[For Porthos]

[likeahero]

Oliver would say he isn't sure how he arrived here, but that would be a lie. Porthos has quickly become something of a friend, and in a city as strange and lonely as this one, Oliver will take it. His life, which he'd fought so hard to keep, has been disrupted, and having at least one person who doesn't ask questions makes things a little easier.

That has somehow led to sparring with Porthos, but Oliver is sure that was ninety percent Porthos' desire to have someone to beat on.

Usually, Oliver would give back just as much as he gets, but he's tired this morning. He's used to long nights out in the city; it's something else that keeps him from sleep when he gets home. Glimpses out of the corner of his eye, vivid dreams, the surety of a presence in the room with him, and the crushing guilt that accompanies it.

There can't be any reason for it other than his own emotions, and sparring is good for that, at least. He doesn't see blonde hair and vacant blue eyes between punches, doesn't see a tattoo that is the mirror of his own as he dodges and rolls.

It helps, but it isn't enough. Oliver is just a touch too slow dodging a blow from Porthos, and he goes down with a loud huff.

He stays on the mat for a moment and shakes his head. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Comments

[du_vallon]

Porthos shrugs when the question is asked, unable to hide the broad grin on his face. He'd feel bad about landing so many hits, but he thinks Oliver's a grown enough man and able to tell Porthos if it's all a bit much. The scars that he can slightly see peeking out of the tank top don't give him much pause. He's got his own and so do most Musketeers he knows (though d'Artagnan is still just too new, all over). "Can't help it," he confesses, shaking out the tenseness in his fingers. "Other than Tommy, it's not like I've got many people here willing to fight with me."

He's a big man, he knows that. He's also in a good mood despite the fact that he's currently taking antibiotics for modern issues (except not really, it's just modern diagnosis), but the thrill of fighting has taken his mind off it. He wanders closer, offering a hand up. "Normally, they draw straws at the garrison and whoever gets shortest has to fight me."

[likeahero]

Tommy. Oliver knows there's no way Porthos can even mean the same person (Tommy sparring with anyone at all sounds absolutely ridiculous), but just the mention of his name brings up memories and for a moment, Oliver thinks he sees him in the corner of the room.

It's just a moment, a flash of blue and black and a familiar smile, and it's gone before he can process it.

Oliver shakes his head and shakes it off as he gets up. "That sounds absolutely terrifying for the other guy."

[du_vallon]

Porthos shrugs again, his smile a bit calmer now even though it's got a hint of mischief in it. It's hardly as if he intends to hurt people, but it's a general by-product of being the size he is and with the skills he has. "I try not to beat up on the same guy too often. And if I'm facing someone like Aramis, I won't go for the face," he jokes. "Not unless I want to hear about it forever."

[likeahero]

"The face is sacred," Oliver says, very much in agreement if only because facial injuries are that much harder to explain away. "Promise you won't hurt mine."

[du_vallon]

Porthos clucks his tongue and though the face-fall is mostly put on for show, there's a part of him that's genuinely upset about having to hold back, even now. "Right, I suppose," he grumbles, but he's soon grinning like Oliver hadn't even said anything of the sort. He waggles his brow and taps the place over his heart twice. "C'mon, see if you can't hit me."

[likeahero]

Oliver is absolutely sure he can get more than a few good hits on Porthos - that just involves revealing more of his fighting ability than he'd like. He can explain knowing basic fighting and survival tactics, but not the flashier styles he's learned in the last five years.

He is also - and he hates to admit this, even to himself - much more fatigued from a night out than he's used to.

After settling into a defensive posture, Oliver eyes Porthos for a moment before feinting and moving in quick past his reach to aim a jab at his torso. Landing it means he's open for a return hit, but Oliver will take the victory with a grin.

[du_vallon]

Porthos never minds taking a direct hit, having built himself up for it. When Oliver hits him, Porthos grabs hold of the man's other shoulder and drives his knee up into his stomach, gripping the other shoulder as he bears in on him, throwing a right hook while the pain from the knee should still be smarting. Panting, he grins and cracks his neck. "Normally, I follow that up by picking a man up and throwing him somewhere, but Aramis says that sort of thing is undignified and improper."