Welcome to Gaia! ::

Jada had been taking kickboxing lessons, karate lessons, wrestling classes, pilates, yoga, and various other classes at this particular gym for a little over a month now. Five to six days a week, the girl who had acquired and kept the nickname of 'Princess' with some of the regulars was a bit of a fixture for at least an hour a night, sometimes two or three. Sundays she would be there most the day at least every other weekend.

Never did she seem to be wearing the same workout outfit. However, it had evolved from loose-fitting t-shirts and pants to tank tops and sports tops with shorts or actual workout pants. Only her shoes remained the same, pristine white sneakers. More important that her fashion sense, she worked out. And she had learned. She was getting in better shape than she'd ever been. She was getting a little muscle definition, and she'd defined a few other places that made her happy.

Maybe a certain redhead hadn't been too far off the mark when he suggested she had a few areas of concern.

She never worked with the same person too often except for on the treadmills. She'd finally settled down with one of her classmates for her jogging partner. Her reasoning was that she'd 'get used' to them. And if she got used to them, she'd have to stop claiming that the majority of her bruises came from her sparring partners. It was hard to explain her cuts and bruises to the people she worked out with, more often male than female. Females, she'd decided, were more likely to go for blood, or broken noses.

She was currently standing on one of the training mats, staring down the punching bag, giving it her 'serious face'. "You can do it, Princess." one of the other people, who was also in her class, cheered her on, laughing. "Remember to use your fist, not your palm."

"Hey, I resent that." she protested. Smashed her fist into the bag.

It barely moved.

Sniggers.

"Don't be too hard on her," came another voice. "She bench-pressed almost 80 pounds yesterday. That's almost her body weight. I'm proud of her. And she didn't break a nail."

She scowled, punched the bag again, sending it swinging.

She grabbed the bag as it came swinging back in her direction, huffing out air and staggering as it smashed painfully into her chest. "Oof." It was a very articulate reply to a vaguely familiar male voice.

She turned around to see a figure who had been missing for a little while. He definitely looked a little worse for wear. One of those pretty green eyes was rimmed in a shade of blue that no person deserved to wear. She'd only really spoken to him once, but he'd seemed like a nice enough guy. "Well, Mr. Collins," her cultured tone managed to slip into a drawl, "Perhaps you'd like to come give little ol' me a demonstration of how to punch someone or something without hurting its feelings."

A gesture to the punching bag was given with one hand. "See, I was under the impression that a punching was generally an... unfriendly... sort of thing." Hands went to her hips, and the younger woman raised an eyebrow at him. "That's if you're up to it." Andrew looked like he'd gotten run over by a car. She quirked her finger, trying to tempt him towards the bag.

She was glad the room was smaller and not one of the huge ones. She was even more glad the room was only filled with people she knew. "Then again, it might be a little cruel of me to ask you to work with me when you look like you got in a fight with a little more than a sandbag." she clucked her tongue. "It might be a little too soon for you to get back on that horse without a bribe. How about this: If you're a super good teacher, I'll treat you to a snack." Go, Jada, go; go for the stomach.

"I know you've got experience, Mr. Collins. I'm sure you could provide me a couple tips."

She couldn't stop her grin as Drew rose for the bribe- she wasn't surprised- and moved to join her near the bag. A few people slipped out of the room at this point. It wasn't as much fun to mock someone when there was someone around who would actually teach them to improve. However, a couple of the onlookers took seats near the walls. They were probably waiting to see if she'd break a nail. Jada had cursed like a sailor when she'd broken one a week or so ago. "You've lived for the moment you could show a girl how to hit a punching bag?" she took a few steps back at his dismissive gesture and watched him, noting the position he went into, the angles of his body.

He was talking, explaining, and when he eyed her hips, she glanced down at them for a second. What her hips had to- oh. Twist and use the extra force. She could do that. It rather made sense, actually. She watched the redhead demonstrate the blow and gave a small frown. When the bag stopped swinging, she moved over to him and positioned herself near the bag. She relaxed her normally prim hitting position, trying to mimic what she thought she'd see him do. Weight went more to the back than anywhere else, and she tended to lean a little forward. She tried to correct these things. Abs tight?

"You're reminding me of Mr. Clean." the young woman looked back at her older companion with his folded arms. She was a little nervous about doing something wrong and looking even worse than she had before. Or it actually working, and getting hit in the face with a sandbag. "Just lurking there like that guy on the commercials with that cheesy little grin." Her sense of humor could use some major retooling. Hips twist, and... Her fist connected with the bag and the heavy sandbag gave a half-hearted little swing. It was still better than anything else she'd done. It swung back towards her and she tried to duck it by scooting back towards him rather than trying to punch it again.

There came the sound of a groan and a few bills exchanging hands from behind them. No broken nail this time.

"I'm glad I could help you fulfill a lifelong dream, Mr. Collins." she said finally, dryly. "Did you have anything else you wanted to do with your life?" she shifted her body obediently as he moved her back leg into another position.

Then she gave him a blank look. "If I know who Mr. Clean is and you don't, then you are a very, very sheltered man, Drew." she shook her dark head. Luckily, she thought he was joking, or he would be getting dragged off right now for a lesson in pop culture. Hell, it wasn't even pop culture.

As the redhead moved around her in a circle, she struck her best 'I am going to hit the bag' pose. For about five seconds she held it, trying to visualize how she was going to hit the bag. Then she struck at the bag and pushed back, watching it give its swing.

Jada laughed softly, taking advantage of the small lull to stretch out her arms. The muscles of her shoulders were tight. "And hey, if I'm asking you questions, I guess I am paying you to talk, aren't I?" she sounded so spoiled. It would be a good time to shut up. "But you have a point, I can grill you fo- at- dinner." cheeks flared. "And you have missed a lot." she clucked her tongue at him playfully, eager to skip over her verbal misstep.

Well, down to business it would be. "Andrew, everything I knew about violence before this last month at the gym, I learned from watching Walker, Texas Ranger with my father as a child. Or the Karate Kid movies." she bit her lip. "I know a little bit of a few things and a whole lotta nothin'." It didn't look like it made her too happy. "So I guess you may consider me as blank a slate as you need me."

She gave Andrew a wry little shrug. "Do you mind starting from the top?" She wanted to give the bag one more attempt at a punch, but turned her attention to the redhead instead. An idea was forming, a proposition that she may have to put to him over dinner. If he was willing, she wouldn't mind paying him for his time on a regular basis. He had been an effective enough teacher for her thus far. Still, she'd give the rest of this little 'session' a try before she approached him about such a thing.

He wore her out. Andrew Collins was a monster of a teacher, and by the time he was done, she was sore in places she'd never been sore before. On the flip side of this, however, she'd learned more in two hours of his time than she'd learned from watching the Karate Kid eight times.

The young woman was almost doubled over, taking a few deep breaths, when Drew grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her after him. His little joke made her blink at his back at first, before she grinned. "Well, baby, I was thinking I'd let you pick where we went." Her free hand went to his on her wrist and she gave it a light squeeze. "You're just so demanding that I'm almost all worn out." She let him tug her along, almost grateful for the fact he was making her move. Otherwise she'd just be groaning in misery in the matted room, feeling her muscles knot and clench together.

"I need to go to the locker rooms." she told Drew finally. "I'll meet you out near the front desk in about fifteen minutes." That was enough time for her to get the 'rancid' washed off and get changed. She slipped away from him, flinging herself into the changing room before she started cursing. The hot shower helped sore muscles, and she got changed into her 'casual' clothes, the workout clothing shoved in a plastic bag inside her small duffel bag. She double-checked her damp hair, jerking it back into a ponytail, and walked out of the locker room, duffel clenched in her teeth, purse hanging from her shoulder while her hands tugged her still-damp hair into a ponytail.

At least she wouldn't smell bad. She found her way to the front entry, tossing the duffel down on the counter and waiting patiently, stretching out. Ugh.