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Michael Connor

A close-combat trainer for the WCPD and related organisations.

0 · 378 views · located in Wing City

a character in “The Multiverse”, originally authored by Script, as played by Disdain

Groups

The Wing City Police Department, dedicated to protect and serve. One of the most formidable law enforcement agencies on the planet, considering the near limitless potential crime for a city on the crossroads of worlds.
Registered citizen of the Terran National Government

Description

Image
Image ©fogke of deviantart


Name: Michael Connor
Age: 23
Race: Human
Significant Relations: -

Height: 5’ 8”
Weight: 143 lbs
Physical Description: Michael is a handsome young man, smooth skinned and soft featured. His appearance is very slightly feminine, but largely due to his slightly-longer-than-normal hair, his features being more masculine than not. His build is slim but solid – working out at the gym has given him noticeable muscle, but not to an overly dramatic degree.

Personality: A bright and cheerful person, Michael makes friends easily and seldom ends up in arguments or conflicts. Very light hearted about his profession, Michael can be somewhat annoyingly good-humoured about repeatedly delivering a beating to his ‘students’, which has annoyed many a self-confident macho policeman in the past. Having your ass handed to you by an effeminate and short young man is ever-so-slightly emasculating. That said, Michael is defensive and protective over those close to him, but quite susceptible to insults himself. He’ll rise to a verbal or physical battle for those around him, but is sensitive to personal affront.

Skills and Talents:
  • Obviously, his occupation demands that he have a great aptitude for hand-to-hand combat and fitness training.
  • Capable with firearms as well, though by no small degree less so than his skill in close combat.
  • On a slightly unrelated note, Michael is a talented artist, particularly in black-and-white with sketching.
  • Adept at finding ways to turn everyday objects and furniture into weapons in dire circumstances.

Equipment:
  • 9mm standard issue pistol.
  • General accoutrements.

So begins...

Michael Connor's Story

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A few moments after what could only be described as Iante's whining died down, the door of the training hall was pushed open, and the group's combat trainer arrived. If Tommy had been expecting a grizzled old veteran, or an eight foot colossus, he would be sorely disappointed.

Standing at just under five foot eight, Michael might've been solidly built, but he was no bodybuilder. Smooth features and curly locks only added to a distinctively non-threatening appearance as the young man (he couldn't have been out of his early twenties) smiled to the group.

"Good morning!" he said, obscenely cheerfully given just what morning it was, and where they all were.

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Michael chuckled and raised an eyebrow at Iante, shrugging. "Fair enough." he replied, the slightest hint of a Southern English accent in the man's soft voice. "Nice to meet you all."

Clapping his hands together, Michael let out a half-sigh, "Right then! None of us really want to be here, it's boxing day, we all have families to go home to. Let's get this over with. I reckon if we're all on the ball enough we can fob this off as done before two and we can all fuck off home. Sound like a plan?"

Michael grinned, "So who wants to go first, I wanna get an idea of what you all can already do."

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"Iante it is." Michael smiled, "The pathologist, aren't you? Seems odd that you're here at all, in my view, but knowing how to handle yourself can never go far astray."

The younger man cracked his knuckles - terrible habit, that - and beckoned to Iante. "Whenever you're ready. I'll go easy on you, seeing as you aren't exactly a field officer."

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"Don't pout, it's not flattering at all." Michael said cheerfully, "But c'mon, this'll be harmless and it'll do you some good. Think of the fun you'll have laughing at the others who are actually expected to handle criminals when they're up!"

The man gave a grin to the men in question as he said that, before looking back to Iante. "'fraid I have my instructions. I'm fudging things enough letting you all off without a full day's hard drilling, you've got to at least make the effort."

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Michael folded his arms, and raised an eyebrow. "I think that's at least partially the idea of you being here." he noted, "The whole 'training' aspect being focused around alleviating it."

He tilted his head and sighed, "I can wait here all day if you want, but I doubt the others'll appreciate it. I'm not expecting you to be good, I'm barely expecting you to do anything, but just so long as I know we're working from the ground up things'll be easier. I can run you through some basics, and send you on your way advising that you really don't need to come back."

Michael shrugged, "Not that I'd mind. You lot are positively refreshing considering the usual lot I get. People who think they've learned all they can learn and couldn't possibly be beaten by a short-arse with girly locks. Though those sessions are always satisfying in their own way."

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"Ha!" Michael smirked, "From what I know of ---- Romanae, I can believe it."

The young man clicked his tongue frustratedly, "Just come at me. Think of someone you hate, and really want to smack, and pretend I'm that person. I want you to try your very best to beat me to a pulp."

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It was with a simple sideways duck that Michael avoided Iante's clumsy fist, moving his own arm up to grab the other's wrist and begin the motion of throwing him forwards. Kindly, however, Michael halted the motion half way and instead half-caught the Irishman, half-allowed him to regain his balance.

Patting the taller blonde on the arm, Michael grinned. "You can sit down now. I'll run you through some basics once I've gauged your friends. I doubt any sparring will be needed."

Michael looked to the remainder of the group with a smile. "Next?"

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"Tommy Anders, perchance?" Michael raised an eyebrow, "I talked to Agent Romanae when she organised this. She filled me in a little on you all."

The young man smirked, "Alright then, shall we?" Michael slipped into a ready stance, waiting for the more experienced agent to move.

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"My mistake..." Michael said, chuckling.

Tommy's first punch met Michael's palm, and the younger man pulled him forwards in an attempt to offset his own balance. He followed this up by a fist jabbed towards the Scot's stomach, which in turn would be followed by an elbow to the back of the head, aimed to floor Tommy should the jab have doubled him over.

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As Tommy had predicted, his hasty blow with his elbow wasn't very successful. Michael was moderately impressed by Tommy's taking of the stomach blow, but the strike was easily avoided with a duck.

The shorter man's arms came up to catch Tommy's and in short order, if all went well, the man would find himself thrown forwards and over Michael to land in a heap on the training mat.

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"Michael." the trainer replied, folding his arms and grinning, "And I did say I'd go easy on him. If I was a terrorist, you'd be dead now. He'd just be dissecting your body to find out how it happened."

Michael smiled again, "Not that I'm morbid, or anything!"

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"Well, I think we can certainly say that over the course of today, on average, you're going to be a lot closer to the ground than I am, despite the height difference." Michael replied, putting one hand on his hip. "You and the mat will become good friends, before we're done."

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"Your hands and fingers will be kept occupied by some form of punching bag, and no, I don't mean Davids. I think that'll benefit you more at least to start with, just learning the techniques. I'll have to spend some time mano-a-mano with you though, because just flailing at it won't help."

Some time, and a number of mat-impacts later, Michael nodded his head to the group. "Well, overall you've done pretty well for your first times. Most people are more thoroughly humiliated by the time we get to this point. I'll set you three off with some moves and the like to practice, and then Iante, we can focus on getting you acquainted with the basics of not tripping over your own feet in a fight."

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"Look..." Michael sighed, running a hand through his curls. "I don't think it makes much sense either, but if you go away from this knowing just as little as when you came here, I get bollocked by my boss, you get bollocked by yours. Do we want that? Is that what we want? I don't really want that."

Michael tilted his head, "It's really not that bad. So you'll get a little sweaty, a little out of breath. That happens a lot in the world... running, dancing, raving, having sex... Let's just get it over with, huh?"

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"Join the club!" Michael said, chuckling, "But crass humour aside, that'll do just fine. Maybe I'll have some fun slapping our funny man around later, too."

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"Sounds like a good time." Michael commented idly. "But rather impractical. And on another note, you really ought to stop distracting me with conversation. It might be more fun than punching things, but it isn't my job to talk to you."

With that said, Michael would set about trying to give the three more capable agents some new techniques to practice, so he could get Iante started.

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Walking over to where Iante stood, Michael raised an eyebrow at the other's suggestion. "Sure, I guess." he said, blinking, "You seem like a nice enough bunch of guys."

Michael gestured to the other, "C'mon, this way." he said, leading the Irishman over to where a punching bag hung. "Right, so..." he began.

Much time and no small degree of embarrassment was to follow before the day was up.

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A few minutes after Iante's order, Michael pushed open the door of the bar and slipped inside. Clad in a white tee, with an unbuttoned blueish chequered shirt over the top and a similarly picked (though Michael always tended to make an effort to look good when he went out, regardless of who he might be wanting to impress) pair of tightish jeans, the younger man glanced around for a few moments before spying Iante.

He blinked, having rather expected the others to arrive as a group, but otherwise hid his surprise and made his way over. "Hey there, Iant'" he said with a smile, "Are we early, or are they late?"

Michael waved to the bartender and ordered himself a (manly) Pimms No. 1 and lemonade, taking a seat next to the blonde Irishman. "Oh, and how are you?"

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"Ahah, so they've gone and ditched you to come on your own, huh?" Michael rolled his eyes, "That's friends for you, I suppose." he murmured, laughing. Running a hand through his hair, the younger man shrugged. "I suppose we'll just have to have a good time without them, then. No sense in wasting the evening."

Michael took a sip of his drink and leant on the counter. "I'm fine, thanks. Bit of an odd episode at the museum earlier -- not sure whether you heard about all of that chaos. Some 'master thief' decided to call the WCPD out, said he could steal some priceless painting whatever we did."

He scowled. "Apparently he was right. Tried to cuff me to a bloody statue... not to mention snog-raping me. Decidedly nasty."

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"A really kinda creepy one?" Michael shrugged, "Apparently it was a distraction tactic. It worked, slightly, because I was expecting him to try and punch me, not kiss me then try and ... handcuff me for some weird, bondage thing. People who use magic to phase through my punches are cheating."

Michael shuddered. "God only knows who this guy was. But he stole the painting, and disappeared into the night, so he's apparently quite good at what he does. And creepy. Very creepy. I'm just glad Sonya jump kicked the door in at that point and spooked him off."

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Michael gave Iante a Look, with a capital L. "I never claimed that it did. As a matter of fact, I rather dislike punching people. For one, it sometimes hurts your fist. For another, people aren't inclined to like you much if you make a habit of punching them or others."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "But yes. At least that. If you don't stop being so smug I'll handcuff you to something and we'll see who's laughing then."

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Michael mumbled something disgruntled under his breath that may or may not have been something along the lines of 'And how do you know that wasn't the idea?', but was far too muffled for Iante to clearly tell.

"Sounds like quite a story." Michael then commented at a rather more audible level. "Though quite how you managed that is beyond me." he added, smirking.

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Chuckling, Michael took a swig of his drink and leant forwards. "Good job you're unlikely to need to use them outside of recreational purposes, huh?" he teased, snickering.

"Us real men get handcuffed - or more, almost get handcuffed - to statues all in the name of justice!"

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Michael Connor laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Fluffy and padded? Suit yourself." he murmured, tapping his fingers against the counter. He didn't really go into that stuff himself, but it sure was fun teasing Iante about it.

At the second comment, Michael frowned. "Shurrup. He took me by surprise and phased through me. And snogging men isn't ... not manly. In theory. It's all perception. If I perceived myself as girly every time I snogged a bloke I'd be in a dress and wig by now."

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"Stop trying to match-make me with a cocky criminal kiss rapist." Michael grumbled, folding his arms. "It's not very considerate."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Honestly, are we in a bar or a playground?"