du_vallon | (no subject)

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tommy

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Ever since Aramis had made his comments about doing what he'd done back in the yard at the garrison, Porthos has started to keep an eye out for something along those lines. Swordfighting and pistols, Aramis can handle. Brute sparring and wrestling? Porthos has always taken it easy on Aramis, knowing he couldn't withstand the full brunt of Porthos' strength, but he doesn't want to lose it.

So he's searching and it's only when he gets to a gym on Randolph that he finds his answer. Peering inside, he sees a man throwing punches, not at someone else, but a bag. Porthos adjusts his belt and his sword, careful not to jostle them as he heads inside, taking his hat off so he can watch, curious about the point of it.

"You always do this?" he asks. "Where's the fun in it when there isn't another person?"

It beats him, seeing as the best parts of sparring is that winded, breathless look of pain on the other person's face.

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Cutting a look at the other guy, his rhythm briefly disrupted, Tommy lifted a shoulder in a shrug, saying, "Gotta do somethin' between opponents."

For the most part, guys gave each other space at the gym, and it sure as hell wasn't within the norm, to have some guy wander in, lookin' like he stepped out of some medieval knights reenactment or whatever.

His eyes flickered over the guy, clearly sizing him up. "Whatchu volunteerin'?"

"I've got someone who'll spar with me with swords and who can keep my shots straight," Porthos says, unbuckling the belt with his pistol and the musket equipment on it, wandering closer and sizing up the other man with a pleased nod of his head. "What I don't have is someone to keep me in shape, hand to hand. It's not much of a fair fight, with most people," he says, shrugging as he says it matter-of-factly. "I'd hate to lose my touch."

"You wanna fair fight?" Tommy said, dropping his hands finally and turning to face the guy. "I can give you that."

Jerking a nod to the practice ring, which was currently unoccupied, Tommy walked over to his bag, stopping for a sip of water and to kick off his shoes.

"Let's go."

Porthos can't think of anything better. He's quick to strip off his linen shirt and boots, but dismantling the array of weapons takes a second longer before he steps up to the ring in nothing but his calfskin trousers, cracking his shoulders back and trying to ignore the thrill in his bones at a fair fight. "Didn't even get your name," he says amiably as he stretches out his neck a bit.

"Tommy," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "Tommy Conlon."

He took a moment to watch the way the other guy moved, the heaviness of his steps, obvious tells or weaknesses. By the look of him, he'd be a formidable opponent. Tommy couldn't help but look forward to it.

Porthos gets the last of his things off, wishing he had some of his fighting gear, but he hadn't stopped to take it with him before getting whisked off to this place. "Porthos du Vallon," he replies with his name, still proud of the last name even if he's only taken it on for himself. He settles into his stance, grinning like an idiot as he taps his jaw lightly, old habits dying hard as he coaxes Tommy to swing for there first.

Snorting a laugh, Tommy took a swing, and while he pulled back on it marginally, it was still the kind of punch that had knocked heavyweights off their feet. The kind of punch that had ended more than a few fights right out of the gate.

He didn't want to knock Porthos out before they got started, but he wanted the guy to see what he was dealing with.

It knocks Porthos back a bit, would've done more if not for his sway backwards. It feels good to get punched, which isn't something he's telling anyone else, but the energy that pumps through him at knowing this man can give and take is intoxicating and he swings with all his weight with a right hook, the whole force of his body moving with him.

It was a solid hit, enough to rattle Tommy's foundation more than a little, but he broke out in a grin, saying, "Alright. So that's how it's gonna be."

He took another lap around the ring, shaking off what was left of that right hook, then he charged at Porthos with the full of his weight.

Porthos lets his arms out wide, wrapping them around Tommy, even as he's driven back and the wind gets knocked out of him temporarily, laughing breathlessly as it is. He thinks maybe LaBarge has been the last challenger to have this kind of affect on him and he loves it. "You're a big one, too, huh? I like it."

Arms still hooked around him, he leans them backwards so they hit the ground, rolling on top of Tommy once they're down.

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