Horseplay

When Greave had said that he and Allen were sparring, I had expected things to be at least somewhat even.

That couldn't be further from the truth.

Sparring really meant that Greave was teaching Allen the bare basics of hand to hand fighting, just in case he was in a position where he couldn't freely use his powers.

The fight was about as one-sided as it could get.

For a start, Allen looked like your average fifteen year old guy. He had a little bit of definition to his muscles, almost everyone did, especially if you lived in the Northern Quarter, but other than that he didn't really have anything going for him.

Greave was the total opposite.

Whether his power had taken after him or he had taken after his power, it was clear that Greave was built like a tank.

He was big, both in height and in the size of his muscles. The sort of guy that, if you saw him walking down the street, you'd definitely think twice about picking on him in a fight. Even if you had a power and thought he were a Normal.

There wasn't just a difference in raw strength, though. Greave was at least a couple of years older than Allen, and he had the height that came with that extra age.

Greave's reach was much better than Allen's. When he reached out to throw a punch or grapple the younger fighter he was always doing it from a further position than his opponent. When he took a step forward or backward, his longer legs allowed him to cover more ground.

In other words, even when Allen managed to push a little bit through Greave's assaults, all he had to do was take a step back or to the side to put Allen right back on the defensive.

It was obvious that Greave wasn't even having to try all that hard. His hands were down at his sides and he was only bouncing very slightly on the balls of his feet. Every time Allen moved forward to let a punch loose, Greave would just lean out of the way.

Allen threw another swipe, and this time Greave leaned in after the strike missed. He took advantage of Allen's lost footing and popped him with a jab right in the stomach. It didn't look like much of a hit from where I was sitting, but there was enough force behind it to send Allen keeling over onto the floor with a cough.

"You're leaving yourself way too wide when you punch," Greave said, "When you pop your arm back like that and swing so wide you're basically telling me everything you're going to do before you even do it."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do, then?" Allen grunted, raising himself up onto one knee.

"Okay, look at me," Greave ordered.

His arms came up into a more professional boxing stance, bent slightly and held a little in front of him. He swung a few punches from that position, fast and direct jabs that moved so quickly his arms almost blurred in the air. If I didn't know better I'd have suspected him of having some kind of speedster ability.

"If you stand like this and jab quickly and precisely anyone you're fighting will have a much harder time of tracking your movements," Greave explained. "Eventually you'll be quick enough that, unless they're trained in fighting, your enemy wont be able to step out of the way fast enough, chances are they'll end up taking the hit."

"But… But you weren't standing like that when we were fighting just now!" Allen said, exasperated as he winced his way up into a standing position.

"Well, I was leaving you a big ol' opening, waiting to see if you'd try sneak one in to take advantage," Greave replied.

"And then I didn't," Allen said, shaking his head. "Well, screw this then. You're not even trying and you're kicking the crap out of me. I'm a supervillain, what's the point in any of this?"

"You need to know how to fight, Allen," Greave sighed, this was clearly a fight that they'd been over time and time again. They'd probably end up having it time and time again in the future, too.

"Well, if I'm ever in a situation where I can't use my powers for whatever reason, I'll probably have some crazy Crafter tech in my back pocket thanks to the new hire," Allen shot back.

The boy was clearly done with the training session, and I very much doubted that he was going to get back into the spirit of things as he threw himself onto one of the other sofas, lying down just like the previous night.

"Crafter tech is notorious for breaking down if the Crafter isn't there to maintain it," Greave noted, "No offence meant there, Tristan."

I shook my head, "None taken, you aren't wrong. I think I've had to repair my gauntlet in some way or another after every single time I've used it. Sure I'm willing to make crafter gear for you all, but I don't know how much it's going to need continuous work to maintain."

Allen groaned and turned into the sofa so he wasn't looking at any of us. "Don't care, not listening anymore," he said, voice muffled by the sofa cushions.

Greave rolled his eyes and gave an aggrieved sigh.

In this setting, it almost seemed like he was the dad of the group. Making sure that the other members were safe and prepared for the worst that the world could throw at them, no matter the situation that they ended up in.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you when you get your arse handed to you at some point in the future," Greave said.

He had a point, I hated to admit. Learning how to fight hand to hand would be useful, perhaps more so for me than anyone else on the team, considering I was the one who was most at risk if any tech did end up going wrong at the worst moment.

"You think you could teach me a thing or two?" I asked as I stood up from the sofa. "If my tech goes wrong, I don't want to be left out in the open. Being a burden on the team and putting myself in danger like that would kinda suck."

Grieve shot me a grin, "Glad someone gets it! Sure thing, step on up."