Physical Training (Arba/Open)

An airy 'whoosh' announced the opening of the pneumatic doors to the Icerian cruiser's training facility, white tiled floors laid out before the doorway with little in the way of decoration here. On the far wall was a window, much like every other externally set room in the ship, though this window was rated to withstand the artificially enhanced gravity here. Beneath that window was a console with various buttons on it and a large digital display in the center, reading out the current gravity setting in Icerian numerals, something all the troops should know by now. Beyond those two things, there was little else in the way of décor; a few egg-shaped chairs like the ones in the command chamber sat in the corner in a semicircle formation, and a set of freeweights and benched weights also rested here... If one were to use those, they would have to mentally calculate the present weight of them based off of the gravity settings.

Stepping into the room with a satisfied nod once it was revealed that nobody else was present, a lone 3rd Class Grunt stopped short of the console, taking account of current layout of the room... He didn't want to be blamed if anything was already broken. Floor tiles unbroken? Check. Overhead dome light clean and uncracked? Check. Doorway shutting securely? Check. The last time the grunt had been here there had been a few higher ranking members training before him who had busted the place up pretty bad... When his commander found him, he docked his pay and put him to work repairing the damage, not his idea of a practical use of his time. The grunt himself at present was adorned with little that signified his rank, just the single black formfitting shortsleeved undersuit that stopped at his lower thighs he often wore beneath his battle armor, and a pair of standard issue Galactic Frieza Army white and brown boots. Sparesly clad as he was, much of the grunt's blue-gray skin was on display, showing him to be in fairly decent shape despite being a peon. Curly bright orange hair stopped just below his serratus posterior superior, curling upwards towards his collar, a streak of white in his bangs hanging down in front of his right eye.

It was convenient for Arba that nobody else was here, it meant he could train to his heart's content without hearing the usual jeering from some of the more competent members of the GFA regarding his own ineptitude. As a grunt, Arba should have some rudimentary ability to manipulate ki, but due to a particular training accident he had been part of, the blue-skinned alien was labelled a training hazard and barred from ki training... This was frustrating because not only did it limit his advancement within the GFA, it also made him the target of ridicule from even his superiors of lower ranks. How would he ever make it into the Ginyu Force as a mere grunt who couldn't even execute a ki blast?

That was all a part of the grunt's reason for being here though... If Arba wanted to get stronger, he would have to continue to develop himself in one way or another... If he was going to have trouble with ki mastery, then he'd become an exemplar of the physical traits, pushing himself to his limits in increasingly higher gravity rates. /Push your body until it breaks,/ the blue-skinned alien reminded himself, /respect and rank only come to those who earn it./ Mashing a few buttons on the console as he summoned up his determination, Arba turned up the gravity slowly. One-Point-Five... Two... Two-Point-Five... Three... Three-Point Five. That was the best he could do for now, Three-Point-Five times standard gravity was an impressive amount for sure, most troops at his rank couldn't handle two. Arba wasn't particularly strong, but he could efficiently carry his weight under that pressure and increase his reaction time, making fluid movement under standard gravity a breeze.

Carefully plodding his way back towards the center of the room, Arba did some math briefly... If he weighed around two-hundred pounds under standard gravity, then at this setting he was clocking in at seven-hundred pounds... His boots individually had to weigh around ten pounds, feeling awkward to him as they squeezed down on his feet. Glad he wasn't wearing his Arcosian uniform armor, the grunt stepped into his typical martial arts stance by slowly straddling his feet to shoulder-width, squatting slightly as he raised his arms. Placing his left arm in front of him at about shoulder level as he tucked and "loaded" his right hand back by his waist, Arba relaxed his fingers and wrists, balling his right hand into a loosely cupped fist. Saiyan martial arts, often regarded as low-class and brutish, but highly effective on the battlefield, the Grunt had been taught this perhaps as a joke by one of his superiors, he was to be the punch-dummy for a higher ranking grunt in a wager and take a fall, but he'd learned a little too well from his superior's examples.

Kata one was a simple drill, a series of strikes from both hands at various angles and directions, all smoothly executed as he deftly shuffled his feet across the tiled floor with the movements. Though he lacked speed in this environment, the muscles he developed and their physical memory would make him a force to be reckoned with down the road if he kept at this form of training... Perhaps not a supplement to ki control, but a trusty crutch to lean on otherwise. Keeping up with his drill, the grunt exhaled sharply with each swing and refilled his lungs whenever he completed a cycle. His muscles began to burn after a while, signaling his brain that he was certainly feeling the fatigue... Good, that meant that his body was learning and building its strength. Just what he wanted.