Post by Arlic Valliere on Jul 18, 2017 6:32:58 GMT
X10 to x20
Pl.
Sometimes chores were a great way to train, even if they did nothing but make you sore and grumpy the next morning. Despite living in a rural community, the Sheriff would have been far happier waking up after the sun. Preferably by a couple hours, rather than before it even started it’s rise. When it was dark outside, people should be asleep. And up in the northern mountains it was nothing but cold and chilly, even in summer. Enough so he could just make out his breath as cigarillo smoke drifted along the plumes of white breath. Taking the smoldering object in cybernetic fingers, he popped the top of the rain barrel and dunked his head in. A barely made sheet of ice cracking as he woke himself up with a gasp of the rush from it all. Wiping scarf to clean the night’s rest off his face in the quickest way anyone could. “Better for the health then coffee at least.” He murmured to himself, spitting a clot of water to the side and starting his usual rounds around town.
Even making his usual laps, weighted clothing was strapped on. Partly from the sheer pride his race had to never skip a chance to be wearing it, but also since lately he’d taken to using the newly installed gravity chamber to bolster his reserves. A couple trickles of thought into trying out the Blue Banner crossed his mind. But the Saiyan blood demanded he be nothing but the best, and to be the best one must push himself to the farthest reaches. Ain’t no grunt, at least, he thought to himself. Metal fist smacking into lead built block. The dense metal just about the only thing left in town for him to get a good workout on without turning it into dust or shrapnel. Couple more scars were never really noticed on him at this point, hell half his body was replacement parts. A trait that tended to make him ache during the usual northern rains. Snow didn’t bother him at all though, maybe it was just mental? He pondered as the dull, repeating motions soothed his mind. Wasn’t even much use for a Sheriff this far north. Not anything worth stealing, the folk were good.
All the more reason to be here.
Ramming steel shoulder into the block of metal, it rocked just enough to give a grunt from the previous raider’s throat. Setting boots into the dirt as it rocked back against him. Superior mass against unwavering muscle, letting half a snarl out thin, scarred lips as he let it drop on him inch my inch. Muscles groaning, but vocals did not. Dropping to one knee, planting it in the soil and letting the heavy block of lead lower itself in slow increments. Once it was flat against his shoulders, the older fighter started back up. Snarling at the back of his breath, shoulders tense and flexing like every other fiber before the heavy lead block was slammed back to its proper standing position. Shrugging and rolling muscular arm and metal one, savoring the burning sensation that meant he was only growing stronger. Yea, we will get there, it said. Take some time, and some pain, but we’ll get there. Smacking fist against the side of the block in a fond rival sort of way, the Sheriff sat. Brushing hand through hair dark as a raven’s wing. Gonna need a cut soon, trim the beard too. Always something to do. For a quiet little mining and lumber town, there wasn’t nearly enough drinking beer on the back porch like he’d expected. Still, best to keep busy. Not like he was getting any younger. Arlic had yet to meet a Saiyan younger then him. He didn’t count Namekians, things seemed to live forever.
And he’d be the first to admit, he was slightly racist against androids. It was only fair, one had blown him up. It’s not easy to get over that sort of experience, even with or without therapy. And no Saiyan has gone through therapy.
Shifting to more standard workouts, pushing himself with any muscle that felt like it wasn’t aching enough, the veteran thought in the way you do when repeating a boring action. You couldn’t just think about push ups when knocking a couple hundred out now, could you? New techniques and tricks flashing to mind. Need to work on his air game, the fighter preferred both boots on the ground; but everyone was flying like it was the only way to fly. Added a third dimension to every tactic you could think off, and making its own in thousands of ways. The Grim series of his moves helped, but the Valkyrie and it’s electric outage was more useful in some ways. Guess it just always paid to be adaptive, double so on the battle fields that seemed to occur more and more rapidly lately.
“Gonna need to pump those moves up, and get some defense.” He mumbled to himself during the work outs, but a barrier just didn’t suit him. Too static, too easy to beat through. After imaging was good, a split second did mean the difference between victory and defeat, but where to even begin that?
It was all speed, that was the jest of his grasp on the subject. Fists a flurry as he smacked the wooden poles spinning on a rail system. Having to keep his power in check only adding to the training. Supressing your strength to catch an enemy off guard, now that was a trick of the trade. He didn’t do much with it besides his weights, preferring to scare off anything weaker then him that was going to cause trouble, and being half strength to those stronger to give them a surprise. I could write a book on beating up bad guys at this point, the Sheriff thought. During his brief break, cigar was smoked, water was drank, and a bag of sweets devoured. Even old veterans can enjoy their candy treat now and then.
All nice and warmed up, the Saiyan turned Sheriff returned the previously mentioned gravity chamber, the stark white dome a clear change of pace from the stone and wood building that served as his happy home. Shutting heavy door behind him, Arlic stripped from normal clothes to more rugged, worn training attire. Nothing fancy, just a tanktop and shorts. Strapping leaded weights to his forearms and legs, he cranked the power to twice what it was last time. Unlike times ten gravity, this twenty times felt more like a pull then just a bit of work. Gritting teeth, he started the training. Old foes and friends had grown in power, and it would be nothing but sheer laziness to do anything but follow his own regime up. Keeping the tempo, he started by getting a feeling of the new pull on his body. Walking, then jogging the perimeter of the training area. Getting a good sweat and heartbeat pumping, fists flashed infront. Shadow boxing in the way all singular warriors did to fill the time and train the mind. Firing at full cylinders, so to speak, Val went for it like any of his species did. Go as hard as you can until you pass out, wake up and do it again. Eat a ton of food, then get back to work. This showed, he’d never been so fast, so strong, or able to pull so much power behind his blasts.
Guess an old dog can learn new tricks, was the general mentality he had behind it. The man wasn’t even that old, barely clearing his mid thirties. But here and now it felt like he was ancient compared to the bunch of youngsters that kept cropping up like nobody’s business. Least they weren’t all robots, call him racist, but getting blown up by one would do that to the most open minded liberal. That over clock was a vicious little trick of their sleeve, he didn’t have anything like that himself. And relying on a full moon wasn’t something any self-respecting Warrior would do. So the training would continue, harder and rougher until his body could handle anything thrown at it. Experience was already there, he’d yet met someone who had been on the battlefield as long as he had. His body showed it, cybernetic limb’s weren’t uncommon, but they showed who was the survivors. Shock, blood loss, sheer pain would off the weak. The strong rebuilt, literally if need be. The phantom pain still itched now and then, the old ki manipulator built into the cybernetic limb’s forearm needed tuning.
The massive lead block was dragged in, with the power off of course, before the thrumming field of increased gravity clicked on. The old exercise that was just using it as an oversized work out weight was repeated, with far worse pain crossing the grizzled fighter. Just shoving to drag it across the floor, or pulling it with ropes hooked all over, had sweat dripping to the floor. He’d pay a youngster a couple zeni to clean it up. Every night he returned the short walk home stiff and bow legged. But also with the delicious soreness that showed progress in the best way. Good, honest work punctuated now and then. Hunting down bandits or saving folk from the natural danger of the North. But with such a small population these events were few and far in between, so the fighter kept to work. Grinding and grunting day after day, early in the morning and late at night. That giant lead block was his milestone this time, he'd toss the thing around like a paper weight before he was satisfied with today.
The first time was a total failure, the thing falling over and tipping like a skyscraper. He’d had to turn the gravity off vocally before barely being able to slide out from under it. The second time had been nearly as bad, crushed under it. But, and it was a serious but, he’d shoved it off him at times twenty gravity. No small feat, anyone else would have been dead. Plain and simple. You don’t survive a giant block of solid metal without bruising, he’d had to lay up a day for that. Still, you were supposed to rest now and then, right?
Third times the charm is what rang true for this one, the lumbering form of the heavy steel caught by rough hands of flesh and metal, growling at the back of gravelly tones until the tilting motion slowly but surely started to tip back. A roar coming from the Saiyan’s throat before ki flared brighter then ever before around his weighed down form, slamming forward and sending the block of black, heavy steel up to it’s normal form, then slamming back onto the ground. Standing, panting, with sweat dripping down his bare arms and shoulders, the man let a whoop of pleasure out, before sinking to a knee. Flipping the gravity off, the dark red lighting turning normal.
Yanking the door open, the man stumbled into the cool night air. Taking a deep breath and savoring the feeling of victory, even over an inanimate object. Shoulders heaving as he lit a new cigar up in celebration. It felt good, he hadn’t pushed himself like that in a long while.
He’d do two lead blocks tomorrow.
A sheriff’s work was never done.
Pl.
Sometimes chores were a great way to train, even if they did nothing but make you sore and grumpy the next morning. Despite living in a rural community, the Sheriff would have been far happier waking up after the sun. Preferably by a couple hours, rather than before it even started it’s rise. When it was dark outside, people should be asleep. And up in the northern mountains it was nothing but cold and chilly, even in summer. Enough so he could just make out his breath as cigarillo smoke drifted along the plumes of white breath. Taking the smoldering object in cybernetic fingers, he popped the top of the rain barrel and dunked his head in. A barely made sheet of ice cracking as he woke himself up with a gasp of the rush from it all. Wiping scarf to clean the night’s rest off his face in the quickest way anyone could. “Better for the health then coffee at least.” He murmured to himself, spitting a clot of water to the side and starting his usual rounds around town.
Even making his usual laps, weighted clothing was strapped on. Partly from the sheer pride his race had to never skip a chance to be wearing it, but also since lately he’d taken to using the newly installed gravity chamber to bolster his reserves. A couple trickles of thought into trying out the Blue Banner crossed his mind. But the Saiyan blood demanded he be nothing but the best, and to be the best one must push himself to the farthest reaches. Ain’t no grunt, at least, he thought to himself. Metal fist smacking into lead built block. The dense metal just about the only thing left in town for him to get a good workout on without turning it into dust or shrapnel. Couple more scars were never really noticed on him at this point, hell half his body was replacement parts. A trait that tended to make him ache during the usual northern rains. Snow didn’t bother him at all though, maybe it was just mental? He pondered as the dull, repeating motions soothed his mind. Wasn’t even much use for a Sheriff this far north. Not anything worth stealing, the folk were good.
All the more reason to be here.
Ramming steel shoulder into the block of metal, it rocked just enough to give a grunt from the previous raider’s throat. Setting boots into the dirt as it rocked back against him. Superior mass against unwavering muscle, letting half a snarl out thin, scarred lips as he let it drop on him inch my inch. Muscles groaning, but vocals did not. Dropping to one knee, planting it in the soil and letting the heavy block of lead lower itself in slow increments. Once it was flat against his shoulders, the older fighter started back up. Snarling at the back of his breath, shoulders tense and flexing like every other fiber before the heavy lead block was slammed back to its proper standing position. Shrugging and rolling muscular arm and metal one, savoring the burning sensation that meant he was only growing stronger. Yea, we will get there, it said. Take some time, and some pain, but we’ll get there. Smacking fist against the side of the block in a fond rival sort of way, the Sheriff sat. Brushing hand through hair dark as a raven’s wing. Gonna need a cut soon, trim the beard too. Always something to do. For a quiet little mining and lumber town, there wasn’t nearly enough drinking beer on the back porch like he’d expected. Still, best to keep busy. Not like he was getting any younger. Arlic had yet to meet a Saiyan younger then him. He didn’t count Namekians, things seemed to live forever.
And he’d be the first to admit, he was slightly racist against androids. It was only fair, one had blown him up. It’s not easy to get over that sort of experience, even with or without therapy. And no Saiyan has gone through therapy.
Shifting to more standard workouts, pushing himself with any muscle that felt like it wasn’t aching enough, the veteran thought in the way you do when repeating a boring action. You couldn’t just think about push ups when knocking a couple hundred out now, could you? New techniques and tricks flashing to mind. Need to work on his air game, the fighter preferred both boots on the ground; but everyone was flying like it was the only way to fly. Added a third dimension to every tactic you could think off, and making its own in thousands of ways. The Grim series of his moves helped, but the Valkyrie and it’s electric outage was more useful in some ways. Guess it just always paid to be adaptive, double so on the battle fields that seemed to occur more and more rapidly lately.
“Gonna need to pump those moves up, and get some defense.” He mumbled to himself during the work outs, but a barrier just didn’t suit him. Too static, too easy to beat through. After imaging was good, a split second did mean the difference between victory and defeat, but where to even begin that?
It was all speed, that was the jest of his grasp on the subject. Fists a flurry as he smacked the wooden poles spinning on a rail system. Having to keep his power in check only adding to the training. Supressing your strength to catch an enemy off guard, now that was a trick of the trade. He didn’t do much with it besides his weights, preferring to scare off anything weaker then him that was going to cause trouble, and being half strength to those stronger to give them a surprise. I could write a book on beating up bad guys at this point, the Sheriff thought. During his brief break, cigar was smoked, water was drank, and a bag of sweets devoured. Even old veterans can enjoy their candy treat now and then.
All nice and warmed up, the Saiyan turned Sheriff returned the previously mentioned gravity chamber, the stark white dome a clear change of pace from the stone and wood building that served as his happy home. Shutting heavy door behind him, Arlic stripped from normal clothes to more rugged, worn training attire. Nothing fancy, just a tanktop and shorts. Strapping leaded weights to his forearms and legs, he cranked the power to twice what it was last time. Unlike times ten gravity, this twenty times felt more like a pull then just a bit of work. Gritting teeth, he started the training. Old foes and friends had grown in power, and it would be nothing but sheer laziness to do anything but follow his own regime up. Keeping the tempo, he started by getting a feeling of the new pull on his body. Walking, then jogging the perimeter of the training area. Getting a good sweat and heartbeat pumping, fists flashed infront. Shadow boxing in the way all singular warriors did to fill the time and train the mind. Firing at full cylinders, so to speak, Val went for it like any of his species did. Go as hard as you can until you pass out, wake up and do it again. Eat a ton of food, then get back to work. This showed, he’d never been so fast, so strong, or able to pull so much power behind his blasts.
Guess an old dog can learn new tricks, was the general mentality he had behind it. The man wasn’t even that old, barely clearing his mid thirties. But here and now it felt like he was ancient compared to the bunch of youngsters that kept cropping up like nobody’s business. Least they weren’t all robots, call him racist, but getting blown up by one would do that to the most open minded liberal. That over clock was a vicious little trick of their sleeve, he didn’t have anything like that himself. And relying on a full moon wasn’t something any self-respecting Warrior would do. So the training would continue, harder and rougher until his body could handle anything thrown at it. Experience was already there, he’d yet met someone who had been on the battlefield as long as he had. His body showed it, cybernetic limb’s weren’t uncommon, but they showed who was the survivors. Shock, blood loss, sheer pain would off the weak. The strong rebuilt, literally if need be. The phantom pain still itched now and then, the old ki manipulator built into the cybernetic limb’s forearm needed tuning.
The massive lead block was dragged in, with the power off of course, before the thrumming field of increased gravity clicked on. The old exercise that was just using it as an oversized work out weight was repeated, with far worse pain crossing the grizzled fighter. Just shoving to drag it across the floor, or pulling it with ropes hooked all over, had sweat dripping to the floor. He’d pay a youngster a couple zeni to clean it up. Every night he returned the short walk home stiff and bow legged. But also with the delicious soreness that showed progress in the best way. Good, honest work punctuated now and then. Hunting down bandits or saving folk from the natural danger of the North. But with such a small population these events were few and far in between, so the fighter kept to work. Grinding and grunting day after day, early in the morning and late at night. That giant lead block was his milestone this time, he'd toss the thing around like a paper weight before he was satisfied with today.
The first time was a total failure, the thing falling over and tipping like a skyscraper. He’d had to turn the gravity off vocally before barely being able to slide out from under it. The second time had been nearly as bad, crushed under it. But, and it was a serious but, he’d shoved it off him at times twenty gravity. No small feat, anyone else would have been dead. Plain and simple. You don’t survive a giant block of solid metal without bruising, he’d had to lay up a day for that. Still, you were supposed to rest now and then, right?
Third times the charm is what rang true for this one, the lumbering form of the heavy steel caught by rough hands of flesh and metal, growling at the back of gravelly tones until the tilting motion slowly but surely started to tip back. A roar coming from the Saiyan’s throat before ki flared brighter then ever before around his weighed down form, slamming forward and sending the block of black, heavy steel up to it’s normal form, then slamming back onto the ground. Standing, panting, with sweat dripping down his bare arms and shoulders, the man let a whoop of pleasure out, before sinking to a knee. Flipping the gravity off, the dark red lighting turning normal.
Yanking the door open, the man stumbled into the cool night air. Taking a deep breath and savoring the feeling of victory, even over an inanimate object. Shoulders heaving as he lit a new cigar up in celebration. It felt good, he hadn’t pushed himself like that in a long while.
He’d do two lead blocks tomorrow.
A sheriff’s work was never done.