ArchivedLogs:Vignette - An Ancient Tradition

Vignette - An Ancient Tradition
Dramatis Personae Peter, Hank
In Absentia	2013-04-04 Hank introduces Peter to an old tradition.
Location <XS> Danger Room
"Why am I in a boxing ring," Peter asks. Peter is dressed in his black hoodie, ski-mask, black dress slacks, and yellow-bug eyed goggles; today, he's minus those cumbersome wrist-watches of his. He stands, currently, in the midst of what /appears/ -- to the untrained eye -- to be a boxing ring. The hot-white lights shine down on him; around him, the bleachers and seats are bathed in darkness -- and completely empty. Well, almost empty. In one seat, near the back, there is something blue and furry and currently clad in a labcoat and glasses. He's got a laptop perched on his lap, the screen casting a flourescent white glow across his feline-esque features. "It's not a boxing ring," Dr. Henry McCoy corrects, quite absently: "And this is part of your training." "Am I going to have to box Mike Tyson? I don't want to box Mike Tyson," Peter grouses. "Why can't I have my web-guns." "It is /not/ a boxing ring," Dr. McCoy corrects again; still, he does not look up to Peter. "I've been reviewing your -- ah, 'recreational' training sessions -- with Mr. Logan--" "Isn't it 'Professor' Logan?" "MISTER Logan," Dr. McCoy responds immediately, and now he /does/ look up at Peter -- one eyebrow cocked high -- but he soon returns to his work on the laptop. "...and I noticed a small, but important, deficiency." "Deficiency? What. I helped him beat up a kraken /and/ I convinced him he's a hobbit. What's deficient about that?" "Your reliance on your 'web-pistols'," Dr. McCoy explains, typing away. "While they offer long-range versatility, they also provide you with an 'easy' solution toward the majority of your encounters. What if you don't have them? What if you run out of the bio-adhesive? What if your assailants are somehow immune?" "Okay," Peter says, "so, like -- you're going to teach me to... what, box?" Dr. McCoy opens his mouth to correct Peter for the third time -- but then, he thinks better of it. Rather, he just sighs -- and taps the enter-key. "Not exactly, Peter. I had something a bit more -- theatrical -- in mind. Are you familiar with... wrestling?" Peter stiffens in the center of the ring. Suddenly, he's glancing around /very/ nervously. "Wr--wrestling? You mean, like -- with Hulk Hogan? OhGod are you sending Hulk Hogan after me? I don't even /like/ wrestling--" "Peter," and now, Dr. McCoy's stare is centered on the boy, armed with a crooked smile. "While I by no means wish to disparage the art of American wrestling -- its athletic and theatrical rigor deserve nothing but respect and admiration! -- as an afficianado of the sport, my heart belongs elsewhere. To a more... graceful tradition." Peter's apprehension only grows by leaps and bounds: "OhGod. Please tell me you are not sending NAKED ANCIENT GREEKS after me." "No, Peter. Computer: Activate 'Lucha Libre'." Peter turns. There is now 6 feet and change of leotard clad muscle /looming/ above him. Said muscle is wearing a silver luchadore mask -- and stretching arms as thick as Peter's waist out in front of him, cracking his knuckles. "Meet El Santo, Mr. Parker. Today, he will be teaching you the meaning of justice -- honor -- and the flying elbow-strike." McCoy pauses, before adding, with just a hint of amusement: "May God have mercy on your soul."