Close combat - battle training event A

[arcy]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 65%; font-family: timesnewroman; font-size: 10pt; text-align: justify;"]Jim was a master of barfights as a human.  And .. actual fighting forms, as per 'fleet classes. But especially barfights -- the instant he got off from offplanet, he started lying about his age and picking fights in said bars. Which was basically .. a solid five years of his life.
This could not be said for Jim in his current form. None of his knowledge was applicable because he had four goddamn paws.  He .. didn't like being vulnerable like this. Sure, he'd picked up some stuff from his desperate fits of anger against the world, but it wasn't enough. So, needless to say, Jim had been looking forward to the training sessions mentioned in the meeting. He was desperate for something to do. To actually know something that'd fucking help him.
This wasn't exactly what he was expecting, though. There's a bit of incredulity in Jim's eyes. "How the hell do these things work?" He blurts carelessly as he regards them, almost fascinated. He's half expecting a very logic-ked explanation -- his first was literally always there with explanations. Of course, until he wasn't. He tries not to deflate at the painfully hollow sensation in his chest, instead narrowing his eyes at the dummies. An outlet for his frustration? Perhaps.
Jim has discovered that his teeth are pretty good for damage -- not for piercing, but for ripping, hell yeah. Hence, he doesn't go for the weapons or anything.
...
...
Start when he's ready. Jim narrows his eyes as he regards the ice dummies. He puts a few moments of thought into this -- not a lot. Jim was better acting on instinct, but he needs to orient himself. This is .. a fucking dog ice statue, not a human or anything. No punches. Just teeth. He takes a deep breath as he walks closer to the statue. Let's see ... twenty seconds.
Twenty --.
Jim makes a dive towards the figure. The throat is easiest -- just right there. He digs his teeth in and raises a paw to dig into the ice figure's shoulder. His claws break through the ice, but barely enough for a trickle. His teeth, however -- Jim's jaws are strong. He has no idea what in the fuck his 'wolf' is mixed with, or if it's just the wolf(jim didn't care much to learn about them), but his jaws are strong. The paint taste is -- less than ideal. He would gag, except Jim has tasted much worse than this, and instead focuses on firmly digging his jaws in and pulling.
He stumbles back.
Now, there's plenty of 'blood' that drips down from it. His snout is covered in it. It's .. a fairly decent wound, even if the easy fatality of necks makes it feel like a cheap shot. He stumbles, unsure of his footing, and barely has enough time to chomp into the icy dummy's right leg-shoulder area before -- time is up.
... it's decent.  It doesn't feel right, but he didn't expect it to. Jim scowls, shaking his head about as he attempts to get the taste of the paint out of his mouth. The worst part about being a dog, besides the lack of thumbs, is the damn snout. Short of drooling, he can't get spit the taste out.

//i dont actually know how much time this would take sdfdsf. or. anything.

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