And I Ran [Closed]

[unrecovered]

Warnings: Violence! Also probably swearing.
Location: Near the warehouses
Characters: Wash, Greg, Casey, and Bones
When: About a week after Bones reemerges from the subways
Summary: The usual morning jog turns into a Nox fight, because literally everyone in this group has terrible luck.

There was something to be said for routine, especially when the rest of your life made a point of being in a constant state of upheaval. Even though Greg had moved out, and Bones had recently come from a month-long bout in the subways, Wash made sure that the morning jog still happened every day, like clockwork. It meant that, for an hour every morning, he could go as hard as he wanted, enough to get the day started and the cobwebs shaken from his brain and to let him feel like he still had some semblance of control over his situation; it also meant that he could share his cooldown with someone (though it was a full workout for Greg; he had to remind himself of that sometimes).

For the past few days, Bones and Casey had taken to joining them. They kept up, and it was good to have them around; Wash wasn't going to complain.

"Another mile or so and we'll call it good."

Comments

[panspermia]

Greg took Wash's meaning, but didn't say anything further on it. This wasn't the place.

He did, however, choke on a chunk of waffle at that compliment. He had a lot of thoughts on his use of magic, and none of them involved "consistent" or "at will," and certainly not "best."

"Woooooah, woah, I'm not--I don't have any control over this stuff. I never know what's going on, the plants just kind of... do their own thing. You guys are the ones who figured out all that cool stuff to do with it."

[jonesiseverywhere]

There was plenty of bacon. If it had just been about the bacon, Casey would've been fine with the communal plate. No, it was about testing Wash by pushing a button, even if it was a small one. Casey got glowered at, but not blown up at. That meant Wash was back to normal. For Wash.

And anyway, Bones just gave Casey a compliment, which he acknowledges with a grin halfway between smug and genuine. "No problem! Casey Jones knows tactics." Well, OK, for Casey, tactics meant thinking on his feet or just acting without thinking at all. But that apparently worked pretty well around here.

And he wasn't about to hear that from Greg. He was killing it with the magic and apparently he didn't even realize it. "Oh c'mon, dude! If you weren't controllin' it then it wouldn't keep poppin' up whenever we need it! I mean, nobody told ya to make spikes back there, right?"

[unrecovered]

Wash nodded at Bones' assessment, swallowing a mouthful of eggs. He raised an eyebrow at Casey. "You know creativity and improvisation. The other half of this is drilling it until it's habit, and that's what you're going to need to work on." And if you steal his bacon, they will have words.

His other eyebrow rose to join its partner at Greg's sputtering. "Greg, you've been using your magic since we first met. You're a hell of a lot better at this than you think you are, and you'll get even better once you realize that." As far as Wash could tell, Greg's problem wasn't ability - it was his lack of self-esteem. That was going to take a lot more work to overcome than a lack of magical control.

[oldfashionedfutureboy]

"Bull and shit, Greg. Those spikes were thorny and anywhere from six inches to a full on foot long. You made 'em rise up out of the PAVEMENT. No seams for them to creep up through, they shot straight through asphalt to get to us. If that ain't power and precision, I dunno what is." On the topic of working up stamina and precision, Bones sits back and narrows his eyes at Casey's plate, stealing a few strips of bacon from the communal platter to replace what he'd taken from Wash.

Without taking his hands off his waffles.

Little shit like that? he can do. He's gotten good at that, at least.

"You're also the one that almost always has someth'n on hand on when we're outside. We oughta get you a bag of seeds or somth'n so you don't kill over try'n to call up what you could have on hand."

[panspermia]

Okay, well. That all happened. Greg didn't really know what to make of all the praise, particularly on a subject like this. His mouth opened to try and deny it, or point something contradictory out, but the words didn't come. Technically... they weren't wrong about any of it, were they?

At a loss, Greg shrank a little on the couch, cheeks red. "Well... um. Thanks." And then, in order to avoid feeling like he had to say any more, Greg filled his mouth with more syrupy chicken.

[jonesiseverywhere]

"Huh. Kinda like slapshot drills," Casey said, finishing up his plate. Thinking about it, hockey practice was basically the same thing as running combat drills for him. Considering his weapons of choice and all.

Pfft, Greg's gone completely red. "Yeah! Got the right seeds and you could make some pretty wicked hybrids! Like thorn bushes that poison the Nox the moment they touch it!"