's telegraphing and what his tells may be.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     A lot of Jethro's tells tend to be in his eyes. Those subtle looks as he sizes up for a strike, those twitches and twinkles as he moves in. His fighting style is an aggressive one filled with a series of strikes meant to knock out an opponent in one punch.

     Yet there's also a slight twitch in his hands, like each strike he was fretting an instrument, playing a song that only he could hear.

     Those legs continue to dance and slide across the mat with some grace to them as he moves already beginning to tire himself out somewhat as he's seemingly not used to a fight going on for quite so long as this.

     One of the biggest problems in his fighting style is the simple honesty in so much of it. There's very little in the way of fakeouts or feints just up front strikes and dodges.

Melinda May has posed:
The problem with one-punch styles is that they're all power and no subtlety. And May, being a small woman, has learned -- never get in the way of a blockbuster punch, if you can avoid it. Sure, she knows how to roll with it. But that doesn't mean she wants to.

She ducks under one of his punches and moves inside his guard, shifting with his momentum to land a strike or two to his torso before she rolls out of range and comes back to her feet to begin the dance again.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     The strikes land firm against scar tissue lining his chest making for an interesting impact. The chest is all muscle from a life of heavy lifting and living off of the land out in the wilds. He's knocked back a bit from the strikes managing to have it break through his defenses completely. It's clear he's wearing down.

     "Good hit." He commends, his voice thick with gravel. There's a slight tinge of pain from earlier injuries but the wildman still manages to give a smile.

     His foot slides across the mat bringing him back up towards a stand. He circles round watching while gathering back a bit of his stamina from the fight. "Aint every day I get in a tussle." His feet gliding across the mat like a ghost, or a beast on the prowl in spite of his relatively mid level combat training.

Melinda May has posed:
May can see his fatigue beginning to show. That may need improvement, sure, but it's not the biggest liability. In her experience most fights *are* over quickly. It's the running and jumping and hiding in between them that's the killer.

She resumes her defensive stance and gives him her usual pokerface. "That may change, now that you're with SHIELD, Mr. Glass," she says, not showing much in the way of fatigue at all. "We're going to have to work on your endurance." Among other things.

Again, she moves in to challenge him, striking and feinting in rapid succession, beginning to show hints of how fast she really is.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro locks down hard. He's not doing much in the way of redirection but manages to take the blows like a champ. Instead of dodging from most of them he turns his body as to make sure no one area takes too much continual damage, or rather makes the attempt. In some cases it works a bit better than others.

     For a man who historically had a reputation as the fastest gun in the west his reflexes are decidedly human, and average for a man his age, his training on par for an officer during his tenure. There's no sign in fighting him of the man who shot two bullets out of the air. Just a 19th century american officer with some extra first nation training on the side.

     Still the man can certainly take a punch like a pro and keep going. It's not that he's particularly durable, more that the man seems to have taken enough abuse in his time that he's blocking out most of the body's natural signals as he waits for his opportunity attempting to build back up his endurance while she wails on him.

     The moment he sees an opportunity he takes it sending forth a slugger of an uppercut.

Melinda May has posed:
Again, May bends back, her arms crossing as she blocks the punch. Twisting, she locks her hands over his wrist and throws herself up so that her legs wrap around his shoulder and she rides him to the ground before putting him in a lock. "Good punch," she says, "but you're way too straightforward. Brawling only gets you so far, these days."

She releases him and steps back, offering him her hand to help him up. "I've seen what I need. You're good. I can make you better."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     And down goes Jethro with a slam onto the mat. He's down for the count. One! Two! Three! IT'S OVER! Melinda May has won Wrestlemania! Or well the training anyway.

     Jethro cracks his neck before graciously accepting the hand up. He doesn't seem to be in any bad spirits about the thing knowing when he's been beat. "Thanks." He offers with a bit of a low nod of the head.

     Rising up to a stand he takes another look around. "More'n style's changed." He adds as he looks over towards her, holding out a hand for a gentlemen's shake. "Fair spar." With a firm nod of his head.

Melinda May has posed:
May shakes his hand and gives him a small, approving smile. "More than style, yes," she agrees. Of course, she just spent several weeks in 1949, so, she's had a crash course in changing styles -- combat and otherwise.

"How are you adjusting, Mr. Glass?" she asks now. "To the present, I mean. I know a little about what it's like to be displaced in time."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     "Well 'tween you an me?" Jethro places his hand back down to his side moving back over to collect his cap and place it back onto his head where it belongs. "Been avoiding the whole adjustment business best I can." He sighs looking down towards the fancy machine in the corner of the room what lets you shadowbox a spinning series of padded poles that move in and out.

     "Feels more real out in the forest, just me, my gun, and the world." He shakes his head. "Took a trip to the library on a count of Captain Roger's sayin I's should look into an enter-net an couldn't make heads or legs of it."

Melinda May has posed:
May barks a singular laugh. "You're not the first to have that problem. Captain Rogers fought his own battle to conquer that beast." She, at least, had the advantage of being around for the net's inception. It's easier to learn organically than by crash course.

She moves to grab a towel and wipe the back of her neck with it before she collects a waterbottle and takes a swallow. "I imagine our cities are quite the shock to you. Not as much greenspace, anymore." She gives a hint of a smile. "But there's still room for a man of your skills."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     "Yeah?" Jethro asks, taking a swig of his own water. He kicks back about half the bottle just enjoying the moments relaxation not sweating much at all despite how quick he seemed to tucker out. For a man who lacks endurance the recovery seems at the least to be quick.

     "Gime a telegraph over an enter-net anyday." He sets it back down onto the ground. "Can send a graph like the backa my hand." He taps out in the middle of the air signaling in code with a rapid fire motion of his finger.

     He takes a low sigh still getting used to the new uniform. "No green, no stars at night, no fireplace, horseless carriages honkin up every trail." He chuckles to himself tossing that bottle from one hand to another. "Always a place for a musician." He confirms before correcting himself. "Though I suppose you mean that other talent a mine." He smirks. "Most folks do."

Melinda May has posed:
May gives a conciliatory nod. "It's SHIELD. They don't keep us around for our pretty faces or sweet vocals." Of course, she can't sing. He's now seen one of her biggest talents.

"Have they assigned you an S.O., yet?" Supervising Officer. "Your S.O. should help you adjust. But, I'll likely end up doing a good amount of your hand to hand work. Me or Morse, and she's been pretty swamped, lately."

Melinda's pretty sure they're fixing to move Bobbi onto bigger things. That'll put a kybosh on the blonde's career as anyone's SO.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro shakes his head one side to the other. "Not yet." Jethro says, shaking his head as he walks away from his things dropping a towel back around his shoulders. He looks back over with a bit of a pause. "Can tell I got some work to do in that department though."

     He nods back towards her. "On both counts." He gives a bit of a smile of those yellowed teeth of his. A low dry chuckle escapes his lips. "You know, let my membership with the Brotherhood Of The Shield lapse a few hundred back." He tosses a small ring up into the air catching it in his grasp, before tucking it back away in his uniform. "Never expected to sign back on."

Melinda May has posed:
"Brotherhood of the Shield," May says. Her head cants. "I think I missed that history lesson." She only recently saw the SSR in action, the precursor to SHIELD as far as she knows. "You'll have to catch me up."

She's never really been much for history. Two months in the late '40s changed that. She's decided Coulson might have something after all, when it comes to that.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     "One of these days after I get caught up I just might." Jethro offers another smile. He takes a moment to pull out his little cotton mask from the pocket of his uniform and hold it in his hand. For some reason the man always kept it with him just in case. He tucks it and the ring back away into his pocket. "Lot's changed since I left."

     "Heard I aint the only one what was out of sorts a while." He nods towards her. "They was askin all sorts on tryin to get you back. I tried to offer help wherein I's could but I's aint the most help on more current events."

Melinda May has posed:
May gives a soft roll of her shoulders. "I don't know how you managed to get here, Mr. Glass," she says. "I haven't finshed catching up on everything I missed." Waaaaay too much paperwork. "But getting me back required stablizing some sort of rip in time long enough for me to dive back through." She shakes her head. "I'm no scientist. All I know is that it wasn't something I could punch my way out of, or I'd have been home for dinner the day it happened."

So, combat prowess isn't everything. But, they both likely know that.

"Saw more than a few legends in the making, though. That was pretty cool."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     "I just got struck by lightning" Jethro comments oversimplifying drastically, as he moves over to a nearby chair to adjust the lacing on his combat boots. He pulls them tight making sure that they hold into place enjoying the comfort that they provide over his hand made leather boots.

     "Imagine you saw more'n your fair share" He concurs switching boots as he laces up the other into place. "Never had much time for legends myself." He lets his boots hit back against the floor as he starts to walk over towards the door to the firing range collecting his revolver and lowering it down to his hip. "Legend's just a man what's been built too big from his shoes."

Melinda May has posed:
May nods to that. "When you're the man in those shoes, yes. When you're the one looking at that man... It can be aspirational." Or intimidating. But, the folks May met aren't just legends to her now; they're friends. "Still, I get what you're saying."

After all, to some people, *she's* a legend. And they have *no* idea who she really is, she knows. Nevertheless, she watches him pick up his gun. She's heard he's more than a fair shot with a six-shooter. She's a decent markswoman, certainly. She has to be, at her level. But she doesn't feel the need to test that skill.

"Enjoy your time on the range, Mr. Glass. I'll see you later."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     "You take care out there." He concurs checking over his rounds once more before vanishing into the range. "And thanks again fer the match" He nods his head one last time as he vanishes from view off into the distance.

     It's not even a few seconds later that what sounds like six rounds of machine gun fire echo out from the other room. Deadened but not entirely silenced as he gets to work doing what he does best.