Fandom High Dormitories

If Flick wanted to be a Shadowhunter, he figured he'd have to really work on changing his fighting style. Being vicious had worked for him all this time but apparently, that wasn't going to work where he was headed. He'd been working with Isabelle over the past few months but he still hadn't really completely let go of what he'd learned.

Today, he'd taken a run around the island and was now in the gym, practicing targeted shots on the heavy bag. The focus was on striking places on the body that could take a person down and not just beating the hell out of them for the sake of it.

It was harder than it sounded. His focus was good but he continued to feel almost clumsy and, in the end, ended up getting frustrated and falling right back on bad habits.

Time to beat the heavy bag.

[Open]

Well, so much for any kind of training Flick had had previously when it came to fighting. That was all out the window today. It was amazing what anger and moodiness did for one's self control. He didn't want to be precise and efficient. He just wanted to punch.

So, that's what he was doing. Punching. The heavy bag wasn't as good a substitute as going out and finding someone to taunt into a fight was but he wasn't that far gone. He just knew he was angry and he wanted to get it out before he took it out on someone who didn't deserve it.

His poor hands were already red and they probably didn't deserve that but he already felt a little better than he had yesterday and much better than Saturday. But, he figured he'd keep up the routine for awhile longer until he was exhausted, body and mind, and then he'd take a nap or go to New York or something.

[Open place/post]

Flick hadn't been in the gym much since the last time. There'd been a lot going on that had mentally and physically stressed him so the gym had been a second or third thought. Plus, he had some issues from the last time he'd been in the gym.

But, things seemed to be settling now so he was back. He didn't know why he was here, really, but he figured an early morning round with the heavy bag couldn't hurt. For one of the first times since he'd been on the island, he pulled on a pair of gloves and started a quick pace of jabbing and swinging at the heavy bag. He worked without stopping, building up a good sweat before moving his blows into something a little more powerful, something sharper.

He was falling right back into what he knew despite what had happened last time. Hard to stop muscle memory.

[Open place/post]

Last weekend about this time, Flick had been someone else who enjoyed the simple things in life like blood, torture, fighting, and destruction. Flick remembered those things acutely even if he'd gotten better at realizing it hadn't really been him. Still, they weren't great things to have suddenly pop up and tease you with.

It was too cold to go brood on the roof and he didn't want to stay in his room so the gym was the most logical place to be. He found his way right over to the heavy bag and, after some warming up, started striking it with stiff jabs and the occasional harder hook.

Chase hadn't been all that fond of using his hands to fight, Flick remembered. He preferred using powers that Flick did not have but would probably be helpful in some instances. He figured he could go take down the Mandel alumni one by one, find Frank and bring him home and never worry about worrying again.

When Flick realized he what he was thinking about, what he was wanting, he grimaced and hit the bag harder and harder. The thoughts wouldn't go away though and he stopped trying to make them. He just hit the bag some more.

[Open]

Seemed like today was a day to spend in the gym. After his class (because he was such a good student and all), Flick had gone to his room, changed and then come down to the gym to get some time in with the heavy bag. He wasn't spending as much time down here as he had in the past but he didn't want to get soft and lazy.

He went bare knuckles as he usually did and started out slow. Hand connected with vinyl, making a satisfying sound that would have made Flick smile if he hadn't been otherwise occupied. He didn't keep that pace for too long because it got boring. Soon enough, he was firing off jabs and hooks at a fairly breakneck pace and feeling the muscles in his shoulders, back, and legs start to burn with exertion.

That's what he wanted to feel, what he'd hoped for when he'd come down here and he wasn't planning on stopping until he didn't think he could stand up anymore. Okay, maybe it wouldn't be that drastic but he wanted to keep sharp. Considering the island, you never knew when it was going to be needed and he didn't want to be caught unaware.

[Open post]

After getting back from New York yesterday, Flick had spent most of his time in his room, sleeping off his worry. Unfortunately, he couldn't sleep until everything was over and done with so he'd gotten himself up sometime early this afternoon and gotten out of his room. He was going to go crazy if he didn't give his mind something to do.

The easiest thing was to head to the gym and start beating on the heavy bag. His fingers and hand were feeling well enough that he went without gloves today and he'd already worked up a good sweat about an hour into the workout.

After smacking his hand against the bag and feeling the vibration go up his arm and across his shoulder, Flick took a step back and wiped his face down with his towel and took a drink of his water. He shook his hand out, hoping he hadn't done anything stupid to re-injure it. It was already starting to feel better though. Flick still decided to make his brief break just a little longer before he got back to what he'd been doing.

[Open gym]

So, it was 2014.

Flick wasn't sure if that was true of his New York since time seemed to be be different there but here, at least, he'd made it through the year without dying. He considered that an accomplishment. Of course, it was probably cheating since he hadn't been in New York permanently for awhile which made it easier to stay alive.

Unfortunately, he was going to have to go back soon. He couldn't stay away too long without Mandel getting passive aggressively angry and threatening to an example of Androids and Ghosts. Flick didn't want to care but he did. And with the new information still inside and still eating at him, he knew he needed to go back and get more details soon.

He just didn't want to. What he wanted to do was be a coward and stay here, doing absolutely nothing but stealing things, eating food that didn't belong to him and sleeping. It was a good life but it was fake.

Today, Flick was going to spend a few hours doing something that made him feel a little less fake. He was just going to beat the hell out of the heavy bag. He wanted his muscles to ache and scream at him and he wanted his knuckles to redden up and nearly bruise.

That would keep him grounded. Ish.

[It's an open place and post. Just taking advantage of my day off.]

With his two classes finished, Flick made his way down to the gym for some celebratory end of the semester exertion. Except with less celebration and more exertion and rage and anger and devastation because that was still bottled up inside him and he figured that getting it out here would be better than getting it out in the form of a panic attack.

He hadn't spoken to anyone back home since he'd gotten back. Not his father or Mandel or Gwendolyn or anyone. Not that he wanted to speak to any of those people but he figured they'd, at least, try to reach out and gloat in their own passive aggressive way (well, maybe not his father but Flick really didn't want to speak to him right now).

Actually, he hadn't said two words since he'd gotten back on the island. He'd taken his exams, spent time in his room, stolen a few things on the mainland and now he was here, beating on the heavy bag as was his MO. He'd been doing that solid for nearly a half hour when he realized that it wasn't working.

The vice like feeling in his chest wasn't releasing, his anger wasn't abating, and he still wanted to do things that he was trying to avoid thinking about. He didn't want Mandel to be right but he slowly beginning to wonder if the psychopath was right.

Flick kept swinging.

[It's an open post, natch]

It didn't look like too much time had passed when Flick's portal finally dumped him on the island. He hadn't wanted to leave, not with Joi at Mandel Academy, but he also hadn't had a choice. He had to play along, keep Mandel happy to keep Joi safe. Still, leaving like that felt awful. It meant Gwendolyn had free reign (though he figured Mandel would keep her in check) and it meant Joi was facing the Wolves without backup.

This time, at least, he was coming back with less injuries. Sure, there was a light bandage on his arm from where Gwendolyn had gouged him with her fingernails but that was about it. He'd come back with a few extra book too, courtesy of his second load of classes. These books probably weren't going to do any good here but he figured he'd do some reading, get ahead of the class and show why he was the Dux.

Everything from home left him feeling pretty pent up, restless and angry. He'd woken up that way this morning in New York and it hadn't gone away. He'd been so sure he would have ripped Mandel apart if he'd seen him earlier and he hadn't. That feeling was still there, that blood lust that worried him and made him wonder about his DNA. Was he in control? Was he just a slave to his own genes?

He didn't know but he knew what he could try to do. He could make his way to the gym and he could start beating a heavy bag until his knuckles bled (not there yet). He could push Jude out of his mind since his brother had been wrong and he could forget Joi and the vulnerability and danger he'd exposed her too. Right now, he just wanted to beat something or someone and the heavy bag was a crappy substitute but it was there so he was going with it for lack of anything better.

Flick would make due.

[Open place, open post. Talk to Flick or use the gym or whatever you'd like. I think my spammage is done. Maybe. ;)]

Haunting the gym seemed to have become a thing for Flick lately. He didn't consider that a bad thing because it meant he got exercise and got to spend some time beating the hell out of a heavy bag, which was always good for working out excess energy and any anger that he might be carrying around.

When he'd started coming down here, he'd gone with gloves to protect his hands but he'd stopped using those since it didn't feel right. He couldn't feel the vibrations of each blow shooting up his arm and settling in his shoulders and he couldn't feel the pleasurable pain that bloomed in each hand after he'd been going for awhile.

Flick was focused on the bag today, hitting it with blow after blow without any sort of pause or hesitation. The more he swung, the more he wished he would've done this to Gwendolyn or, better yet, Mandel. He was almost wishing he'd left with Gwendolyn on Sunday so he could go back home, face the other man and end the whole thing with his bare hands.

And that thought was kind of scary in a way. Flick figured if he did do that, he'd be fulfilling Mandel's prophecy and yet...he still wanted to do it.

[Open gym. Talk to Flick/use for your own gym-ly needs.]

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]