ArchivedLogs:Working It Out

Working It Out
Dramatis Personae Anette, Billy, Daken, Trib
In Absentia	2015-04-20 Billy gets some self-defense training. Kind of.
Location <NYC> Foswell's Gym -- Hell's Kitchen
Foswell's Gym is not the /fanciest/ of gyms, catering more to the boxing crowd than the Zumba dancers and their ilk, although there's plenty of signage encouraging non-boxing people to take advantage of their amenities. Located on the edge of Midtown and Clinton, it's almost a Hell's Kitchen landmark. Particularly since the owner, former boxer 'Foggy' Nelson, is one of the very few in the area who doesn't do business with Wilson Fisk. As a result, many of the locals come here to train alongside the boxers. The layout is relatively simple; a large room with a boxing ring in the middle. To the right of the entrance, a pair of doors lead to modest locker rooms and shower facilities. On one side of the gym are a line of punching bags, both heavy and speed, as well as a row of butterfly weight machines. On the other, weight benches line up in front of a rack containing weights from 5 to 100 pounds as well as dumbells with similar range. Towards the back, a glass wall looks onto a room padded with heavy canvas where often self-defense classes can be seen taking place. Next to that room, a door with the words OWNER/MANAGER marks the office beyond. In the end, there wasn't much cajoling or wheedling, on Trib's part, to get Billy into Foswell's Gym. The boxer simply informed the smaller man of their destination, and insisted he bring clothes suitable for working out. There may have been a /hint/ of a dinner after Trib's plan, but the big man was pretty tight-lipped on the subway ride over. Luckily, the heavy rain is keeping the patronage of Foswell's to the point of being almost empty. Almost, because the manager can be heard in his office, barking on the phone at someone. Beyond that, it appears Trib and Billy might be the only ones here, at least at the moment. Now, having changed from his street clothes into a pair of loose-legged blue shorts and black boxing boots, the big man leans against the entrance to the locker rooms, winding tape around his hands and talking to Billy within. "C'mon, Billy-boy. We got to warm you up." Daken arrives not ten minutes after the pair, dragging a familiar face along with him. "Remember to place nice and not scare potential business off." he reminds Anette. For the forth or fifth time. He is dressed in a brown leather jacket with ring rings around the elbow, worn jeans, and a pair of boots. Though he disappears into the locket room, emerging wearing a white tank and basketball shorts. He makes his way over to Trib and Billy afterwards, offering a two-fingered salute. "Trib, how's it going?" "Why are you warning me? You're the one with the claws!" Anette argues. "Besides, I'm just here to watch." The duffel bag over her shoulder carrying her change of clothes suggests otherwise. She makes her way over to the boxing ring, grinning as she notices Billy. "Hey Clorox, Daken says you could use some moral support," she says. Platinum haired and milky skinned, Billy scritches the back of his neck uncomfortably by Trib's side. Hesitance is written all over his face, despite the initial thrill of being brought out anywhere at all. He scans the room, feeling much like a teenager with his long, string-bean limbs shooting out of ill-fitting gym clothes. "I feel like, a little uncomfortable," the blonde hisses in Trib's ear, glazing it over with a closed mouth smile at Daken's approuch. When his eyes lock onto Anette's, the hand idly resting on Trib's arm tightens and the smile goes away. He cocks his head to stare daggars at Trib, who has betrayed him. Trib is unmoved by daggers stared at him, inhaling through his nose and slapping a hand down over Billy's on his arm. This is probably intended to be soothing, albeit a bit rough, and accompanied with a snort of almost-laughter at Anette's greeting. Daken's two-fingered salute gets a small narrowing of that golden stare before the big man lifts his half-hand to return it solemnly. "Doin' okay," he answers. "Least, /I/ am. Dunno about him." He indicates Billy with a jerk of his head, then turns his attention to Billy. "This is Daken," he says in way of introduction. "He's goin' to teach you how to not die." "Yeah, wanted to leave her at her place until we were acquainted." Daken flashes Billy an apologetic smile. "You know how it is though. You ask them to stay home, they ask why you're still there and remind you that you promised to start sneaking out before they wake up like a reasonable person. Then they remember you're meeting people, and insist on going." His gaze moves aside to Anette. "Like I said, play nice." Then he's flashing Billy a real smile. "Fifty-four years of combat experience, give or take. Probably the most talented killing machine you'll ever meet, Trib here spared no expenses in ensuring you know how to defend yourself." Anette rolls her eyes at Daken's response. "That's not how it went at all and you know it." She finds an unused bench press and sits down, watching the group. "What am I going to do? Molt on him? I promise to behave." Granted, her idea of behaving is a lot different than most people's. "Though you really should start sneaking out before I wake up..." "Here I thought I was doing such a swell job not dying, already," Billy responds, voice rising an octave. Daken's entire masogynistic monologue is met with a dead-pan stare, as well as the sales pitch after. He tries to smile back but only manages to raise his upper lip somewhat as he digs at where the elastic of his gym shorts rubs against his hip bone. "I've made a terrible mistake," Billy mumbles audibly under his breath. "You stay alive fine," Trib agrees, lifting his hand to rub at Billy's hair. "But Daken's goin' to teach you how to do it with style." He offers a lift of one side of his mouth, although the mumble brings his brow slamming down, and his mouth flattens into a line as he draws himself up to his full height, his back weirdly stiff. "If you don't want to do it, just fuckin' say so," he rumbles softly, his eyes narrowing. "I ain't goin' to /force/ you to learn how to fuckin' defend yourself." "Then I wouldn't be able to make you breakfast. And you know how much I like to do that. That, and I hate wearing pants until at least nine." Daken reaches up to rub the back of his head before he stretches a bit before focusing on Trib and Billy. "Walking out of here would be a mistake, unless you decide to enroll in a more traditional self defense school. But they won't teach you anything you can use, not in anything other than a competition anyway. Trust me on that, I'll be sixty-nine next month and I've seen a bit of everything. But if you think I'm just stroking my own ego, Trib here saw me in action the other day. But we won't force you to do nothing, you can go work one of the bags while we spar if you want." Anette sighs and stands back up. "Here Billy, I'll make you a deal. You stay and learn to fight and I'll be your sparring partner. I'll be gentle with you and you can punch and kick and bite and whatever all you want. Deal?" Without waiting for a response, she heads off towards the locker rooms to change though she quickly calls out towards Daken. "Cereal does not count as making breakfast." Billy pouts, eyes going large and wet at Trib's narrow. When you think about it, crying is a pretty great self-defense strategy when your tears are harmful chemicals. Anette's interference is all that does stop Billy from walking out. And yes, it surprises him, too. "Deal," he concedes quietly to the woman. After she leaves to get changed, he eyes Daken like a child might at the monster under their bed, "You're sixty nine?" ............. An impish smirk pinches at the corner of his mouth. Trib blinks at the sudden change Anette's offer brings in Billy, and he turns to give Daken a bit of a perplexed look and a small, hardly noticeable shrug. "Okay, then," he grunts, moving towards the ring. "This ought to be interesting." If he has any thoughts on Daken's age, he doesn't indicate it, instead walking the perimeter of the ring and tugging on the ropes experimentally. "If you'd let me buy food for the apartment it wouldn't just be cereal!" Daken grumps towards Anette as she leaves, before flashing Billy a grin. "I'm /almost/ sixty-nine, yes. I've spent a majority of my life training too, and you'll be getting the most useful bits. Without being whipped if you mess up." He reaches up to rub at his shoulders before making his way to the ring. "Any fighting experience at all?" Anette changes quickly and comes out after a few minutes in her usual workout attire, a black sports bra and matching shorts. She has a towel over her shoulders as she makes her way towards the ring. Tossing her duffel bag off to the side, she swings under the ropes and hangs her towel on the top rope. "Alright, what are we starting with then?" she asks, tying her hair back in a pony tail as she looks back and forth between Billy and Daken with a grin. "Some like, basic self d-defense, a long t-time ago," Billy doesn't grin, but looks between all three of them with large doe eyes. He nods towards Anette, "Mostly to do with my powers. Anette and I went to school together." He rubs his porcelain skinned arm, daintily ducking under the ropes and clambering up. Snow White enters the ring. Trib pulls himself up to hang over the top rope, using a foot to pull an opening for Billy to pass through. "You'll be all right," he rumbles encouragingly to the smaller man. "This is just /learnin'/." As if to underline the point, he lifts his chin. "Don't mess him up," he instructs Anette blithely. "He'd look sexy as hell with a scar, but I like the way he looks now just fine." His golden gaze flicks over to Daken as he finishes speaking, nodding firmly. Then he's leaning out to pat Billy on the shoulder encouragingly. "Give 'em hell, Billy-boy." "Won't mess him up physically. But, this won't be easy." Daken might be attempting to reassure the pair, but it isn't a very good attempt. Then he's digging around in his bag for a speaker, which he promptly hooks his phone up to, starting the mix with a song by Wale. "Alright, we'll run a light spar to see how much of the basics you have done." he suggests, moving back to the ring. He grips the rope, before flipping over it into the ring. "When you're ready." "Sixty-nine years and you still don't know good music," Anette grumbles once the playlist begins. She gets into a defensive stance. "Alright Billy, you start. I'll mostly defend for now. -Mostly-. Oh, and try not to sweat on me." She offers a brief grin as she waits for Billy to make the first move. Not quite reassured, Billy's eyes go even more wide, "Like, w-whut?" Curling his upper and furrowing his brow in a pained, confused expression, the bleach-blonde brings up both balled hands on limp fists. Does he even know how to make a fist? He cringe smiles, eyeing Anette helplessly, "I like, don't want to punch you?" Trib scowls at the influx of music -- or maybe it's the choice of music, given the way he snorts amusedly at Anette's observation on it. He rubs a finger alongside his nose, using his left hand to show Billy the proper way to make a fist. He even holds it up for studying, which is probably more intimidating than it's intended to be. When Billy says he doesn't want to hit Anette, he chuffs a laugh, and leans against the ropes. "I don't believe /that/," he drawls, eyeing Billy's form critically. "Everybody needs a pop in the mouth every now an' then." "I /was/ going to play Chubby Checker, but this song reminded me of you." Daken informs Anette with a wink. "And if it was my father that taught those lessons then too, the basics might need work. Logan might have sixty or so years on me.. But talent does beat experience here." Billy's display makes his brows rise. "Alright Anette, you're on radio duty for now, find something good. I think I selected the mix.. And if it's more like this?" he just shakes his head slightly. "Trib, maybe we should throw a few punches so he has something to go by before he gets into it with Anette? Once I've seen what I'm working with.. We can get into getting rid of bad habits, and enforcing technique. Why I brought a crop." That last bit might be a joke. Might. Anette also laughs at Billy's response. "That's bull and you know it. You've been waiting for this moment since you met me. C'mon, one little punch. Never know when you'll get the chance again, hm?" She glances towards the phone as the opportunity to change the music occurs. "Since we're dedicating music to each other..." A few clicks later, Halestorm's Love Bites (So Do I) plays over the speakers. She gets back into position in front of Billy. "You have three seconds to hit me or I'm throwing the first punch and it's NOT going to be gentle." Billy repositions his fingers while looking back and forth between his own hands and Trib's. A wave of relief washes over him when it seems like he might be off the hook, but Anette puts an end to that pipe dream. Gulping theatrically, Billy raises back up the fist that he only just lowered. He believes her, but still hesitates. Tiny muscle movements in his wiry arms show an internal struggle as he almost moves in a few times, but never does. A bead of sweat from nervousness starts to form on his brow. Trib seems willing to show off his stuff, but there's suddenly no need for that, as it seems things are about to commence. He narrows his gaze as he watches Billy move, pushing out his lower jaw as he contemplates. When the allotted three seconds have passed, he inhales deeply, barking his words when he speaks. "Oh, for fuck's sake -- fuckin' /hit/ her!" he urges, jerking a hand in Anette's direction. "Knock some goddamned feathers off her." "Block your face and stomach." Daken informs Billy, almost casually. "Try /not/ to get hit, but don't run from it." Oops, Billy took to long so now he's going to pay with the fist that's currently flying towards his face. As promised, Anette is not going to go easy and if this connects, it's going to hurt like hell but it's not terribly difficult to block if he figures out how. Billy gets punched in the face. Mucus flies, speckling the ring with perfectly white circlets where it lands. The young man's knees buckle and his legs give out from under him within the blink of an eye. A yelp can be heard, as his back hits the ground and his fists unfurl to cup his face. Trib's wince is small enough to be a muscle twitch when Billy gets punched in the face, and he leans against the ropes. "Shake it off, Billy-boy," he rumbles, slapping his hands together encouragingly. "Now you got a reason to knock her pinfeathers in." Daken exhales quietly as Billy is knocked down. "We're trying to avoid that happening." he reminds. "Dodging and blocking are going to be visited more than once, I see." Anette rolls her eyes as Billy doesn't block the punch and instead gets hit. "Dammit Clorox! Was that at least as fun for you as it was for me? You're going to get no where." She walks away and reaches for her towel, wiping off some of the bleach/saliva that fell on her. "You're more of a pansy than you were in school." Staggering back unsteadily onto his feet, Billy bites back tears, "Jesus, Anette!" Billy whines, his voice muffled behind a hand. Fanning at his face, Marcia Brady style, he shoves past Trib with a hard glare and makes to march off of the ring, "I didn't even want to do this!" The blonde disappears into the locker room, leaving the trio of hardasses on their own. Trib's eyebrows lift, then fall, as Billy storms off, and he inhales deeply through his nose, exhaling noisily. "I guess that's it for tonight," he grunts, hopping down off the side of the ring. "Thanks anyway." He looks like he might have something else to say, but doesn't, opting to stalk after Billy to the locker room and pausing only to rub a hand over his face before he, too, disappears through the door.