Ted_MxM
Member
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2019
Brel woke from his restful slumber feeling refreshed but a bit dazed. Kass's negative memory erasure was pretty thorough, but it muddled with Brel's understanding of where he was and why. Though, he wasn't suspicious of the only person here he had any positive disposition to, because he'd been magically forced to trust him. Still wearing the gifted shirt and shorts, the Zeltron padded out of the newer, or unfavored, slave sleeping area barefoot and hungry.
He did a bit better this morning finding the remnants of the last meal from when the majority of the other inhabitants got up, and the hunger in his belly was satisfied for the first time in days. As Brel ate, he worked to piece together his fugue. He'd been in the Cages. Then, Kass gave him clothes. Then, he went to sleep. There had to have been more to his yesterday than that. Maybe his new master drugged him when he was released after his punishment to keep him calm for his reentry into the general populace?
That suspicion got Brel's mental wheels slowly spinning again about escape. This new arrangement was entirely unacceptable, but to get out, he had to be less of a hot-head and not storm off without a plan if he wanted any chance of being free. While Brel was fit and rugged, fighting wasn't really his forte, and he considered it might be useful. There was that really big guy to worry about, but that giant couldn't be everywhere at once, and a prolonged scuffle with other guards or loyal slaves could end up ruining any plan relying on speed.
To that end, Brel headed off in search of where he thought he'd remembered there was some gladiator pit or something. There were such things on Aquilae, but he'd only watched when his old master brought him as part of an entourage. It was good for a gamble when there was no risk of one ending up part of the show.
Brel's sense of direction was good enough, and he found arena and training center, and he headed into the latter. It was recognizable as a gym with some assorted practice weapons and large flat mats. They weren't useful with no one to train with, so Brel's purple eyes scanned the facility until he spotted something he could do by himself. He approached a punching bag, and never having struck one, he felt awkward standing in front of it. "Fark it," he muttered and threw a moderate punch. It sounded more like a slap than a punch to him, but the action holos probably used fake sound effects for fistfights. His knuckles only stung a little at that strength, so Brel threw another punch that was a bit harder. He alternated fists, without particular skill, just getting used to the motion, the feeling of impact, and alternating sting and numbness of his knuckles as his nervous system was instructed to lessen the pain. As Brel worked up into actual exertion, his implants worked to mitigate his pulse elevation and regulate the chemicals his body produced in response to the activity, keeping him physically more 'at rest' than someone normally would be, delaying his fatigue.
@Kiri
He did a bit better this morning finding the remnants of the last meal from when the majority of the other inhabitants got up, and the hunger in his belly was satisfied for the first time in days. As Brel ate, he worked to piece together his fugue. He'd been in the Cages. Then, Kass gave him clothes. Then, he went to sleep. There had to have been more to his yesterday than that. Maybe his new master drugged him when he was released after his punishment to keep him calm for his reentry into the general populace?
That suspicion got Brel's mental wheels slowly spinning again about escape. This new arrangement was entirely unacceptable, but to get out, he had to be less of a hot-head and not storm off without a plan if he wanted any chance of being free. While Brel was fit and rugged, fighting wasn't really his forte, and he considered it might be useful. There was that really big guy to worry about, but that giant couldn't be everywhere at once, and a prolonged scuffle with other guards or loyal slaves could end up ruining any plan relying on speed.
To that end, Brel headed off in search of where he thought he'd remembered there was some gladiator pit or something. There were such things on Aquilae, but he'd only watched when his old master brought him as part of an entourage. It was good for a gamble when there was no risk of one ending up part of the show.
Brel's sense of direction was good enough, and he found arena and training center, and he headed into the latter. It was recognizable as a gym with some assorted practice weapons and large flat mats. They weren't useful with no one to train with, so Brel's purple eyes scanned the facility until he spotted something he could do by himself. He approached a punching bag, and never having struck one, he felt awkward standing in front of it. "Fark it," he muttered and threw a moderate punch. It sounded more like a slap than a punch to him, but the action holos probably used fake sound effects for fistfights. His knuckles only stung a little at that strength, so Brel threw another punch that was a bit harder. He alternated fists, without particular skill, just getting used to the motion, the feeling of impact, and alternating sting and numbness of his knuckles as his nervous system was instructed to lessen the pain. As Brel worked up into actual exertion, his implants worked to mitigate his pulse elevation and regulate the chemicals his body produced in response to the activity, keeping him physically more 'at rest' than someone normally would be, delaying his fatigue.
@Kiri