fandomhighdorms | The Gym, Sunday morning

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The Gym, Sunday morning

Bruce was not in a particularly good mood. Yesterday morning, he was assaulted and knocked out by monster deer. He wasn't sure yet how he survived that, but he woke up in a storage closet in the joke shop, Who's There?, later that afternoon. When he woke up, there was a rubber chicken on his head.

By that time, Bruce realized, the town and its people were back to normal, which was unfortunate because he really wanted to hit something. He tried to let it go overnight, but the feeling persisted. So right now he was going to settle for a punching bag. And later on, he might check in at the amusement park right across the causeway and make sure there weren't any corporate mascots that were misbehaving. ~~Really, he was just mad it wasn't a Six Flags for his own corporate synergy.~~

[Open like a gym.]

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Cara her own reasons for feeling like she was going to crawl out of her own skin, so restless she made her own way to the gym.

"What did the bag ever do to you?" she asked as if she wouldn't have been doing more or less the exact same thing if she'd gotten there first.

"It gave me a funny look when I walked in," Bruce deadpanned. "I couldn't let something like that slide."

"No," Cara agreed, wandering around to get a better angle to watch from. "It might develop an attitude like the television's, and where would you be then?"

"The worst part is that something like that could happen around here," Bruce said, punctuating it would a shot to where the bag's gut would be if it were a person. A person that probably would have just teared up a little after getting punched like that.

Cara was inclined to agree, and she knew from punching things and making them cry. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Which it was.

"You'd feel differently if it happened to you," Bruce said, backing away from the bag for a moment.

"It won't. It's smart enough not to try."

"I think you're giving the bag more credit than it's earned," Bruce said.

Had it ever even taken an IQ test? Probably not.

That didn't mean anything, after all, Cara didn't even know what an IQ test was. Or an IQ for that matter. "It's never given me any kind of look."

"You should see what it does when your back is turned," Bruce offered.

"If you can see its expression, then it's directed at you." Flawless logic there.

"I'm not sure that's how it works," Bruce noted.

"What's the point of it giving me attitude if I can't see it?" It only meant something if there was a risk, even just a small one, of getting caught.

"Getting away with it," Bruce said. "And probably some catharsis in getting some small measure of revenge for all the times you've pummeled it."

Cara crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow, ignoring the tinged of unhealed wounds under her leathers. "Are you speaking for the bag or yourself?"

Not that Cara had an ego or anything. Nope.

"You've beaten me once," Bruce pointed out, showing a grin that probably wouldn't be appreciated. "And even then, I bet it was closer than you expected."

Once was still more times than he'd beaten her. "Closeness doesn't matter, you still lost." Mord'Sith philosophy at work.

"George Washington lost battle after battle during the American Revolution. But each loss slowly set up his eventual victory in the war," Bruce mentioned. "So there's more to it than just wins and losses. Still, if you're offering a chance to even up the score, who am I to say no?"

"Fights like these and battles are two very different things." Even when you had a tendency to approach them the same way.

Some might have pointed out that even if she was certain she could beat up Bruce before healing from yesterday's battle, trying it when she didn't have to wasn't exactly the best idea she'd ever had, but then if any of the ones Cara would've actually listened to had been there, well she probably wouldn't have been in the gym needing to be told that in the first place. "Then you'll have twice as much reason to make faces behind my back."

"A fight like this with someone else, sure. I'm not so positive that's true with you," Bruce said, stepping away from the punching bag and moving into a defensive stance. "Ready whenever you are."

Which only proved that Bruce indeed was the world's greatest detective. Or that he had eyes. One of the two.

Instead of moving to test his defences, Cara settled into a stance of her own, one which favoured her injured arm without obviously seeming to. "Ladies first? How polite."

"A very proper English man taught me manners," Bruce offered as explanation.

"At least I already know you're not too polite to hit a girl."

"I at least give them a chance to hit me first," Bruce said. But since she was clearly passing, Bruce took a few quick steps forward before ducking low and tried to sweep her legs with a kick.

Cara pivoted out of the way, aiming quick punch towards his shoulder with her left fist as he came close.

"That'll get you killed." A note of concern hid under the teasing. She'd deny it if he tried pointing it out.

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