fandomhighdorms | The Gym, Sunday Afternoon

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The Gym, Sunday Afternoon

So. Kennedy had heard the radio last night. Part of her was bummed about not getting to go along, but another part of her-- adjacent to if not necessarily the same part that was pummeling the crap out of the heavy bag right now (or trying to; she still wasn't hitting that thing nearly as solidly as she wished she could)-- had a feeling it was a good thing she hadn't.

She'd spent a good chunk of the morning on the phone with Constance, who'd been way more than a little alarmed when Kennedy'd barely waited until hellos were exchanged to start in on a barrage of questions about people coming back from the dead, but had, to her credit, explained fairly patiently what a very bad idea that typically was. (In their world's terms, anyway, which of course were terms toward which Constance was pretty strongly biased, and Kennedy had been too agitated to pay much thought to subtleties like other worlds maybe not following those rules.)

She knew she should be glad, and maybe she was. Just... it'd brought everything back: the frustration, the trauma, the anger at being used the way they had. All of that drowned out the relief, and if it was petty of her she didn't care. She should be happier about this, but mostly, right now what she wanted was to go off on Raven for letting all of this happen-- not just to her, to all of them, but she was still selfish enough that she was furious about the part she'd had to play.

Here was where the wacky came in: she was actually aware of the fact that it'd be a bad idea to do that.

Thus the gym, and the heavy bag, and the trying to wear herself into exhaustion or just burn all the anger off. Probably not the most constructive use of her time, but she cared less about constructive and more about venting.

[[cranky potential is cranky, but open gym post is open! i'm still doing the con thing today so I may be slow, but free con wifi is happy. ironically i may be around more than i usually am on weekends.]]

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Kennedy's eyes narrowed, and she threw a flurry of punches at the bag. "Maybe. Maybe not. Quit--" Forearm strike, with a glare over her shoulder at Scully. "Trying to get into my head for it, will you?"

...oooh. Yeah, hello, still-touchy subject.

Scully gave her a curious look, because that hadn't been what she was trying to do there. Seriously, she wasn't the psych major. So all that got from her was another set of raised eyebrows, and another arm curl.

Kennedy ~~was apparently going through all her bitchface icons today~~ was just edgy and defensive today, that was all, and maybe the bag wasn't enough to lash out at. Still petty of her; she still didn't care.

...sorry, Scully.

A few more hits, then she took a break and reached out to steady the bag... and lean on it a little bit, okay, that too.

"Gym's not where I go to talk things out," she allowed with a shrug. "Though... not a drama queen, so thanks for that."

Scully could take it. Although not as well as she used to.

"Sure." Scully raised the weigh to her shoulder, and blew out her breath as she lowered it. "At least punching a bag doesn't get you arrested." She gave Kennedy a tiny smirk, then considered. "Would sparring help?"

"Yeah, don't need that kind of record." Kennedy snorted, but some of her defensiveness seemed to dissipate at the offer. Sparring sounded... really good, actually, and she rolled her shoulders quickly before stepping away from the bag.

"So, hitting it out instead? I can do that."

Scully racked the weight, and walked over, stretching out her arms and shoulders, then setting her feet for a fight. "Whenever you're ready." This ought to be interesting, after what she'd seen Kennedy do in Faith's class and Reserves.

It was tempting to just go in after her without preamble, but there were procedures, and this was serious business, and she'd had too many years of training to give in to that impulse.

Thank god.

"I'm kinda hurt that you think I'm not," Kennedy drawled, falling into a ready position. This was comforting. Sparring made sense.

Scully rolled her eyes, then started circling, and threw an experimental punch to Kennedy's left, just to see how she'd react. She was still getting her old speed back, but her form was much better than it had been last summer.

It was, and Kennedy didn't read her quite as well as she thought she had; she couldn't twitch out of the way in time and had to throw a hand up to block.

It meant she had to kick out at Scully's knee instead of closing to aim a punch at her jaw instead.

Scully didn't dance out of the way fast enough-- Kennedy was very good, and they were relatively the same size and height. That was going to bruise. "Ow! Right." She kicked back fast, aiming for Kennedy's ankle, and tried to follow up with a blow toward her ribs.

Kennedy eluded the ankle kick, but stepping forward to do so proved not to be her best idea ever about a half second later when she ended up flinching hard in pain from the hit to her ribs.

"Gotten better than I remember," she gritted out through her teeth, grimacing.

But now she was in close enough to come up with an elbow strike to the chin.

"Nngh." Ow, damnit, that made her bite her tongue. Scully blinked hard and backed away, circling again, panting a little. "I've been practicing. I'd like to be at least--" Back up to... "Competent." She grimaced. "Especially on this island."

She closed again, with a one-two combination, watching Kennedy's eyes and shoulders to see where she'd move next.

"You are that." It wasn't even a grudging admission. The head-feint to the left wasn't grudging, either. "'course, the bar's set pretty high here."

"Thanks. And, yes. It's... intimidating." Scully didn't fall for that, but did move in too close, realizing her mistake a second later.

Kennedy lost a little of the advantage she'd gained in mentally congratulating herself on her success, unfortunately; she telegraphed her right cross rather badly.

"It can be. If you let it," she answered; tough words, because it did intimidate her now, more than she ever thought she would.

"I suppose... that's true." Scully blocked the right cross and pulled on Kennedy's arm, trying to yank her into her upraised knee. "But. Experience. And super powers. For some of them."

Kennedy would've glared about the powers, except her forehead had just met Scully's knee with a solid crack and she sprawled onto her ass on the mats.

Totally not impressive.

But she was kicking out at Scully's ankles, half-blind, anyway.

Scully had been having a short (very short) happy moment of That worked! because yes, it was still another high-schooler who she'd laid out, not a criminal, and thus, completely stumbled and fell to her knees next to Kennedy when that kick connected. "..ow."

Kennedy blinked hard a couple of times until she (mostly) stopped seeing stars, and exhaled slowly, then smirked over at Scully.

"Tag. You're it."

Stiiiiiiiiill not getting up, though. Ow.

That was her knee, thanks. The same one. Owwww. Scully was holding it to her chest, and saying, "Yeah, yeah." After a minute she got herself vertical, and grimaced. "If I'm it, do I get to hide?"

"Hide, or call for a breather; I'm not feeling too picky," Kennedy answered; it was pretty generous of her at the moment, really. "Sorry about the knee? You got me pretty good too, though."

"Breather," Scully said, massaging her kneecap, then making a dismissive gesture. "Ice will help later. Are you okay?"

"My imminent bruise says yes," Kennedy assured her. "You've totally been wanting to throw down with me again for a while, huh?"

Not that she blamed Scully, if she did. Wouldn't be the first time someone wanted to punch her in the face.

"Nooooo," Scully said. Then paused. "Maaaybe." Fine, if she couldn't be mature, she could at least be honest. "Sometimes I get frustrated too." She tilted her head. "At least you're tough enough to take it."

"And thank God for that," Kennedy intoned dryly. "Kinda surprised you hadn't just popped me one before now, actually."

The Gym, Sunday Afternoon

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