"'e said 'e wanted you t'have some fun," is the best answer Porthos can offer, though he has to admit the kid doesn't look like he thinks this is much fun. Maybe he just needs to get into it first. "An' hey, it's never a bad idea to 'ave some idea how to defend yourself, never know when it'll come in 'andy, right?" Have another dimpled smile, Credence, he's doing his best here.
As hardwired as he is to go for the worst possible conclusion, he thinks:
Quentin thinks he'll lose his magic. He'll do something wrong and Alec will
take it away and then he'll be helpless.
"Right," he says, doing the best he can to sound agreeable. "So - what do I
have to do?"
"Well, 'ow 'bout we try an' give you the skills to keep that from happenin' again, then?" he offers cheerfully enough, though he's still trying to wrap his head around the idea of a grown man who's never thrown a punch. "First thing you gotta know is 'ow to make a proper fist, or the only one you'll be doin' any damage to is yourself.
"So 'ere, hold your hand out, an' then close it like this." He demonstrates with his own hand, extended palm down, and then folds all his fingers in before folding his thumb across the bottom of them all.
"Exactly, there you go, lad. Now, I want you t'aim at this spot, right 'ere." He touches his fingers lightly to a spot directly opposite Credence's face on the bag. "An' give it a good, hard hit, like this." And he demonstrates with a quick, sharp jab to the bag that sets it rocking.
Not many do, including his fellow Musketeers, so he's neither surprised nor bothered by the lack. "Good job," he encourages, because he can see Credence actually did try, and there's no point criticizing a failing the boy can't do anything about in the moment.
"You feel 'ow it came not just from your arm, but from your shoulders an' back?" He touches Credence's shoulder to reinforce his words. "Gave you more power'n if you'd used just your arm, an' you'll get even more if you get your hips into it too."
Porthos pulls his hand back immediately at the flinch, he's more than familiar with men and women wary of unsolicited touch, and for more than good reason. It tells him a little more about the boy's shyness and quiet as well.
"I won' touch you without askin' again," he promises, not solemnly at all, but as if it's simply an unexceptionable matter of course. "As for 'ow t'do that, look here."
He sets himself up at the bag, both hands raised and curled into fists in front of him, feet planted solidly in a way that makes it look like it might take a team of mules to move him, but also like he could move in any direction without hardly having to think about it. "You just... when you throw a punch-" He makes a point of moving a little slower this time- "You put your whole body b'hind it. Shoulders 'an hips an' even your legs if it's important enough." And he demonstrates, weight shifting into the blow as he follows through onto the bag. "You've got t'be careful to keep your balance, though. You put too much into it an' overbalance into your opponent an' they have you at a disadvantage."
He steps back and turns to Credence. "You ready t'try?"
He tries, and he does what he's told - a little stiffly, perhaps, but he
follows through. His shoulders, his hips, a slight shifting of his feet,
all of it going into the swing of his arm - and the bag still barely seems
to notice the impact, except for the way it jars his wrist and elbow.
He steps back, frowning faintly, shaking out his arm.
"Well, an' just 'how many folks d'you think are good at somethin' the first time they ever try it, then?" he asks reasonably. Because, yeah, the kid's definitely not a natural, but there's no point discouraging him, and he keeps reminding himself he's meant to be trying to make it fun... though he's got no clue how to go about accomplishing that. "An' that time was better." Because it was, even if it still wasn't impressive.
"Just, 'ere." He holds out his own arm again, hand fisted. "One thing t'keep in mind is that your wrist needs t'be straight, fist lined right up with your forearm, otherwise if you hit hard enough the most damage you'll be doin' is t'your own wrist." He demonstrates with a light punch this time, not rocking the bag at all, just showing the alignment of his arm.
"An'" He purses his lips, considering, then grins. "How 'bout this, there anyone you especially can't stand? Who you'd love t'see get a fist straight t'the face? 'Cause it don't hurt if you let yourself imagine you're hittin' them instead. Gives you a bit'a... insentive, eh?"
This would be perfectly fine advice in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases. Credence is the one left over.
He curls his fist again. He thinks of Mister Graves, the way he'd dismissed him for the very same flaws he's demonstrating now.
No power.
The abrupt pain blossoming from a hit to the jaw.
You're unteachable.
What Credence swings at the bag isn't a fist. It's a storm, a mass of hateful black energy, and it tears the bag from its moorings and hurls what's left of it at the far wall.
And then the moment passes, and Credence stumbles back, whole again and wide-eyed.
Porthos recoils back in shock and no little--quickly suppressed--fear, already reaching for his sword where he's hung it the moment he catches his balance. "Holy Mary Mother'a God," he curses, though it quickly switches to a low whistle of, well, awe, when he sees the destruction Credence has wrought, and that the boy himself has stumbled back and as well, and reverted to normal somewhere along the line. He's not sure what the hell to make of it, it's definitely nothing he would have anticipated even when Quentin had told him the boy was 'a brilliant sorcerer.'
"Not so sure punchin's anything you'll ever need t'worry 'bout if you can do that." He's not running, but he is wary and not coming closer again yet. "You all right, lad?" Because for all the power he'd just displayed Credence looks... well, shocked and a little out of sorts. Like maybe he hadn't expected it.
"'ey now, no call for that. You didn't do any more damage that way than I could if I gave it a good wallop with my fist." Which might not be quite completely accurate, but Porthos is fairly sure it's at least close. And the fact the boy's shake, well, it's not reassuring he did that by accident, and it's probably best he not go charging off distressed and maybe confused.
"Really don't like whoever you were thinkin' on punchin', huh?"
Credence looks at the bag, which right now is deflating against the far wall, bleeding sand from the dozens of gouges torn into the leather. He doubts, somehow, that a good wallop from anyone's fist could have done that.
"No, sir. This was - I should - I'm going to go," he says, asserting himself that tiny bit. "I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'll ask Quentin if there's anyone else who needs a lesson."
Porthos looks at him seriously, considers the way he's behaved so far and how much effort it probably took him to actually make that sort of absolute declaration... and he wants to tell him no, but he won't.
"Wasn't a waste, lad, not like I've got anything better t'do. Just-" He frowns for a moment, then continues. "Just remember 'at any kinda strength takes practice an' control. You're not the first an' you won't be the last t'do things you 'adn't meant to. There's no shame in 'avin' t'learn control, just in not tryin' to."
Credence, for just a moment - so briefly you'd be forgiven for thinking you
imagined it - looks absolutely furious.
Control has been his entire life. Every waking moment, half his attention
is on keeping the Obscurus suppressed, on keeping the pain under his skin.
He knows more about control, now, than most people learn in a lifetime. To
have a single slip taken for a lack of it, when it would be easier for
him to destroy this entire ship than it is to stand still -
And then the anger vanishes and he affects perfect calm.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2018-01-13 09:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-13 09:50 am (UTC)As hardwired as he is to go for the worst possible conclusion, he thinks: Quentin thinks he'll lose his magic. He'll do something wrong and Alec will take it away and then he'll be helpless.
"Right," he says, doing the best he can to sound agreeable. "So - what do I have to do?"
no subject
Date: 2018-01-13 10:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-13 10:20 am (UTC)He shakes his head. "No, sir, never. I've been punched," he adds, like that might be helpful.
no subject
Date: 2018-01-13 10:30 am (UTC)"So 'ere, hold your hand out, an' then close it like this." He demonstrates with his own hand, extended palm down, and then folds all his fingers in before folding his thumb across the bottom of them all.
no subject
Date: 2018-01-13 10:46 am (UTC)Credence does precisely that, hand curling into a tight fist just as shown.
"Like this?"
no subject
Date: 2018-01-13 10:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-13 10:54 am (UTC)"Okay."
He tries, and he puts his back into it as best he can, but he has nowhere near Porthos' upper body strength and it shows.
no subject
Date: 2018-01-17 08:34 am (UTC)"You feel 'ow it came not just from your arm, but from your shoulders an' back?" He touches Credence's shoulder to reinforce his words. "Gave you more power'n if you'd used just your arm, an' you'll get even more if you get your hips into it too."
no subject
Date: 2018-01-17 10:18 am (UTC)Credence startles slightly at the contact. He didn't quite see it coming and he's got years more experience of touch hurting than not.
"I - I don't know how to do that."
no subject
Date: 2018-01-19 08:34 am (UTC)"I won' touch you without askin' again," he promises, not solemnly at all, but as if it's simply an unexceptionable matter of course. "As for 'ow t'do that, look here."
He sets himself up at the bag, both hands raised and curled into fists in front of him, feet planted solidly in a way that makes it look like it might take a team of mules to move him, but also like he could move in any direction without hardly having to think about it. "You just... when you throw a punch-" He makes a point of moving a little slower this time- "You put your whole body b'hind it. Shoulders 'an hips an' even your legs if it's important enough." And he demonstrates, weight shifting into the blow as he follows through onto the bag. "You've got t'be careful to keep your balance, though. You put too much into it an' overbalance into your opponent an' they have you at a disadvantage."
He steps back and turns to Credence. "You ready t'try?"
no subject
Date: 2018-01-19 10:05 am (UTC)"Y-yes."
He tries, and he does what he's told - a little stiffly, perhaps, but he follows through. His shoulders, his hips, a slight shifting of his feet, all of it going into the swing of his arm - and the bag still barely seems to notice the impact, except for the way it jars his wrist and elbow.
He steps back, frowning faintly, shaking out his arm.
"I'm not good at this."
no subject
Date: 2018-01-20 12:58 am (UTC)"Just, 'ere." He holds out his own arm again, hand fisted. "One thing t'keep in mind is that your wrist needs t'be straight, fist lined right up with your forearm, otherwise if you hit hard enough the most damage you'll be doin' is t'your own wrist." He demonstrates with a light punch this time, not rocking the bag at all, just showing the alignment of his arm.
"An'" He purses his lips, considering, then grins. "How 'bout this, there anyone you especially can't stand? Who you'd love t'see get a fist straight t'the face? 'Cause it don't hurt if you let yourself imagine you're hittin' them instead. Gives you a bit'a... insentive, eh?"
no subject
Date: 2018-01-20 01:09 am (UTC)He curls his fist again. He thinks of Mister Graves, the way he'd dismissed him for the very same flaws he's demonstrating now.
No power.
The abrupt pain blossoming from a hit to the jaw.
You're unteachable.
What Credence swings at the bag isn't a fist. It's a storm, a mass of hateful black energy, and it tears the bag from its moorings and hurls what's left of it at the far wall.
And then the moment passes, and Credence stumbles back, whole again and wide-eyed.
no subject
Date: 2018-01-21 12:20 am (UTC)"Not so sure punchin's anything you'll ever need t'worry 'bout if you can do that." He's not running, but he is wary and not coming closer again yet. "You all right, lad?" Because for all the power he'd just displayed Credence looks... well, shocked and a little out of sorts. Like maybe he hadn't expected it.
no subject
Date: 2018-01-21 11:13 am (UTC)Credence looks up, startled, incredulous. Is he alright?
"Yes. I'm fine. I should go."
no subject
Date: 2018-01-21 11:58 pm (UTC)"Really don't like whoever you were thinkin' on punchin', huh?"
no subject
Date: 2018-01-22 08:19 am (UTC)"No, sir. This was - I should - I'm going to go," he says, asserting himself that tiny bit. "I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'll ask Quentin if there's anyone else who needs a lesson."
no subject
Date: 2018-01-24 04:14 am (UTC)"Wasn't a waste, lad, not like I've got anything better t'do. Just-" He frowns for a moment, then continues. "Just remember 'at any kinda strength takes practice an' control. You're not the first an' you won't be the last t'do things you 'adn't meant to. There's no shame in 'avin' t'learn control, just in not tryin' to."
no subject
Date: 2018-01-24 07:57 am (UTC)Credence, for just a moment - so briefly you'd be forgiven for thinking you imagined it - looks absolutely furious.
Control has been his entire life. Every waking moment, half his attention is on keeping the Obscurus suppressed, on keeping the pain under his skin. He knows more about control, now, than most people learn in a lifetime. To have a single slip taken for a lack of it, when it would be easier for him to destroy this entire ship than it is to stand still -
And then the anger vanishes and he affects perfect calm.
"Yes, sir. Thank you."