Working off energy

Posted on Sat Jul 12th, 2025 @ 10:08am by Owen Mathieson & Teresa Forrest

Mission: Shackles
Location: Holodeck
Timeline: MD02, evening
2709 words - 5.4 OF Standard Post Measure

Purpose carried Teresa towards the holodeck. Well, technically her feet did, but they were driving by a desire to work off some frustration and energy. And what better way to do that than beating up some bots in her favorite HEMA - Historical European Martial Arts simulation? A program she had entered into the holodeck herself and made some modifications to.

She was dressed for purpose, wearing a chainmail hauberk and plate cuisses, carrying a single-edged, one-handed sword of German design - a langes messer - looking quite dangerous as she strode towards her goal. Only five minutes late, but she was hoping that Owen didn't overly mind having had to wait.

It was barely even a consideration, not when the man waiting outside the holodeck was still in the obvious throes of trying to catch his breath. Punctuality wasn't always Owen's strong point, though he tried to pride himself otherwise. In this instance, his research had interfered with his ability to keep track of time, and he'd wound up leaving himself literal minutes to consider how he was going to physically front up for an activity he knew very little about. The historical context, he could have spoken about for hours, but he'd realised a little too late that he didn't really know what Teresa's idea of 'beating up bots' amounted to.

His change of clothes was comical in that he had merely swapped one non-descript t-shirt for one with longer sleeves, and the trainers had been replaced by sturdier boots. He lifted a hand in awkward greeting, still bent over in a failed attempt to disguise the fact he'd run the entire way, and then switched to a thumbs-up as a squinted grimace skewed his features.

"Punctuality achieved. Dignity, not so much."

"Who, you or me?" Tree blinked, glancing down over her own outfit, a combination of modern comfort, heavy boots and light medieval armor, leaning more towards flexibility than outright protection. A brow quirked at Owen, followed by a smirk. "Because I have a sword," she added, holding up her single-edged blade with a grin.

The extension of an index finger begged a few extra seconds before, with a final huff, Owen straightened to confirm, "Definitely me. These corridors are longer than they look." He pulled back then, suddenly realised what he was being confronted by, and raised his eyebrows as a mixture of impressed trepidation. "And yes, I can see that. That's...quite a weapon."

"15th century Langes Messer, often used by mercenaries. Well, a replica of one at least," Teresa held up the sword. It had a slight curve to the blade with a clip point tip, and an unusual construction to the handle with wooden scales over a full length and width tang. "I like it for its balance, and because it was used by a lower, more ordinary class of citizen rather than knights and lords," she added, even as she opened the door and stepped in to the holodeck. One moment spent keying in some orders to the computer and a medieval style fighting ring appeared. A packed dirt floor with ropes encircling it, like a boxing ring. Various training dummies spread out around the fighting ring, with racks of various style medieval weapons and armor here and there.

"Someone's done their homework."

Hands on hips, slouched in appreciation, Owen looked more like a wayward spectator than a potential contender, recently arrived via some temporal anomaly that had dumped him out in the middle of an ancient testing ground he most definitely hadn't studied enough for. At least in terms of practical assessment.

"So, is this a new development," he asked, wandering over to eyeball one of the dummies. "Waving swords at things, I mean. Don't get me wrong," he hastened to add, turning quickly to make sure he hadn't caused offense, "It's a very cool way to deal with stress."

"And it's a great workout," Tree explained with a grin, leaning on the ropes encircling the fighting ring as she watched Owen explore and examine the dummies. "Don't get me wrong, I like regular forms of exercise too. Running, swimming, climbing. This just combines with geeky historical interest and is more all-round, rather than focusing on a single activity. But I suppose I should at least show you what it's all about, so you know what you're getting yourself in to."

If nothing else, Owen took it as a hint that he was in the way. For a split second, he sized up the rope barrier and, judging it not sturdy enough to hold his weight, opted instead to duck under it. Privately, he suspected his own participation would be fraught with disappointment, if his sporting prowess over the years was anything to go by. He was just as content to stand in the crowd, admiration from afar was the gist of his entire career after all, but decided to just let the chips fall where they may. This was meant to be stress-relief for one of them, at least. "All right," he called, "Show us what you've got."

"Computer, one opponent, randomized. AI level five," Tree intoned. A moment later one holographic combatant shimmered into existence, wearing a brigandine and chainmail trousers, wielding an arming sword in one hand, holding a small shield in the other. The two opponents sized each other up for a moment, starting to slowly circle one another, looking for an opening. "This is a sparring program, with combat rules based in historical European martial arts. Swordfighting and the like," Tree explained as they did, though never keeping her eyes off of the holographic warrior opposite her.

"Arms, legs and torso are hit locations. Hitting your opponent's head is not allowed. A hit to a limb is a point. To the torso, three points. Armor negates the first hit - " as the hologram charged forward, aiming a slash at Tree's midsection. With a fluid motion she sidestepped and brought down her own sword, hitting the hologram's shield. She jumped back to create distance again, continuing her explanation. "Shields block. First to four points wins."

As was typically the case when confronted with a point of interest, Owen became instantly distracted by the explanation and forgot entirely that there was some expectation he provided practical proof of his understanding. "Sounds all very gentlemanly," he remarked, aware of the gender discrepancy. "Though I suspect those weapons are a tad heavier than they look." Which was saying something because they looked like a broken foot waiting to happen if he even attempted to pick one up for admiration's sake.

"Common misconception - " Tree replied as she lunged forward, feinting a strike at her opponent's left flank but swerving and striking the right side of his chest where the shield wasn't protecting, for a first hit - unfortunately the brigandine counted as armor and negated the hit. Though from now on, it counted as defeated and would not negate another hit. The hologram struck back, hitting Tree on the left shoulder - but her armor negated that hit too.

"This Messer is - " she spoke in between quick moves, just enough to put her opponent off balance, her sword struck true on the hologram's left side for a swift three points, though she had to sidestep the immediate riposte, delivering a sharp kick to his shin to put him off balance, allowing her an opening to hit the other combatant's exposed back with the pommel of her sword for the victory.

"Only just over 1200 grams, and very nicely balanced," she commented, panting a bit from the exertion as she stepped back. Her holographic adversary bowed, then shimmered out of existence. As if to demonstrate her point of the blade being light and well balanced, she gave it a few twirling flourishes before flipping it over and offering the hilt to Owen to see for himself.

There was very little reason for Owen to scrub his hand furiously against his thighs before taking the sword, other than the anticipation of calamity and a healthy amount of respect. Experience had tempered his eagerness with wisdom, at least in regards to how often he ended up dropping things he wasn't supposed to. Gingerly, he finally accepted the weapon, and though he didn't exactly know how to hold it properly and followed caution's suggestion by wielding it a good arm's length away from his body, Owen was eventually forced to nod in acceptance of his poor assumption. "I suppose it would have been a little difficult to conquer much of anything while dragging your sword along the ground. Not," he lifted the index finger of his free hand, "that it hasn't been attempted once or twice. Just, less a feature of human history."

"Comically oversized swords have a place in history, but most often in static displays, parades or defensive lines. And in the latter case, they did little that a good spear or other polearm couldn't accomplish at a fifth of the cost and half the weight," Tree explained, taking the sword back when he was done feeling the weight and balance. "Speaking of, go grab a spear, I'll give you some pointers, teach you the basics. Generally speaking with two roughly equally trained opponents, the spear beats a sword ninety percent of the time."

A split second of blank staring was proof enough that Owen had momentarily forgotten that part of the entire arrangement. He turned quickly, firstly in an unhelpful direction before spinning back the other way and heading over to where, if he'd actually paid attention, Teresa was already gesturing. There wasn't a lot of choice, at least as far as was obvious, so he ran with what felt like the decent logic of picking something that didn't tower way over his head. Picking it up, Owen then pointed to it questioningly with his free hand. "Spear, right?"

"Norse winged hunting spear, that one. I approve," she said, pointing out the small flanges right behind the tip of the spear - blunted as it was for sparring purposes. "The spear is the battlefield weapon of old. Cheap, easy to make, easy to train in it's use, and it generally beats a sword. Unlike spears and other polearms those weren't battlefield weapons, they were sidearms," she continued, moving to show him how to properly hold it in a defensive posture, teaching him the very basics about defending ones self with a spear. Key was keeping an attacker at distance where their sword couldn't do anything and keeping the spear in between ones self and the assailant.

If there was one claim Owen could reasonably make, it was that he was comfortable being a student. In very specific, very focused ways, he held the distinction of being considered enough of an expert to assume the mentor role, but in almost all other areas that still remained of vivid interest to him, the linguist was an eternal scholar. What he was not, however, was particularly gifted in the physical coordination area. Instructions were easy to commit to memory, but the execution left Owen with the distinct impression that he was flailing around like an idiot rather than rehearsing any kind of meaningful combat sequence. After watching Teresa repeat the moves for the third time, Owen gave a self-conscious chuckle and was careful not to poke his eye out as he reached carefully out with the hand holding the spear and used its thumb to scratch the end of his nose. "It seems a lot more graceful when you do it." Seizing an opportunity for diversion, and harbouring interest in the answer in any case, he added, "Where did you learn all this?"

By now it was obvious to Tree that Owen wasn't the kind of person to - ... excel in the physical aspect of sparring and HEMA. No matter really, not everyone had the same talents, and she'd accomplished her goal - taking her mind off of having been instrumental in the deaths of hundreds of people for a moment and working off some energy. She sat down on a barrel that was otherwise just there for decoration and aesthetic, as she considered his question. "Self studies, mostly. Though if you're asking *why*, mostly just because I find it interesting, and it's a good physical and mental challenge and a workout. Helps keep me in shape, gives me something to do when things are slow and knowing how to fight has helped me a few times already on some of the ... more shady space stations I would find myself on, so to say."

In his defense, (which may have otherwise been lacking in all practical sense), Owen had never really tried very hard when it comes to mastering sport or anything similar. He had an inkling of thinking he was a decent soccer player as a child, but his recollections seemed like unreliable narration when coupled with the fact that his prowress in that area was also responsible for the dull ache in his ankle when it was cold. He was definitely interested in the history behind the pursuit, at least, and possibly wouldn't be opposed to more lessons. For the time being, he was content to examine the shape of the spearhead as he listened.

"It's a big ol' universe out there," he agreed vaguely, his tone distracted. "So what's your favourite weapon?" The jump sideways in topic seemed to better reflect where Owen's actual thoughts had strayed. "If you, hands-down, got to pick anything; any culture, any time period, best quality..."

"Federation Type II phaser, hands down," Tree answered directly, without even taking time to think about it. "Though, I suppose you mean a melee weapon, I guess that would depend on the situation. Do I know I'm going to have to fight? Is there enough space? Some polearm then, like a halberd, a spear or a bec de corbin. Do I just have to pick something to carry with me in case I need to defend myself? A messer - " she indicated her own weapon " - or a warhammer. Something one-handed, light, easy to carry, easy to swing."

The response made Owen grin, though there was also kindness to his recollection of why Teresa had suggested this in the first place. If the desire to shift a wad of guilt from the pit of her stomach had made her think purely in terms of practicality, then he couldn't fault that. "Ah," he prompted, hefting the spear in his hand outwards enough to admire it. "But which one would you buy a drink for?" It may have been similar to an assignment question he'd once posed to his students during one of his many rounds of university lecturing. It usually guaranteed lively debate, if nothing else.

"Buy a drink f - " Tree looked at him like she was trying to establish just how much off his rocker he was. These were tools, different tools for different situations, but just unfeelings things. She then shuckled though, as it finally clicked that he was asking for her preference out of enjoyment, rather than any practical concerns. She held up her sword again, a 70cm long, single edged blade with comfortable grip and subtle curves, ending in a clipped point. "The langes messer. I just enjoy the shape and swinging it around. Don't get me wrong, I like arming swords too, various oakeshott types - one-handed, two-handed, but there's just something about the messer which I enjoy."

Owen grinned, pleased to have avoided an awkward over-explanation. "Think she's up for one now?" After a beat, he added hastily, "A drink, that is. If you, uh, if you're done here. Or, I guess, after you're done." His expression faltered, trapped in a startled confusion of his own making as he processed his own inelegance. "That sounded far more impressive in my head."

Tree quirked a brow, amusement on her features. She placed her messer down, leaning against the barrel she'd been sat on, leaning in closer to Owen, a playful, goodnatured expression playing across her face. "Mister Mathieson," she began, a slight sing-songy quality to her voice, "Are you asking me on a date?"