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the gym ; tuesday afternoon

After some conversations earlier in the week, Flick had realized he was going to start getting a little doughy if he didn't stop being so lazy. Back in New York, he'd always been on the move, always stealing something, running from someone, or beating the crap out of a meathead that he'd never had to worry about getting a beer gut going on.

But being stuck here meant he'd let his guard down somewhat and his instructors from military school would have been screaming (and thus, spitting) in his face if they could see him now. He didn't need to go back home and face down Mandel and his father as in worse shape than he'd been before. That wouldn't work at all. He needed to be lean and he needed to be toned and he needed to be dangerous.

The gym seemed like a good place to start since he wasn't up to finding people to start fights with right now. There was a heavy bag and there were gloves. It'd do. He stripped down to his tank top and pants and slid the gloves on.

He started slow, just getting a feel for the bag and his stamina. Once he got himself going, he fell into a fierce, bruising rhythm. His hands smacked the bag, making satisfying sounds each time. He kept pounding and planned to keep going until his knuckles started hurting and his shoulders burned.

[Gym's an open place. Talk to Flick or use it for yourself]

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You could tell Isabelle was intending to train by how she wasn't wearing quite her insanest pair of heels, and by how her electrum whip was actually getting carried coiled in her hand instead of being wrapped around her waist like a belt.

Yeah, she barely looked like she was down here to train.

She paused at the door, though, to observe for a moment.

For a second, he wasn't aware of anyone watching him. It was just him and the bag, gloves smacking harshly against the bag, one after the other. If his control had been worse, he might have been picturing someone's face in his mind but this was just mindless hitting right now.

He realized that someone was there a few moments later but didn't stop. He moved around the bag, wiping sweat away from his brow with an arm before going back to hitting the bag.

"You're staring." See, he'd seen you, Isabelle. Just took a few seconds.

"I'm not," Isabelle informed him without missing a beat. "I was looking and observing. There's a difference."

Staring sounded much more pointless than what she'd been doing.

"Right. Of course there is," he said, stopping the punches for a minute to send her a look. "Enjoying the show, then? Can I get you a popcorn?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Isabelle replied brightly.

She knew he was joking, but it was in her nature to at least act as if she was actually expecting something.

Of course she'd say that. Of course. Flick huffed out a laugh and gave the bag a few lighter hits since he wasn't concentrating as intently as before.

"Oh, guess I'm all out," he said, making a show of looking around him. "I think I gave it to the last person who stood there and watched me brutalize a heavy bag. Raincheck?"

"That was pretty sloppy." He should've known better than to just give his imaginary popcorn away to random people! Isabelle walked into the gym proper. Her shoes were not meant for this kind of floor, but she didn't care. "Really poor planning."

"And I am just so terribly sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. He watched her walk, raising an eyebrow at those shoes. "I'm sure I'll make up for it at some point."

Or not. He didn't care that much. "What're you doing here? Exploring the gym again?"

"Using, not exploring," Isabelle corrected, since she was pretty much done exploring the dorms by now. "Well, specifically the salle."

Was that a whip she was idly shaking by her hip like it was supposed to explain something? Yes, it was, although okay, it mostly looked like just a coil of shiny metal. But anyway.

His eyes flicked (ha ha) to the coil near her hip for a second but he didn't ask. Mostly because he figured he'd get a non-answer if he did.

"Haven't seen much using," he pointed out, flexing his hands inside the gloves idly. "Just staring."

He smiled.

Isabelle shrugged lightly like she couldn't have cared less – which was accurate – and turned to head for the salle.

Hey, she needed her training dummies to do some of that using.

The lack of answer made Flick laugh and he crossed his arms and watched her go. He thought about following just to see what she was planning on using but that would have seemed like he was interested.

In a way, he was, just because he'd seen that metal thing she had and in another way, he wasn't. He had other things to be interested in.

How foolish.

Well, Isabelle thought so and that was good enough for her. She got one of the dummies out, and walked a decent bit away, and got to target practice. Her electrum whip gleaming when light hit it, she slashed with it at very precise points in the dummy's torso. Her whip went where she wanted it to go.

Nothing she needed him to be interested in.

With her walking away, Flick went back to what he'd been doing before. Brutal, harsh smacks against the heavy bag. Without really thinking about it, he took the gloves off and actually went back to hitting the bag with his bare knuckles.

That felt even better. He could feel the shockwaves going up his arms and into his shoulders. This was how he wanted to feel when he eventually got his hands on his father.

But, a whip appearing and getting used against some helpless practice dummies? Well, it caught his attention. He didn't stop what he was doing (he could multi-task) but at least he knew what the metal thing had been. Interesting choice of weapon.

All the more interesting if you knew she'd gotten it from her father as a present on her twelfth birthday. And yet weirdly less so if you also knew she was a Shadowhunter, and knew what that meant.

Isabelle wasn't paying him any attention. This was training, and she had focus. The whip was an extension of her, and it moved when she moved. She threw it out, again and again.

A snap in the air, and the whip coiled tightly around the dummy's arm. A turn of her wrist and a sharp tug, and the arm came clean off.

How unfortunate for that dummy.

She didn't seem to be paying him much attention so he was just going to watch a little more. His punching got a little less intense, a lot less harsh though he was still smacking his knuckles against the cloth of the bag. They were already red and getting redder. He welcomed it.

Flick thought about saying something, making a smart remark but he held his tongue for the moment. He'd wait or maybe he wouldn't. But, she didn't look too bad doing what she was doing right now.

Of course not. This was Isabelle at her purest, or at least that was how she herself saw it. This was what she'd been born to do. (Or, well, since she was merely assaulting a dummy, a somewhat pale imitation of what she'd been born to do, but still.) All her superhuman skills were directed towards combat. Even in heels.

The whip wrapped itself around the dummy's neck.

When Flick saw that whip get around the dummy's neck, he knew what was going to happen next. The poor, poor dummy never had a chance.

Flick stopped what he was doing again, wiping away sweat from his brow and sliding his fingers through his hair. His hands were merely red. He'd have to do something about that.

He wasn't a guy who used weapons to beat the shit out of people so this was unfamiliar for him. And that type of weapon? Yeah, it wasn't what you'd walk into a gun store and find.

But, he was just waiting for the inevitable decapitation. It was coming.

And it did. She knew how to yank on her whip. It was a clean, fast cut and lo, a headless dummy.

And the best part was that Isabelle looked like she'd done it a thousand times. In real life, too. Except she hadn't done it a thousand times in real life, but still, a few.

Demons beware, and all.

So, this was going to give away that he'd been watching but Flick didn't care. He watched when he was interested and when his attention had been caught.

Once the dummy's head was gone, Flick clapped his hands and gave her an amused smile.

"Not a bad performance," he called, staying where he was.

Isabelle knew he'd been watching even before he said anything. Or at least she'd assumed so. Not really paying attention to him hadn't meant not noticing that the punching had stopped. That was just paying attention to her surroundings in general.

"Thank you," she called back without glancing over as she moved closer to the dummy to inspect the damage, coiling the whip back up. "Although it's generally not a spectator sport."

"Good thing I didn't sell tickets, then," he said dryly. "Thinking about it, I probably could have made some good money if I had. That was very futuristic Roman gladiator-esque."

Or something.

He flexed his fingers and shook them out some. "Don't worry, I don't think you're in danger of people pulling out bleachers and holding pep rallies for you."

Isabelle poked at the dummy's neck. Comparing it to some demon or another in her head.

"And here I thought you were just about to call all those cheerleader people in here."

"Oh yes, because I'm really that type of guy," he remarked with a roll of his eyes. "And we have cheerleaders?"

He'd missed that. "For what?"

"I don't even know what they're for in general," Isabelle pointed out as she finally turned her back on the dummy and looked over at him.

No mundane schooling for her before this. Cheerleaders weren't a thing in the Shadowhunter curriculum.

"Providing moral support for sporting events," he said, shrugging. "They wear short skirts and carry pom poms and jump around and shout things that rhyme because that's how to motivate people!"

He didn't really believe in the whole thing.

"... That doesn't sound like it'd motivate me." It really didn't. "And I can wear my own short skirts."

Though she preferred long ones.

"Well, most of the time, cheerleaders are girls and the people they're cheering for?"

Well...

"Horny teenage guys," he explained bluntly. He didn't think she'd mind. "They get motivated pretty easily."

Flick didn't think he was included in that group, thank you.

"Yes, you do," Isabelle replied cheerfully, including him in that group if he thought he could exclude himself. No dice.

She wrapped the whip around her waist. A fancy electrum belt. "It's actually pretty funny."

"Girls in short skirts don't motivate me," he said since she'd made the assumption and all. "I need a little more than that to get interested."

It wasn't said defensively. Just factually. "But, glad you find it funny. You should become a cheerleader, see how many guys you can hypnotize."

"I don't need pom poms ––" Whatever those were. "–– or rhymes to do that."

That was factual too.

"Really?" Flick sounded a little dubious. Forgive him. Or don't. "Haven't seen anyone walking around hypnotized here."

But, he figured he knew her answer to that one.

Did he?

"Do you think I go around hypnotizing just any random boys?"

Well, he'd had a good guess, at least. But, she'd gone another way.

Flick shrugged. "I don't know. Do you?"

"No."

Please, she saved that for when it amused her. Sometimes it did not.

"See, question answered," he said, spreading his arms briefly. "Was that so hard? And now I know why there's no one hypnotized around here. And I am better for it."

"I don't know where you got the idea I find it hard to answer questions," Isabelle remarked. She was only princess of the non-answers sometimes.

And now she was going to go be that somewhere else. She turned to go, only glancing back over her shoulder for a, "You should get some ice for your hands."

Since he couldn't very well slap on an iratze and be done with it, like some people.

"Thanks for the tip. I'll pass, though," he said since he intended to go beat his hands bloody, if he could.

With that said, he went back to pounding on the bag relentlessly.

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the gym ; tuesday afternoon

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