Hannah J. Flynn (hannah_flynn) wrote in low_tide, @ 2010-01-01 11:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | gw robichaux, hannah flynn |
Prepare for Bad-Assery
GW smiled and waved as his last (and youngest) student in the 12:30 karate class left the room with her mother, and then breathed a silent sigh of relief. Mrs. Jenkins had been not-so-subtly trying to pick him up for a few weeks now and he'd been doing his best to indicate he wasn't interested, short of actually telling the woman off, as he made a point not to date other men's wives. If Sally wasn't such a dedicated and gifted student, he'd probably have tried to find another instructor for her to go to, but the girl was a joy to teach.
The Cajun took a swig from his water bottle and then checked his watch; he had a good half hour before his next class. That meant he had a little time to stretch and practice some of his more advanced katas before the students started trickling in.
Old Town Fitness was a modest building with dark windows and a sea-green front. The owners could've just as easily sold tire rims in there as taught fitness classes; from the outside, one couldn't tell what went on inside. Hannah had passed it before, back when it was called Iron Bodies. Being a naturally petite sort who walked her dog and liked to swim, organized fitness didn't make the list of things Hannah was burning to try. A pilates video in her Christmas stocking had put the nail in that coffin, thanks to a particularly grueling set of flutter kicks and a pulled ass muscle. And that was that.
Well, until recently.
After the street carnival, when she touched that redhead and turned her into a fanged fiend, Hannah had been thinking about self-defense. Making people into freaks might be her own fault, but that didn't mean she had to get eaten or mauled, did it? No. So she went through her landlord's phone book and called places, asking general questions about types of classes taught and prices. Old Town had reasonable fees, so that's where she ended up, on the one-hundred block of Truman Street.
She entered the gym, passed the area where veiny people lifted free weights and worked equipment, and found the back room where classes were taught. The whole place smelled like sweat and vinyl mats. At the door, she hesitated.
Situational awareness was something GW had learned early on in his time with the Corps and had been reinforced through experiences on the battlefield. Habits like those were hard to break even if he'd wanted to, so when he sensed movement by the door he paused in mid-stretch to look up toward it.
Standing there and looking very uncertain was a petite blonde who couldn't be much taller than five feet and looked slight enough that a good stiff wind could blow her away. Very cute though, in a pixie-ish kind of way.
"C'mon in," he called with a friendly smile, hoping to put her at ease. "I promise I don't bite." He figured the best thing he could do at this point was to finish his stretch and wait for her to either come all the way in or back out.
"That's a relief," she said. "Seeing as how I'm here to avoid that kind of thing." Hannah left the comfort of her friend, the door jamb. The room was big and mirrored, like the dance studio she took six classes in during the fall of 1996, after which her grandma decided she'd rather risk Hannah becoming a video game sloth than listen to those metal shoes click-clacking on the linoleum. No tap shoes today, just a pair of jeans, a Green Day t-shirt, and converse shoes.
For some reason, she'd pictured a different sort of dude running karate classes... Someone wearing a gi and bearing a remarkable resemblance to John Kreese. No, Sensei! The man in shorts and sleeveless t-shirt looked all too friendly. Maybe she ought to go elsewhere, where the instructors barked like pit bulls and chewed your head off when you crossed the threshold. No, she thought. I'm here to learn, not wet myself in public.
"I'm Hannah. Are you G.W.? The... um," she held up a fake handset, "People on the phone said I should talk to G.W."
"Dat's me," GW confirmed with a nod as he got to his feet. In his experience people were intimidated by the traditional gi, and he wanted people to respect his authority as Sensei because they valued his skills and instruction, not because he looked the part. "G.W. Robichaux at your service, Miss Hannah."
He walked over toward the blonde but made a point not to crowd her. "You had some trouble?" The crime wave that had engulfed Key West had done wonders for his business lately, people signing up for classes if just to make themselves feel better if nothing else. There wasn't much a person could do if your opponent had a gun to your head, but short of that he could teach them enough skills that they stood a good chance to get away.
"A little." She shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal of it. How on Earth would she explain herself? Yeah, I touch people and they sprout fur and sharp things, sometimes, so I figured I'd come in. No way, no how. Her fingers balled up in her pockets, which were too tight for it and strained around her fists. "Purse snatcher. And actually, last month, I was watching that movie Enough with Jennifer Lopez and I thought, hey, we ladies need to learn how to stand up for ourselves, right? In case of..." Domestic violence? Nuh-uh, too touchy. "Attempted kidnapping. I get the creeps whenever I see one of those panel vans. You know."
That was her trouble. Always over-explaining, when 'I'd like to learn how to kick butt' would work just fine.
GW's eyebrows ran up toward his hairline at the flow of words. "Well, we can certainly work on that, no problem!" He couldn't help but smile. "After a little while you'll be able to make short work of anyone tryin' to get you into a panel van."
He leaned against the wall and looked her over with an instructor's eye this time, instead of just a single man's. She had some muscle tone, but being so small she'd be at a disadvantage against a larger opponent. "What sort of physical training have you had in the past? Are we starting from scratch or do you already have some experience?"
Hannah's mouth puckered. Eeeh... "Prettttty much from scratch. Unless you count thumb wrestling. I have very nimble thumbs. Please tell me that counts for something." She was joking, but allowed herself to look a little hopeful, anyway. Who knew, maybe there was some awesome eye-gouging maneuver that required dexterity of that nature. While she stood there, she pondered his accent. What was that, anyway? It put her in mind of Forrest Gump -- albeit cuter -- but she couldn't figure out why. She looked at his t-shirt. It was damp in certain places, like he'd already been there for hours, working up a good perspiration. He also had big arm muscles. Not steroids-and-GNC-shakes big, but impressive.
"All right, that's something." He smiled again and brought his hands up into view to wiggle the thumbs. "Thumbs can be an important part of any self defense training. Properly wielded they can be deadly if put in the right spot." He was joking back, partially. There were moves that he could teach but it wasn't in karate per se, and not something he would teach for run of the mill self defense.
"If I'm going to teach you, you should know a little about me. I've been studying martial arts for over a decade, and I first started learning Karate when I was stationed in Okinawa with the Marine Corps. While I was in the Corps, I instructed other Marines in hand to hand combat, and I've put the skills to use in combat. I've been teaching civilians for about a year now: I don't shout, I don't scream, but I don't suffer fools. If you want to learn I'm happy to teach, but you've got to practice."
Okinawa, huh? So the Karate Kid thing stood; she just needed to think sequel.
Hannah nodded. "Sounds like a good deal to me. Trust me, I'm not okay with sucking at anything I do. I'm a go-getter, G.W." It was true, so Hannah felt comfortable claiming it, but she'd never tried anything like this before. "Oh! I'm also self-employed, so I have plenty of time to practice. Extra, if I'm feeling the urge to procrastinate." She paused for a few seconds, zoning out on the neck of his shirt while she pondered it. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure what kind of classes to try for," she admitted. "I mean, regular self-defense or karate or whatever. Is there a kind where I don't have to..." Oh, boy. "Touch a lot of strangers?"
"Not at first," GW told her. "The first several classes will be about learning the proper forms, sparring will come later. The others won't be strangers to you then, they'll be classmates." He looked at her thoughtfully, wondering how dedicated a student she'd turn out to be. "Once you've got the basics down we'll start working on techniques to use against larger opponents, which for you will be a lot of people.
"So when do you want to start?"
Chewing her lip and twisting the toe of her shoe against the mat, Hannah considered his explanation. Maybe she'd work really hard for a while, then skip out before the sparring. Or save up money and try to pay someone to give private lessons. As it was, she'd have to make sure G.W. himself didn't go rabid if they made any contact. A rotating class full of people with fighting know-how? That could spell disaster, exactly what she was attempting to avoid. "Okay," she said, a bit slower than she should've. "I just... I get a little wigged about a lot of contact. But I can start whenever. As soon as possible. You know, just tell me what to wear to class and I'll get it, 'cause I'm guessing these jeans aren't ideal." Especially jeans with turtle patches sewed on the butt pockets. Nothing about that said 'bad mofo to be'.
"Some people like to wear gi's, but I don't require it in adult classes." GW shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck a bit self consciously. It was a bit unorthodox, but so was he. "Just wear something loose fitting and that you're comfortable sweating in. Workout clothes."
"If I'm not bein' too nosy, why are you wigged about contact? There's only so much you can learn without actually sparring. Did you have a bad experience with someone?" He frowned, she had said something about a purse snatcher but that shouldn't have her wigged out about people touching her unless there was something she wasn't telling him. "I don't allow any inappropriate touching in my classes. If you start having problems with anyone I want to know about it when it happens, ok?"
"Yeah," Hannah said. "Yeah, sure. It's... Okay, I'll level with you." Partially level, anyway.
"For some reason, I um... I seem to have a history of..." Ugh! She stomped a little, frustrated with herself for being a poor liar, but determined to come up with a credible reason. "I dunno why, but I'm one of those people that brings out the ugly side of others. Tempers, you know. And I'm smart enough to know I don't deserve mistreatment, so it's not a self-esteem thing or whatever. I just... have a history of people going whack-o on me out of the total blue."
"That's odd." GW didn't automatically go around thinking that things had a supernatural influence, but that description had him wondering if the woman might have had a hex put on her by someone. The Cajun considered the idea and then dismissed it. If later on he had reason to change his mind, he'd contact tante Marie and see if there was anything she could send him to break whatever it was.
"Is it something the just happened all the sudden?" He reached over and touched her on the arm, just to prove to himself that they were both overreacting over nothing. If he was going to be her instructor, this was something she was going to have to get over.
"Whoa." Hannah jumped a little, surprised that he'd done that. Sure, she bumped into people throughout the day. It was bound to happen, like in supermarkets and when people's fingers brushed hers when she handed them loose change. Unless she wanted to go through life wearing gloves like Rogue from X-Men, she had to deem those acceptable risks, and 99.9% of the time, nothing happened. It was the intentional grasps that had her a little bug-eyed lately, and that one was intentional.
Also surprising, G.W. had gotten more info from Hannah's story than she anticipated. Like the fact that she actually avoided being touched, rather than just being generally skittish around people because she had a gift for pissing them off. On a positive note, he appeared to be in the 99.9%. "No. It's not sudden," she said, and left it at that.
"I see. Well, whatever it is, I seem to be immune," GW remarked with a wry smile as he let his arm fall to his side. "That's important if I'm going to teach you. I've got to be able to correct your form and help spar later on, once you've got the basics down."
Besides, going through life afraid to touch anyone would be awfully lonely.
"Correcting? What are you talking about? My form's awesome!" Hannah checked out her own rack and ass. Then she waited a few seconds before adding, "Ba-dunk...chahhh!" like a rim shot, complete with hand choreography. "I'm kidding, G-Dub... ul-you." The last syllables had been hastily added on, once she realized it might be inappropriate to nickname her martial arts instructor, whose 'I don't take no crap from nobody' speech barely had dust on it. "They really shouldn't let me out in public."
"Your form is awesome, I agree. But we want to keep it that way, which is why you're here." He smirked at the babbling and shook his head. "Relax, nicknames I don't mind. I've had worse than 'G-dub'." Much worse. "Just don't use them during class and we're good." He had enough trouble from teenagers trying to be funny and giving him grief in the class. They usually ended up doing push-ups off in the corner while he continued class for the rest of the students. Hopefully Hannah, being older and a business owner herself, wouldn't be too much trouble where that was concerned.
"I have an adult class at six thirty this evening, if you're interested."
Hannah gestured at the door. "So I could... like, run home, throw on some sweats, and come back today?" If she sounded a little awestruck, it was because the blonde anticipated a day to get up her gumption, perhaps cruise the local shops for an awesome workout ensemble that made her feel better about the whole thing. Definitely no forehead sweatbands, though. As tempting as the cliche might be, Hannah had put her internal foot down. Not wanting to look like she was wimping out, she wiped the startled look off her face and shrugged. "I mean, yeah, I could do that." I'll have to reschedule the evening of couch-potato-ing I had scheduled. "You might want to warn your class first, about the total clobbering they're going to eventually receive. I'm small, yet mighty. Heyyy, I'm like an undercover agent. Nobody'll see me coming."
"Hah!" Her new instructor grinned at her attitude. He could tell he was in for an interesting time with Hannah in his class. "They may not see you coming, but they'll hear you a mile away.
"Go on, get out of here." GW made a shooing motion, the grin still on his face. "Go make some money with your business and come back this evening ready to get your Kung-Fu on."
Hannah karate-chopped the air, pretty sure she'd done it way wrong, but whatever. It was in the spirit of things. "You got it, dude." At the front desk, she was sure, membership paperwork and death-and-dismemberment waivers awaited signing. "See ya tonight." She left the room with ponytail springing back and forth between her shoulderblades, feeling nervous but decidedly better about things. At least nobody could say she was a chickenshit, or that she didn't try her best to solve her problems.