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 Posted: Fri Nov 11, 2011 4:28 am
One might argue that between walking to and from school and the antique shop, working a good few hours a week, and patrolling late into the night that adequate exercise was being achieved. Upon hearing this claim, Jett would argue that you were full of s**t and didn’t know what the hell you were talking about.
For the past few years, his absolute favorite past time had been working out. He didn’t remember exactly when the first time he’d come to the gym was; it had all eventually blended together into one big happy memory.
He’d found his place easily enough; he wasn’t so foolish to think he could learn anything of use without a teacher, so he’d attended boxing classes until he had run out of things to learn. Sure, there were always ways to improve, but at that point in time, he had deemed himself far more advanced that the rest of the class and moved on to practice with a personal trainer—something he’d never regretted.
While the times he spent with the personal trainer now were few and far between, now. After his six week disappearance from Destiny City, he hadn’t spent much time actually practicing sans a few very extreme events where he needed to blow off some steam. He had the necessary equipment at his house for his usual workout routine, however today had been one of those rare days where he’d actually wanted to come into the gym that had introduced him to everything.
It was a nostalgic sensation; he never regretted coming here, even if it was cluttered with half naked men reeking of sweat and testosterone. The women were a plus, though Jett usually avoiding looking at him; there were three types of women that came to the gym. The good looking ones, the out of shape ones, and the body builders.
Jett did not like body builders, particularly female ones.
In boxing, you could have muscles and not look like some massive tumor with small appendages sticking out; today, Jett had only wanted to burn out his eyes four times after coming to the gym—practically a record.
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t there to sight see; it sometimes took him a bit of time to just tune everyone out. It was easier when he had a lot on his mind, though he did tend to get more aggressive when he wasn’t paying attention and let his thoughts wander too far.
He wasn’t dressed to be particularly glamorous; his hair was tied back in a low ponytail and he was wearing a loose black tank top and matching sweats. His gloves, well worn as they were, were still holding up quite well as he slammed his fist into the punching bag. There was a light burn in his muscles that he had very much missed in the past few weeks, and even if he was going to be sore in the morning, he was most undeniably elated to be there, slugging the sand out of the bag in front of him.
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Posted: Fri Nov 11, 2011 12:08 pm
Micah enjoyed running. More than that, running had become a sort of strange addiction. It was getting to the point that her day was ruined if she didn't get a chance to run at least a mile. Even then, it was iffy; a mile being the very bare minimum. Find another outlet, Micah's mother had said, brushing out her daughters hair for the third time that morning. It always seemed a mess. Like the moment it wasn't being brushed, the curls all locked back together to form magical, unbreakable mats. She pulled at one that moment, pushing the door to the gym open, getting it loose before she pulled her hair back into a messy pony tail. It was strange to be in a gym, so used was she to training facilities with pools and tracks. She'd forgotten about the smell. She wrinkled her nose at it, trying to ignore it, and the murmurs from around her. It was like prison in here, and she was the new girl.
Where to begin... all of the equipment looked iffy at best. Did no one wipe these things down? She pulled a face again, yellow eyes flashing poisonously at the man who wolf whistled at her. The man only grinned wider, wiggling his fingers in a mockery of a shy wave. Better to ignore, she reminded herself, blood boiling in her veins. Better to ignore. Another whistle and Micah began to shake again. Don't fight. You don't know how to. How many times has it gotten you into trouble, picking fights you could not finish. A rude gesture was all it took to shatter her resolve. Micah let out a growl as she spun, jumping over the machine she was poking out, arm pulled back, form horrible, and force negligible. Her arm was easily caught and Micah was pulled away, man and his friends laughing loudly at the little girl who flailed in the hands of a much larger man.
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Posted: Fri Nov 11, 2011 2:19 pm
Laughter. There wasn’t supposed to be laughter in a gym.
Jett had only been slightly watching the interaction out of the corner of his eye; he’d saw the girl swing though hadn’t seem to realize it was at someone. The laughter caused him to c**k his head and was instantly unamused. A group of guys, bullying some poor girl? –Of whom he didn’t recognize, so he could only imagine it must have been her first time here.
Jett would have been hypocritical if he had said he’d never enjoyed picking on someone, but he had targets—not new girls who were clearly outnumbered by much larger men.
If it was one thing Jett was, it was not a knight in shining armor. He didn’t particularly care about other people most of the time—especially strangers. Was it fair that the girl was getting picked on? Not really. Did he feel sympathetic for her? …Not really.
Did he agree with the group mentality?
Absolutely not.
Bullies all grouped together like that were just cowards, and that they thought they could get away with it right in front of him—in his gym? That’s what pissed him off.
Sure, he could have just ignored it and kept on with his routine, but he was itching for a fight as much as he was itching for them to stop making so much noise. Peeling off his gloves, he tossed them down on the bench, cracked his knuckles, and strolled over as if he were greeting friends.
His dialogue, however, differentiated him from friend and labeled him more as ‘annoyed guy formerly from across the room who doesn’t seem to like you very much’. “Hate to intrude,” he said, with little remorse and a crisp tone, “But this hardly seems as interesting as you’re making it. You,” he said, pointing to the man guilty of pulling Micah back, “Should let her go.” He pointed to Micah next. “You, should come with me.”
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Posted: Fri Nov 11, 2011 6:59 pm
As much as Micah hated being pointed at, she hated her position even more. With her one wrist in the great fist of a strange brute and the other flailing uselessly in front of her, she felt useless. Micah was even on her tip toes, the man holding her having misjudged her height. Her arm had just begun to ache with the strain of the reach when she was place back down. Before she followed the strange man, as she was directed, she lunged at the men who had bullied her, eliciting some middle school chortles and sound of mock intimidation. Micah turned on heel to follow the strange boy, ignoring the lingering man gossip before they lost interest and went back to their business.
"I could have taken care of myself," Micah's pride hissed through her lips. Quickening her pace to keep up with the boy. "I didn't need your help." A lie, and she knew it. For all of her temper, and for all of her fire, Micah was useless when it came to actual fighting. That was when she relied on her speed and her endurance, to out run her opponents. In such a closed environment... Micah's lip curled at the thought. She never did respond well to intimidation.
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Posted: Sat Nov 12, 2011 12:19 am
“Oh?” Jett prompted as he continued to lead the girl. “If you say so. If you’d like, I could escort you back there and apologize to all those men for disrupting your fun. I’m sure they’d love to show you the proper way to throw a punch because—let me tell you—your form is hideous and you should learn when and when not to pick a fight. Because, if I was the new girl in some big, strange gym, the first thing that I’d do would not be pick a fight with big, strange men. Though,” he cast her a glance over his shoulder, glad that she’d decided to take him up on his offer and come with him, “You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. But you’re going to get yourself killed if keep attacking people and don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”
He clearly knew his way around the place, and though he walked at a decent pace, it wasn’t so fast that it was hard to keep up with. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he prompted, glancing the girl over. Her appearance alone didn’t tell her story so he had to pry—and he certainly didn’t mind given the trouble she’d started the moment she walked through the door.
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Posted: Sun Nov 13, 2011 6:33 pm
Micah looked around herself as the boy spoke, trying to figure out what each machine does. "My mother... told me I need to do something besides running." She prodded at another machine with her pointer finger, deciding that it was some sort of arm curling machine, though the inner workings were lost on her. "But running is all I have ever done. She's afraid it's become an addiction. Maybe it has been. But she wants me to do something else." Micah shrugged again. "Working out is close enough to running. I think she might have meant... scrap booking or something, though." Not that it mattered. Micah loved her mother, but she had her own agenda, and scrap booking was not on it.
"What do you mean, spirit?" The compliment, if it could be called that, registered in her mind a bit late, brain sluggish from the sudden surge of adrenaline. She wrapped her hand around a cord connecting weights to a pull down bar. "Like potential? For what? You act like you're offering me a class, or forcing one on me?" She leaned on a seat, eye brows quirking irately. "You gonna lecture me or something? Seems like you're getting ready to."
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Posted: Sun Nov 13, 2011 8:02 pm
”Actually, I’d love to, but see? It’s not really in my character to whine at little girls to take care of themselves. If you’ve got a penchant for pain, go ahead, pick fights with whoever you want. It’s not my place to scold you, I’m not your mother. But,” he placed his hands on his hips and gave her a look over, trying to decide if she was crazy or had just been itching for a fight, earlier.
"You can’t just pop into places and pick fights without people noticing. So, you’re here to do something besides running, do you have any idea what you’ve got in mind or were you just waiting for someone to beat an idea into you?” he prompted, not particularly delicate with his approach; he didn’t wait for her to answer before he finished, “Look, you’re a big girl. You make your own decisions. I’m not forcing you into anything, I’m just telling that if you’re going to pick a fight, at least know how to fight, all right? It was almost painful watching you try to throw a punch. So, while you’re here, maybe look into that? You seem passionate enough about it, I’m sure there are plenty of classes or trainers that would love to have your patronage.”
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 10:14 am
Micah winced at his critique of her form. Micah had known she was not a good fighter. But she at least liked to think she could hold her own against someone her own size... maybe smaller... and slower... and dead... She shook her head as the stream of personal insults flew through her mind. Fine, so she was the worst excuse for a fighter. What did it matter? She'd never need to actually fight anyone. After her bluster and fluff was called, she'd scream for help. Her lungs, after all, were very good. This knowledge, however, did not stop her from resorting to quietly pouting as she poked a machine. "I didn't just pop in a pick a fight," she mumbled impetuously. "They started it." Micah glanced over her shoulder at the men, who had long since forgotten about her. Was she really so unmemorable? Her stomach soured as she turned back to Jett.
"I dunno what I want to do." Story of her life. So indecisive. So... apathetic to so much. "I was gonna... weight lift... or something... gym stuff I guess." As her obvious lack of knowlege on the subject came to light, Micah slowly grew more and more quiet, her out deepening. Passionate, right. Micah was passionate about not being picked on. Another wince as she remembered school before coming here. Tired of being bullied Micah turned to the quick temper she'd grown so accustomed to in her later years.
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 12:40 pm
While Jett was quite fine to let Micah sit there and stew in her own ignorance and self criticism, he wasn’t quite so keen to stand there and watch her do it. He crossed his arms across his chest, tilted his head, and allowed her a few seconds to indulge in personal reflection before he grew tired of the silence as the world continued to move around them. “Weight lifting is good for building muscles,” he said, seeming a bit more informative and a bit less vindictive, now. “It isn’t going to help you learn how to throw a punch, but if you do manage to make contact, it’ll help you leave a lasting effect.”
Jett hadn’t missed the pout—or the wince; a part of him had been looking for them. In high school, he hadn’t been known for his kindness, and he’d made a sport out of picking on those he deemed easy targets. He might have picked Micah for an easy target—she seemed uncomfortable, wary, uncertain. Alone. Perhaps not defenseless, but certainly not a real threat to anyone that knew what they were doing. She was a girl, but he’d picked on them, too.
It wasn’t like he was trying to redeem himself; Jett had just found sport elsewhere. “You came here with some sort of intention, didn’t you? We’ll start simple. At the very least, I can point you in the right direction for what you’re looking for, all right? Did you want to weight lift, take a self defense class…?” his voice trailed off, leaving the question rather open ended and fill in the blank.
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 6:25 pm
"Something..." Micah looked around her, still utterly lost in the sea of stinking testosterone. "Something with the same exertion as running. Part of the reason I like running is the complete fatigue afterwards. I don't think weight lifting has that effect... at least... not in the same way." Micah plucked at another cord. "I want to feel ache deep down in my bones. I want utter exhaustion of body. I want to be able to sweat and know that it was for something." Another prod and she lost interest in that machine. "I don't care about defense or fighting or even discipline." Micah shook her head as she spoke. "I want complete and total anguish in my muscles, a hurt that tells me I'm working. I want to not be able to stand when I finish, much less go any further. I want a challenge. Something I can look at when I've finished and be able to measure my success." Her yellow eyes flickered over to Jett curiously. "And if I learn how to fight in the process then so be it."
Somewhere in her speaking Micah had already made up her mind. Behind Jett she saw the red sand bag, and like a bull, made straight for it. She looked it up and down, deciding it's size and weight from sight alone. Once she'd made up her mind about it, both of her hands rested on either side of the bag, fingers spread across it, feeling the roughness of it under her palms, the threadbare patches and the regions which still retained the canvas. "Will this work like that," she asked softly, as though she might disturb the sleeping thing she held. Micah looked back at Jett with a wide smile, cheek resting on the canvas bag. "Will this extinguish my addiction to running?"
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Posted: Mon Nov 14, 2011 8:57 pm
For a long moment, Jett stared, both moved by her enthusiasm and frozen by it. “…If you stop molesting that bag, yeah. It’ll extinguish your addiction to running,” he said, a smirk settling onto his face.
Boxing was the only workout he needed, and he was eager to share it to someone willing to devote themselves so heavily to it. “The only way to get stronger is by tearing down your muscles and rebuilding them, so if you’re looking for total anguish, it’s a fair enough place to start. It’s easy to fall in love with.”
Admittedly, Jett seemed a bit more pleasant now that they were talking about boxing. He cracked his knuckles before he let his hands drop to his side. “I don’t imagine you have any equipment, but you can rent gloves here if you do decide to take up boxing. Or invest in your own, if you’re worried about germs. I’ve got my own,” he informed, though seemed to consider something for a moment. “…And an old pair that you could borrow if you wanted to try out taking a few blows at the bag.”
He nodded towards the hanging canvas as he spoke of it; he seemed to be approving of her interest. While his old gloves were only slightly worn, the only reason he’d replaced them was because his new pair was a gift from his mother, and the only reason he’d never taken his old gloves out was for nostalgia and forgetfulness to actually remove them from the bag.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 2:43 pm
Micah looked the punching bag over again before looking back to the boy. It had come to her attention before that her inspection of things often looked sexual. It had never bothered her, though it seemed to off put those around her. Almost as if to make her point she nuzzled the bag with her cheek for a moment before she let it go again. "That's all I want..." she mused, stepping away from it, watching it swing gently from it's release. "Love... anguish... amazing how often those two coincide, isn't it?" She prodded the bag as it swung again at her. The crack of knuckles brought Micah back to reality.
"You'd let me borrow them? Sweet and tough." She gave him a look of feigned interest and then smiled. "I'm Micah." She stated warmly, holding out her hand. "Mind giving me a short walk through before I decide if I want to invest anything into this past time?"
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 6:15 pm
Micah had yet to stop interesting Jett; he nodded to her, still taking in her words and actions as he tried to piece together what type of person she was. “I’m Jett. Nice to meet you, Micah,” he said—a formality, only. In shaking her hand, it was clear that he had a firm shake; he did the motions and then dropped his hand back to his side.
“Now, what sort of walkthrough are you looking for, exactly? I can go short, but that’s pretty much, what, I punch the bag and that’s it. I can smile while I do it if that’ll catch your interest anymore,” Jett said, flashing a particularly charming smile. He certainly didn’t mind humoring a pretty girl, even if she did look a little young. “The best thing for you to do to see if you’re interested is put on the gloves and hammer away. See if you like the strain on your muscles. I’ll teach you a few moves to get you moving along, but,” he shrugged. “Were you looking for something else in terms of investing interest or will that suffice for your walk through?”
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Posted: Sat Nov 19, 2011 5:22 pm
Micah's father had always said that you could tell a lot about a person from their hand shake. A limp wrist signaled a flake. When your counter part grabbed your arm while they shook it, they wanted control. Exuberance was shown through the number and speed of actual shakes. So far Micah could tell Jett was laid back form the pace of his shake, and confident from his grip. She smiled easily and matched his pace, releasing as he did. "Jett..." Micah said the name to herself, feeling the shape of it out in her mouth. "Jett..." The flavor. "Jett..." The sound. A name is many things, and one needs to know it inside and out to know another person.
The smile was what made Micah stop working. Any thought was erased from her mind. After all, it was only a few years ago that she noticed the opposite sex. She was still fairly enamored with anything male and had a hard time dealing with even the most innocent of flirtations. The smile was just such an antic that made her forget how to breath. Her knees felt watery for a moment before she forced herself to regain her mind. Think, don't be stupid. "So," she said softly, errant curls falling into her face despite the thong holding them back. "Just... go at it," she asked, turning her attention back to the punching bag.
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Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:18 am
If Jett had noticed anything odd from Micah’s response, he did a fantastic job of hiding it. He nodded approvingly, instead, seeming in a good mood that she was interested in the topic. “All right. You just keep feeling that bag up, I’ll be right back,” he said, and didn’t wait for a response before he turned on his heels and left her there.
He was gone for only a moment, and never really left her sight; there were a row of lockers on the far wall, and he drifted to them. Twisting the three number combination, he popped open the locker he’d rented for the two hours he intended to spend there and drew out his bag.
The spare pair of boxing gloves were a bit of an annoying dig, given that he had to sift all the way to the bottom of his bag to get them. He made a note to remove them when he got home, though if having a spare pair of gloves was going to give him an excuse to socialize with lovely young women with odd personalities and interesting hair, maybe he’d handle the extra few pounds of weight in his bag.
Discarding his bag in the locker and closing it, he made his way back to Micah, gloves in hand. “They’re not the prettiest,” he said when he returned, presenting the cracked and scraped black gloves he’d started with, “But they’re clean, and good for beginners. Though, if you do decide to get into boxing, make sure you buy some wraps to put on before the gloves,” he said, holding up his still wrapped hand to show her the strip of black fabric wrapped around his hand to give it extra protection. “I don’t have any extras on that, so you’ll have to rough it. Now, hold out your hands, let me get these on you so you can get started.”
He seemed a bit pushy, though not in an unfriendly way; he was eager to get started and lock her interest on the sport.
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