houseofcards_rp | [ota] so much thought, so little time

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[ota] so much thought, so little time

Julien's trainees have all scattered for the evening. If he were to be truthful, they've all come quite a ways and he calculates most of them will be ready for their own assignments elsewhere soon enough. Then, he supposes, he'll have to take on a few more or find some other way to fill his time.

Which is why he's working, somewhat mechanically, against a practice dummy. The practice is good for keeping his body fit and loose, but the routine is rote enough to let him focus more on his thoughts and less on the exercise.

He could, of course, concern himself more closely with the rumors of unrest among certain factions of the Deck. Even if it wasn't strictly his duty.

Or, and the thought brings a twitch of a smile to his lips, he could surprise everyone by taking a vacation and visiting the beach. Might be worth it just for the expressions. Would be more worth it if he could make it useful, somehow.

Soon enough, though, Julien is finished and moving away to scoop up a waiting bottle of water and drop down on a nearby bench for a few moments as he towels his face and arms off. Somewhere in there, he'll wave at whomever is nearest, "your turn."

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Julien didn't mind a few surprises, really, when it came to this sort of thing. When there were none at all it meant he wasn't really getting a test, himself. Which is what he spent most of his day doing now...testing others.

Michael, at least, is making him work for it. And this may be one of the few times the Jack has seen an almost proper smile on his son's lips. Oh sure, there's an edge to it but neither was it an emotion he was merely faking.

He won't even mind overmuch when Michael slips through his guard.

Hell would freeze over before the decrepit old (or not-so-young, as it were - he wasn't old just yet) man could best a physically fit young man in his prime, especially given how much he's smoked and drank over the past forty-plus years, but when he did land a hit he was expecting Julien to parry and felt his knuckles burn a little from the impact, he paused.

"Are you alright?" he asked between shallow breaths, and clearly the question and the concern written in the lines on Michael's face went beyond the physical.

There's another one of those snort-laughs just before Julien takes advantage of Michael's distraction in order to try and sweep his legs out from under him.

Which also makes for a suitable distraction from the fact that it hadn't been an intentional slip by Julien to let Michael get a hit in.

Oh, that was cruel, and it did catch Michael offguard, but in hindsight it was not completely unexpected coming from Julien. He broke his fall with his arm, but he didn't seem overly keen on rushing straight back onto his feet. It was hard to read a face from this distance but it was an interesting perspective to be looking up (and up) at Julien from lying on the ground.

"I thought you were supposed to be hitting me."

Julien rolls his eyes, "there's more than one way to hit someone." And it's a rare true fight where your opponent only uses their hands. Or if they did, Julien would say that's idiotic of them.

"We didn't say we were boxing."

"Yes, I know. I meant you let me hit you instead." Or maybe he didn't, and Michael got lucky, and pigs flew out of Castle Chives' windows every second Tuesday of the month.

"Does that make me a faulty punchbag?"

Julien's expression is a little hard to describe but incredulous is close as he reaches down to offer Michael his hand. "I think you and I have very different ideas of what this was about. If I wanted a punching bag, I would've stuck with the other dummy."

"I'm not sure whether that was a compliment or an insult," he said with a raised eyebrow, pausing for only half a second before taking the proffered hand. Maybe it was another trap he was walking straight into.

"What do you want, then?"

No trap, Julien just helps him back up to his feet, though on his end perhaps a little surprised Michael hadn't tried to return the favor of dropping him to the floor.

"You came to me, what do you want? I was just glad to have something that might have a chance to hit back."

"I wanted to see you and your grumpy face and have a conversation consisting mostly of shrugs and grunts." It might have been funnier if it wasn't partially true.

"It's not as if you come down to my little fortress-cave to distract me from work when I need it."

At least he wasn't quite so grunty as he once was.

"I had no idea you wanted me to come visit you. Should I bring tea and biscuits by next time?"

Sarcasm, maybe, but at least he's sarcastically suggesting there would be a next time.

"Chives might have your head if you tried," he commented with a rueful grin, even if he didn't really think Julien would show up at his office unless someone was dead or dying or possibly, if he was feeling nice enough that day, the castle was on fire.

"And yes, I do prefer distractions preferably lasting six hours or longer so I don't have to do any work."

Chives might actually let Julien get away with something like that, but there's no need to point such things out. "I believe you know other people who would be that distracting." Lasse, for instance.

"But for the moment, you're stuck with me."

"Are you accusing me of having friends, Julien? You know, most of them are good for your health." Even if they may have a rather significant negative impact on workplace productivity if the six hour distractions were a regular occurrence.

"You make it sound like you're bad company."

"I've heard that. I'm afraid I've seen little benefit." But when your closest friend was someone you had fought with as much as anything and then he had the temerity to go off and get himself killed well...

People like Eileen and Victor were in their own very different categories.

"And you and I both know there is little falsehood in that statement." Not that it appears to be something that keeps Julien up at nights.

"You may reconsider that if you acquire enough friends that you can at least count them up on two hands rather than one." And though Michael might not be a friend, but that didn't mean he wouldn't drop everything and do anything for Julien.

Not saying that that was particularly healthy either, of course.

"You're not bad company. Though I wouldn't complain if you smiled a little more from time to time, and not only just before you deck someone in the face."

That does, at least prompt an answer smile. "How else should I warn someone they're about to get punched?"

See, it's called being polite. Or something.

"Most people raise their arm and clench their fist." Or was that too conventional for Julien? There might otherwise be a lot of false warnings if, heaven forbid, Julien did start smiling more often outside of a training space.

"Don't you think if someone's let it get that far they're already too late to stop the fist?" At least it sounds like he's planning on having a reasonable conversation about something slightly ridiculous.

It is possible that Michael and Julien area prime example of the concept of nurture over nature.

"Are you going to suggest I improve at inane small talk next?"

"Not a Spade, as far as I've seen. Most are still very good at avoiding getting themselves beaten up too badly." Besides, how often did Julien throw punches outside of a training space where punches were more or less expected to come?

"Baby steps. We can work on small talk next year. Though there's already enough people who are too good at it."

More than one might expect. Well, up until his little tiff with Säde had turned out badly for him.

"Then you really don't need another. I'd rather just keep to what I do best." Even if what he does best is currently being done by someone else.

"Well I hope one day you'll consider becoming good at something else." Realistically speaking, this kind of thing Julien prided himself in wasn't going to work out for him long-term.

"Even if it's not going to be small talk."

"You'll have to give me some suggestions sometime. Maybe over tea."

The thought of the two of them have tea in a formal sitting room is entertaining, anyway, if only for the looks they might get.

"Should I bring some knitting needles and borrow a cat for our tea appointment, then?" There's an idea for the inevitable future decline. Socks and sweaters would fly off the shelf at this time of the year.

More likely than not there would be alcohol in the tea and an ashtray on a small adjacent table.

"You might be good at more than just throwing them at a target."

"You know...I've never tried that with knitting needles. Might be worth a shot."

Literally.

[ota] so much thought, so little time

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