ArchivedLogs:Bottled Up

Bottled Up
Dramatis Personae Jack, Rictor
In Absentia	2015-08-13 '
Location <XS> Gymnasium
It's later in the evening, past the time when most people use the gym so it’s mostly empty. Except for a pair of floating shorts and Xavier school t-shirt by one of the punching bags. Jack's got his hands wrapped up as well and is currently laying into the bag with some hard punches. He's focused on it too, hitting harder that he probably needs to. It still might look like a strange sight, clothes and floating tape by a punching bag smacked by something invisible. Rictor isn’t a familiar face in the gym, but it isn’t because he doesn’t visit it. The time he puts in is usually late – like it is now – when the room is mostly void of bodies. One might even mistake the room for being just that tonight since Jack is easy miss in just a pair of shorts, though the sound fists against one of the heavy bags alerts the lecturer to another presence. <<Never a moment to myself here>>, Rictor thinks as he enters through the locker room door. Dressed in a black shirt, gray shorts, and a pair of Mizunos, he crosses the room toward the set of bags and eyes the student there. He nods a greeting and sets himself up at one of the other bags, but doesn’t otherwise attempt to interrupt Jack’s flow. At first, Jack doesn't even notice he's been joined. After a particularly hard punch, he makes a frustrated noise and hits the bag again. This time there's a bit of unintentional telekinesis as well, all the bags swaying slightly and lighter weights rattling. He catches the bag before it can swing back and smack him though, resting against it. Breathing heavily, he pauses when he finally registers that Rictor is there. "Oh...um....hi..." he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the floor. Rictor takes time to wrap his hands carefully, eyeing the student as he wails at the bag. There’s a calm look on his face that Jack may find typical of Rictor by now, though a careful look will reveal that the older man’s mind is running quickly. “Hi,” he responds when spoken to. “You seem to be in a particularly active mood tonight.” There’s a grin briefly splayed on his face, but it disappears as soon as Rictor throws his first punch. Jack eventually looks back up from the floor. He watches the older man, a little shrug coming in response to the grin. "It's...been a long week," he murmurs. "Between last night..." he trails off. Jack ended up getting attacked last night in the city and hit the panic button, the trouble averted thanks to the intervention of the Rider before anyone showed up though. "and everything else...I just," a pause for an awkward shrug. "Needed to blow off steam..." Rictor throws a couple more punches, slow and with little power, as a warm up. He doesn’t look over at Jack as a result, though his expression changes to one of sly interest when Jack mentions the previous night. He steps around the bag, punches again – thwack! – against the heavy bag. “What happened last night?” is his natural follow-up. Jack's just watching Rictor for now, taking note of his form when he punches. Mental notes to improve his own blows. "You didn't hear?" he asks, surprised despite the unenthusiastic tone. "First I ran into one of the..." he pauses, needing the moment to prevent himself from saying something rather rude, "bigots...that attacked me and Professor Holland," his voice takes on a slight edge of bitterness he doesn't even realize. "that time. And then on my way home, a group of idiots tried to attack me. I hit the call button on my phone like we're supposed to but this guy that turned into a flaming skeleton showed up to help..." The story puts an end to Rictor’s workout and draws out a long sigh from the man. He takes a few steps from the bag and hangs his head. “Of course,” he responds after some time. “I guess I’m not all there tonight.” He looks up and over to where he assumes Jack’s face is. “Are you alright?” he asks. The other questions can come later. "It's okay," Jack waves it off, turning back around to give the bag he's working on a few jabs. "A lot going on here...school going public and all that," he shrugs, guessing the faculty has a lot of extra work in preparation. "I'm not hurt," he replies. Rictor lets out another sigh while still looking stiff in his stance. “No, it’s really not okay,” he tells Jack. “There may be a lot going on, but I told you I’d be there to help out and I haven’t been. Deciding it may be a bit awkward to stand around and have this conversation in the gym, he turns away from Jack to face the bag, though he doesn’t engage it just yet. “Who’s this flaming skeleton?” As if that’s a questions /anybody/ would normally ask. Jack stays quiet for a few moments, just striking the heavy bag. Eventually he gives a little 'mmhmm' but leaves it at that. When the question about the skeleton is asked, Jack gives a little laugh. It just sounds weird to him. Of course he needed time to process it last night from how shocking it was. "Said his name was Danny and that I could call him the Rider. Apparently Shane and Professor Holland know him. Showed up out of nowhere and got right in the middle of things. Sent the guys running." During the moment of silence, Rictor goes back to hitting the bag. This time, he throws a few good ones in, knocking the bag enough to get it swinging. Jack’s acknowledgement forces out another strong punch and a grunt. “Shane and Professor Holland,” Rictor huffs, “seem to know just about everyone.” The words aren’t meant to be nearly as biting as they might sound, but Rictor doesn’t take the time to clear that up. He just files away the information for now. "I've noticed that," Jack remarks, sounding a little biting himself. As much as he likes Shane, Jack's been feeling a little angry whenever the subject of Jax comes up lately. He's been working to bottle it up though. Not particularly healthy but that's what he's prone to doing. "I think I've met like...only 2 people since coming to New York that didn't know them," he shrugs. "Not counting new arrivals anyway." Rictor pivots, throws a couple jabs, then a right hook. “Nothing wrong with it of course,” he tells Jack. “The situation, on the other hand, is one I have strong feeling about, as I’m sure you do as well.” He starts to bounce from foot to foot, moving around the bag slowly. As he does this his, he looks to change the topic. “It’s been a while since we’ve trained. See me after class one of these days. I don’t know why or how you end up in the situations you do, but one thing I can do is help make sure you’re ready to defend yourself.” "Damn right I do," Jack replies, giving another hard punch to the bag. He's mostly staying in the one area, punching more to blow off steam than actually train. He's quiet for a few jabs, nodding invisibly. "Sure...a little extra training couldn't hurt," he says. There's a pause and he glances at Rictor. "Seriously?" he asks, frowning invisibly. "My mutation's pretty obvious...sort of attracts trouble by default." “Seriously,” Rictor retorts. “I don’t want to sound insensitive, but even with the state of this city – which, by the way, is something I’m still coming to terms with after being away for so long – the number of ‘wrong place, wrong time’ scenarios cropping doesn’t feel like a default to me.” He stops moving around the bag and faces Jack. “Unless there is no right place or right time, in which case what the hell are we doing?” He blinks a few times, then shakes his head. One hand is lifted to rest against the punching back and keep it from swaying. “Sorry,” he says more softly. “It’s late. Probably not the best time to get into this.” "It's not the same for people that can hide that they're mutants," Jack mutters. "There are people that just look to cause trouble...and people like me are easy targets because they know we're mutants right away," he says, throwing a few punches. He gives a little noise of agreement eventually though. "Yeah...too late at night for big discussions." “Yeah,” Rictor says. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” He doesn’t say anything more about the subject, though. “Come find me if you’d like. You know the drill.” He begins to unwrap his hands as slowly as he first bound them, tossing one wrap over his shoulder before starting on the second. He turns as he does this and walks slowly off to the locker room, looking all of sudden very tired.