#alexander001

[annie-perrault]

the going of winter | alex & annie

@alexander-donovan​:

[Alex looks between the two of them, expression mostly blank, save for a small frown. Passed out? It seems like a strange activity to be passing out in—it’s not particularly high impact (hardly at all, in fact), they haven’t done excessive cardio today and obviously Perrault hasn’t been hit in the head or anything of that nature—at least not currently. Seeing as the Games have recently passed, he supposes it’s somewhat possible she’d suffered a concussion or something of the like, though if she had, she’d never told anybody about it, because if she’s been in the infirmary and an injury had been documented, Alex would have been informed. 

But Annie has been in and out of his training rotations for a few years now, and Alex picked up on the pattern a long time ago. Over exhaustion has been an ongoing issue, and he knows there’s more to it than a simple case of insomnia, but he doesn’t know too many of the details. Just that she’s been banned from coffee and apparently it was serious enough that the nurses had felt they’d had to let the Calyset Elites know.

Annie tries to shrug it off, which is unsurprising, as Alex has noticed she hates any kind of attention, especially that of an entire class. He juts his head towards the bleachers calmly.] Take a bench. Bring your water. I’ll meet you over there in a moment. 

[He turns his head to address the rest of the class.] Keep it up, folks. Mountain climbers, one minute. Go. [He turns his attention back to Annie, who’s not yet left.] Now, Miss Perrault, [he says, stern and stoic, before turning his back to fetch something from the training lock up.] 

[Oh thank god. He just benches her, which is about the best outcome Annie could have hoped for -- she’s going to be paranoid that people are staring at her, but she’s always paranoid about that. She nods, but doesn’t immediately move. The idea of it is just exhausting. The benches look so far away, and standing up seems like an insurmountable task.

For some reason giraffes pop into her head. She remembers seeing a documentary about them, how they have to splay their legs really wide before they dip their heads down to drink water, because they have really strong hearts to get the blood up their necks so if they put their heads right down, and gravity gets involved, their heart blasts so much blood into their head that they just... die, or something. She can’t really remember but is wondering vaguely if her heart could do something like that, and is abruptly snapped back to the present when Alex gives her a stern ‘now’. Shit. Annie hates upsetting authority figures -- more than her peers, because she’s used to her peers disliking her. She’d spent a lot of lunchtimes hanging out in classrooms because the teacher’s presence tended to deter bullies for the hour at least, so she’d ended up sort-of befriending a lot of teachers.

With a meek and mousy ‘yes, sir’, Annie shoots to her feet. She doesn’t need to be told twice. Or thrice, rather, as this is the second time he has told her. Her head spins for a moment when she gets up, but she grabs her water bottle and manages to get to the benches without further incident. Annie sits heavily, carefully not watching the class in case anyone is watching her back. Instead, she fishes in her pocket for the granola bar she’d been planning on eating after training, since she’d not really had much at breakfast. She’s still not hungry, but picks off a few flakes of oats and chews on them. She finds that she can’t swallow. She knows that it’s not really food or water she needs. She needs to sleep. It’s been days and days, and the knowledge that she will soon have to succumb to sleep makes her feel ill to her core.] 

[cambieandrews]

penny for your thoughts || alex & cambie

@alexander-donovan

[After talking to Fee about his feelings on training, and some possible alternatives, Cambie is comfortable enough with him not joining the regular training groups at least for a couple of weeks -- but she’s not going to make any promises to him without checking with an AP trainer or two first. Cambie has years of experience in dance on her side, but she’s not the professional trainer here; she’d taught a few classes irregularly to younger dancers, but nothing formal.

So when breakfast comes around, Cambie grabs a coffee and a cereal bar and looks for Alex. She wants to speak with him, because he’s got a level head and an honest heart. They don’t know one another terribly well, but she trusts him well enough for this.

Cambie slips into the seat opposite him; he’s alone, as he often seems to be during breakfast. Oh god, she thinks, she’s not an easily flustered person but sitting right next to him, she does see what some of the younger Delmas whisper about. But, Cambie’s here for a purpose, and she’s at least mature enough to get on with it without any faffing around.] 

Morning, Alex. Don’t suppose you’ve got time for me to pick your brain on something?

[cvnstantin]

mob mentality || alex & costin

@alexander-donovan

[The hand on his shoulder comes as slightly unexpected—he thinks of Mitch, briefly. One of the few people who’s casual and friendly touch has become familiar, even welcomed. Andreya’s too, a long time ago now, but that’s obviously a little different.

Alex is not, by any means, opposed to touch; many of his fellow officers or reporting sergeants had become familiar enough with Alex to touch him much  in the same way. But it dawns on him now, as Constantin puts a hand on his shoulder, that the only people touch Alex as casually as that, are fellow Elites he’s known for a while, or people he’s gotten close to on a personal, and equal level—which is a very short list.

It also occurs to him that somewhat ironically, Alex is not at all sparing with touching others. It’s in his nature, an impulse that’s gentle in execution but a fierce thing to try to eradicate or control. Small touches on a shoulder, a guiding push or pull on an arm. Firm, but never forceful. Sure, but never too demanding. It’s an exertion of control, he realizes. And though it’s largely on a subconscious level, and always composed and careful, it’s not really until someone breaks this unspoken norm, that he realizes he uses physical touch as a method of domination, and does not expect to be touched himself without permission unless it’s someone who’s crossed over from subordinate or stranger, to friend.

It doesn’t bother him now, exactly, but as always, when these kinds of acutely aware moments regarding his dominating subconscious arise, he feels a subtle but distinct sense of discomfort. He maintains a lot of regret, even shame, with this side of himself, and he’s attributed much of that to the blind hate through which many see police officers and men in uniform. Still, he sometimes wonders if there’s more to it—but he doesn’t like to worry about things he can’t change, so they are thoughts repeatedly shoved aside.

He nods gently.] Of course, it’s the least I could do. But I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. How could you have been expected to learn something involving multiple individuals or crowds when you’ve been isolated for so long? That simply wasn’t in your cards at the time.

And myself? [He frowns gently.] Hard to say, I suppose. I got a feeling for a variety of different… sensations and defining qualities regarding how to use the ability within a few months. Knowing what it felt like to measure distance, numbers, quality or ‘volume’ of the projected voice and words. But more specific details and tricks continued to become clear to me over time. And after about a year of constant use, I had grown exponentially better and communicating at an even greater distance, or without someone in my line of sight. It shouldn’t take you a year to do those things in general, but by that time I was just a lot better at it, and had more success and clarity.  

Everyone is a little different, so I can’t speak to how long it’ll take you to finesse the skills, but with regards to controlling whether you’re projecting to a room, or to one person—that shouldn’t take you too long. Once you recognize the difference in the mindset and sensation, you’ll be fine. That said though, for a time it might limit whether or not you can reach Ms. Dolmen at the same distances you can now. It’s possible that you were reaching her before because you were essentially… projecting loudly enough for her to capture it. But finessing only to her at a great distance, with the kind of precision it takes to eliminate others—might take more time and practice. Because that’s obviously a more… harnessed skill, I guess? But you’ll get the hang of it. I can’t imagine you’ll have any issue getting it down once you figure out the new elements of your surroundings.

[There’s a soothing quality to Alex’s voice; Constantin tends to find that with people that speak slower, lower. It’s easier for him to understand, which allows him to fully focus on the conversation rather than feeling one step behind as he tries to keep up translating each word as it comes. It’s the difference between sinking into a warm bath, and jumping into an icy pool.

It doesn’t even seem like something Alex deliberately does, he simply has an aura of slow confidence, the roots of it reaching far deeper down than anyone can see.

Constantin listens carefully, a faint frown of concentration on his face. Everyone seems to experience Infections so differently. Perhaps it’s to do with the circumstances under which they learned to use them; for Costin, he needed to reach Anaya from far away, so he learned to project loudly, if apparently chaotically. But he also knows that for a lot of people, they struggle to project their thoughts any distance, or with much volume, but they can control who hears them far more successfully.

It’s like learning any new skill; all the facets come at different times. Costin’s never been afraid of hard work, not when it matters. And this, this matters. He doesn’t want to let his gift atrophy like an unused muscle just because the NWRF don’t like it.] 

Yes, I stop trying to speak vith Anaya from far away for now. [He agrees that it’s the only sensible option, but it’s clear from the crease of worry that roots itself between his brows that it concerns him. Reaching out to her telepathically helps him feel connected to her, and he knows she feels the same way. It’s not the same as sending a message on the PDDs, particularly as both of them are still struggling with the fluid distribution in their eyes; reading messages isn’t always easy.] I think it is probably time for me to begin focusing more on practising vith the telepathy. May I ask, vhy it is that so much of the vork that happen in the labs is kept secret? It seem unfair for them to expect us to learn control vith our gifts vhen they don’t even tell us vhat they understand about them. 

[It bothers him, which is perhaps a little hypocritical since he’s got some of his own research hidden away. But it seems that if the NWRF want those with Infections to be able to control them properly, it would behoove them to share all the information they have.]

[kip-whitmer]

[It seems like an odd sort of cognitive dissonance, if you ask Kip, that the NWRF seem to fear and/or loathe the Infected, yet they all get AP training each day. Seems bold for a government in full awareness of how truly hated it is to mold each and every survivor into a hardened weapon of  a person.

Not that he minds. He’d never been hugely physical prior to D-Day, but he’s in great shape now and feels undeniably better - no more pudgy belly composed of pizza and pork scratchings. Still, it wouldn’t kill them to shake things up a bit. It feels like it’s always 1v1, always focused in some way on combat or survival. It’s never fun, and Kip grows bored of the same thing quickly. After training, he flops down in the grass and takes a long drink of water. It’s cold out, but it feels good against his warm, sweaty skin.] 

Always with the punching. When do we get to start our basketball teams? Or soccer - football, whatever. Delma could kick Calyset’s asses. We all know that, but let’s prove it.

[darreth-thehand]

@commanderalexanderbane Darreth and Alexander

Location: Dele training grounds

It was a full day of following King Mathias around to tend to every business that involved him. Noblemen saw Darreth and were surprised the king had such a young Hand by his side. Some were intrigued by this, and some of the gentlemen-in-waiting looked onto Darreth with admiration and desire. Although when he was finally dismissed by the king for the day, Darreth couldn’t wait to get out of there. He needed a bit of a distraction. So much information he had to take in he thought his head would explode. Luckily, Lord Commander Alexander was in attendance during a meeting with the Kings, and the Hand invited him to a good ol’ sparring session on the training grounds. He knew the caliber that Alexander wielded as a fighter, and Darreth wanted to train with him.

Horseback sword fighting could be very difficult. Darreth was a strong fighter, but even he could admit when he was on a horse it was tiresome to try to get to an enemy rather than being on foot where it was easier for him. He was glad Alexander could show him some things. Darreth rode on a horse, wielding his sword Infinite Brother in his hand, all the while topless and charging toward Alexander. It was a hot day and the attire Darreth had on earlier felt as if it was scorching his body. Riding freely on a horse with no top felt good. When he was close to Alexander, he struck the first blow to the Lord Commander’s blade, being careful not to actually strike him as this was a sparring session.