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Thorne was getting pissed.

He couldn't run, he couldn't box, hell, he couldn't go more than five minutes on a light jog without his abdomen reminding him that he'd been nearly gutted in the last several weeks. At first it had been nothing but a matter of waiting and eating pancakes and channel surfing to binge watch Game of Thrones from the first episode to the last.

Now though, Thorne was about to go stir-crazy. There was something to be said about cabin fever, and the evening humidity was doing nothing to tame it. The park was full of running trails, but Thorne was simply pacing them in a sort of circular irritated gait, his eyes turned down to what had to be an e-book on his absurdly large phone and one hand hooked on the belt loops of his pants as he did what had to be his thirtieth lap.

He was, for all intents and purposes, being useless and ignorant to the world around him, and also a strange figure for anyone that had seen him make any of his last five to thirty laps.

"********> - "

Thorne swore as he swerved out of Shun's way, nearly colliding headfirst with a tree instead. He slammed to a stop just short of it in the dirt, glancing back over his shoulder with another swear in a barrage of different languages. He was drawn up short by the appearance of someone who looked - strangely - familiar?

"Huh," he said, frowning slightly at Shun and turning on his heel, a hand going to the back of his neck. "Sorry about that. You're - " A struggle played across his features of memory lapse and he added sheepishly, "who are you again?"

Thorne blinked, rolling the name around in his head. What a title. What a title. His smile was slow and wild, framed by the evening light. "Heard you on the radio," he said, placing the face to the voice he had heard. "At Blackfriars. I got gutted."

He pressed his hand gently to his abdomen and shrugged with the other.

"I think this is worse than death though," he added. "Not being able to do anything." He lifted his chin at Shun. "You survived it alright?"

"Jeremiah? Yeah." Thorne tilted his head, raising his brows at the other. "The old man is a steel tank." His smile was mild and predatory. Sitting around all day had kindled an old flame inside of him, riled by the cage of sedentary life.

"I suppose so," Thorne retorted. "Apparently I'm not the only restless one out there. Unfortunately, boxing is still off the list. And running is a joke." He shrugged. "I think if I don't get to hit something again soon, I'm going to go stir-crazy."

Thorne shifted his weight from one foot to the other, restless in his entirety. He slowly slid his phone into his pocket and crossed his arms, attention trained on Shun the way a hound was to the scent of a chase.

"That's one way of putting it..." He ventured, his tone dipping, low and terrible and inviting. "Why? Are you up for a round once you're able to get into the ring without keeling over?"

Thorne tilted his head, a grin lighting up his face. Shun was turning out to be an interesting person, if only because he was offering something that Thorne hadn't had in awhile.

"That's alright. I can adapt." Thorne flipped his phone out of his pocket and flashed it at Shun with a searching look. "If you're ever in the mood to throw a few punches once you're healed, hit me up if you want. If I have to spend another month doing nothing but this, I'm going to go insane."

Thorne smiled, taking the offered phone and adding his contact information with ease. It was old habit - Thorne was a social creature after all. His phone was riddled with numbers, even if half of them were collecting cobwebs by now.

"I'd rather not have that happen," he retorted mildly, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, "Especially since Ashdown seems like it's invested in making my life a living hell as it is. I've never been known to go out without a bang."

"Until the next thing comes and tries to kill us," Thorne retorted, his grin quirking, amused on his face. He flipped his phone up and added the contact information to his address book, wagging the obscenely large phone at Shun.

"Same," he said, "Feel free to hit me up. Literally, whenever you want. I'll see you around, yeah?"

His smile turned wicked.

"Until the next apocalypse, at least."