Welcome to Gaia! ::

You learned new things all the time. The unusual summons wasn't something he wanted to get used to--there was comfort in a text message--but he was on his way anyway. Sawyer almost never forgot a social engagement, and he had decided, broadly, that this counted. Sawyer saw his day job as a social engagement.

It didn't take him long to get there, the door edging open, and he hadn't even powered up yet, because being on the streets that way, after his run-in with Sisyphus, still made him nervous. Hence his being here.

That usual rippling of reality, as it felt to him, and then Sawyer was gone and Bornite was there instead, and he pushed his hands through his hair nervously as he looked around the warehouse and finally at Labyrinthite himself.

"I was told I don't have to salute," he informed him, trying to sound chipper.

"Is this like Fight Club?" he asked, leery. He looked awfully small and insignificant, although maybe that was the mouselike way he was huddled in on himself. "Or are we... I don't know. How hard are you planning on hitting me, is what I'm getting at. Cos I'm not Tyler Durden, I don't get off on that. No daddy issues here."

Nervous rambling. Good work, Bornite.

That made him more comfortable. He'd figured out how to lob paintballs with a bit of shoestring, but fists were easier, and the scythe vanishing made his shoulders loosen in relief.

"Some of them don't," he corrected him with a vague grin, thinking of Sisyphus and his wimpy blows. The memory of how easily he'd been pinned diminished that grin somewhat, and the memory of Laoise wiped it away completely, with a shudder. "Anyway if I cry uncle you have to stop, right? Rules of engagement." he was already looking like he was on the defensive, possibly expecting the Captain to strike first. He was going to have to learn that waiting wasn't always the best strategy, but it always seemed like he couldn't fight--only fight back.

He was too slow: he'd been too busy dodging the first one to realize the second was incoming, and took it square on the chin in a way that winded him. It was pathetically obvious that he dealt poorly with pain--a little cry of astonishment, a staggered movement--but it was equally obvious that he reacted to it instinctively, with his own fists. One of them shot out now with singleminded purpose for the Captain's face, hobbled somewhat by the fact that he was still wrapping one arm protectively around his stomach, too busy on trying to avoid more pain to do the job properly. "That hurt," he wailed plaintively.

It appeared to hardly be a lesson he needed, for all his initial hesitation and whimpering uncertainty: at being reprimanded and receiving no reaction from his punch, he went from startled to angry in about a half a second. His hand may have been trapped, but the Captain's knee was uplifted and Bornite took advantage of it, swiping at his other ankle with his foot to try and get him down while he was off-balance. His face was contorted in sudden and, perhaps, surprising rage when he did it. If anything, he might later need a lecture about taking spars too seriously, rather than the opposite.

Fine with him! This would be twice in as many fights that Bornite found himself on the ground with his opponent. Being low just meant that being knocked over was out of the picture, and after the initial shock of having his wind knocked out of him he was already rallying, albeit weakly. He hadn't yet learned the art of the quick recovery, and his sudden attempt to get Labyrinthite pinned was clumsy as a result, Bornite clearly not thinking about where his hands and his knees went, or the relative defenselessness of his stance. Too eager to get in a thoughtless punch as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

He rolled off, clutching his stomach, entirely winded.

"Hold on. Breather. Five minutes and then I'll go back to letting you destroy me. What do I do better next time?" he wheezed. Well. That was a start, at least--asking for advice, even if it managed to sound sarcastic. "Jesus Christ, you're fast."