Fic: Newcomers: The Sensei of Govanhill (SGA; Ronon, OC; PG)
Title: Newcomers: The Sensei of Govanhill
Rating: PG
Character: Ronon, OC
Disclaimer: Not mine (except the mistakes, which in this case are mostly around martial arts & military hand-to-hand combat training), no harm meant.
Summary: Ronon always has an eye open for new fighting techniques.
A/N: Sixth in the Newcomers series, after Mark Collins, Royal Marines.
The Sensei of Govanhill
The sparring rooms are tense, and Ronon wonders if it's worth the trouble to seek out the source. But Sheppard will sulk if he finds out Ronon ignored a problem with the Marines, so he wanders through the rooms, greeting the soldiers he knows and watching the others with care.
The source of the tension soon becomes obvious, two of the soldiers circling each other. One's a US Marine, Morrison, the other, one of the Brits. A Scot, he remembers. Like Beckett. Name of Collins.
He wonders if he should break it up, let one of them take out their aggression on himself. But Johnson tells them to "take it to the floor, or let it go," and they take it out to the sparring floor. A handful of Marines go to watch, and Ronon follows, a little concerned. If the Scot is anything like Beckett, it's going to be a short fight.
Morrison is loud, aggressive. He's got a good few inches on Collins, and musclebound where the other soldier is wiry.
It's a short fight.
Morrison barely has time to settle into a fighting stance before Collins steps inside his defenses and snaps his forehead into the Marine's face. As Morrison clutches at his suddenly streaming nose, the Scot twists his arm up and round, forcing the Marine onto his knees. Collins holds Morrison's arm up just high enough, for just long enough, to make him whimper, then lets go, a well-placed boot sending the Marine sprawling forward.
The other Marines stare at him.
"Any of yous want to join him?" asks Collins. He's holding back, Ronon can tell. Morrison's sitting upright now, scowling at the Scot as he holds his bloody nose, not realising how lucky he is that Collins stopped.
The Marines mutter their anger, and Ronon steps forward. "What style is that?" he asks, and Collins laughs.
"Nothing you'd know."
"It's not what your military teach, is it?" The other Brits don't fight much differently from the US Marines, with a solid, powerful style that's laughably easy to get round.
Collins grins at him. "Naw, this is what I learnt in the dojos of Govanhill an' Easterhouse." The grin is dark, and doesn't reach Collins' eyes.
"Show me." Ronon hears Johnson take advantage of the distraction and pull the Marines out of the sparring room, Morrison still complaining.
"Aye, well, it's more usual to be armed."
"Yeah?" Ronon's more interested now. The Tau'ri are usually so careful in separating their fighting styles.
"Yeah. I'd a' split his face-" Collins catches himself, and the grin weakens. "Knives, any kind of blade, really. Not much in the way of firearms."
"Fast."
"Aye, well." Collins rubs at his forehead, now starting to bruise.
"It's not a discipline, is it?" The opposite, in fact, but effective, which the careful Tau'ri martial artists probably wouldn't appreciate. "Just a -" Ronon searches for the word. "Reactive style." Learnt in battle.
"Anything goes, or you do."
"Show me."
But Collins is already heading to the door. "I prefer a P90."
Continued in Captain Anna-Maria Rodriguez, USAF
...so, so damaged...
I'm claiming that the short length of this section is entirely in character for Ronon. Anna-M's story is much longer. Or it will be, when I finish it.
And, yeah, I'm far too pleased with the Sensei/Dojos of Govanhill joke. Not least because I always swear I won't encourage the bad impression people have of certain areas of Glasgow.
Rating: PG
Character: Ronon, OC
Disclaimer: Not mine (except the mistakes, which in this case are mostly around martial arts & military hand-to-hand combat training), no harm meant.
Summary: Ronon always has an eye open for new fighting techniques.
A/N: Sixth in the Newcomers series, after Mark Collins, Royal Marines.
The Sensei of Govanhill
The sparring rooms are tense, and Ronon wonders if it's worth the trouble to seek out the source. But Sheppard will sulk if he finds out Ronon ignored a problem with the Marines, so he wanders through the rooms, greeting the soldiers he knows and watching the others with care.
The source of the tension soon becomes obvious, two of the soldiers circling each other. One's a US Marine, Morrison, the other, one of the Brits. A Scot, he remembers. Like Beckett. Name of Collins.
He wonders if he should break it up, let one of them take out their aggression on himself. But Johnson tells them to "take it to the floor, or let it go," and they take it out to the sparring floor. A handful of Marines go to watch, and Ronon follows, a little concerned. If the Scot is anything like Beckett, it's going to be a short fight.
Morrison is loud, aggressive. He's got a good few inches on Collins, and musclebound where the other soldier is wiry.
It's a short fight.
Morrison barely has time to settle into a fighting stance before Collins steps inside his defenses and snaps his forehead into the Marine's face. As Morrison clutches at his suddenly streaming nose, the Scot twists his arm up and round, forcing the Marine onto his knees. Collins holds Morrison's arm up just high enough, for just long enough, to make him whimper, then lets go, a well-placed boot sending the Marine sprawling forward.
The other Marines stare at him.
"Any of yous want to join him?" asks Collins. He's holding back, Ronon can tell. Morrison's sitting upright now, scowling at the Scot as he holds his bloody nose, not realising how lucky he is that Collins stopped.
The Marines mutter their anger, and Ronon steps forward. "What style is that?" he asks, and Collins laughs.
"Nothing you'd know."
"It's not what your military teach, is it?" The other Brits don't fight much differently from the US Marines, with a solid, powerful style that's laughably easy to get round.
Collins grins at him. "Naw, this is what I learnt in the dojos of Govanhill an' Easterhouse." The grin is dark, and doesn't reach Collins' eyes.
"Show me." Ronon hears Johnson take advantage of the distraction and pull the Marines out of the sparring room, Morrison still complaining.
"Aye, well, it's more usual to be armed."
"Yeah?" Ronon's more interested now. The Tau'ri are usually so careful in separating their fighting styles.
"Yeah. I'd a' split his face-" Collins catches himself, and the grin weakens. "Knives, any kind of blade, really. Not much in the way of firearms."
"Fast."
"Aye, well." Collins rubs at his forehead, now starting to bruise.
"It's not a discipline, is it?" The opposite, in fact, but effective, which the careful Tau'ri martial artists probably wouldn't appreciate. "Just a -" Ronon searches for the word. "Reactive style." Learnt in battle.
"Anything goes, or you do."
"Show me."
But Collins is already heading to the door. "I prefer a P90."
Continued in Captain Anna-Maria Rodriguez, USAF
...so, so damaged...
I'm claiming that the short length of this section is entirely in character for Ronon. Anna-M's story is much longer. Or it will be, when I finish it.
And, yeah, I'm far too pleased with the Sensei/Dojos of Govanhill joke. Not least because I always swear I won't encourage the bad impression people have of certain areas of Glasgow.