Training Session I

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Brief Title:

Tigerstripe, Wolverine

Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:
04/27/13 23:00


2 partly feral heroes meet in the gym, resulting in a training fight.

Social or Plot:


Mendez Boxing is an old establishment in New York. It's one of those old buildings right on the edge of Mutant Town, just the place where neighborhoods start to overlap. It's been there in that two story converted warehouse for almost fifty years, pre-dating the transition to Mutant Town, but still somehow enduring... and enduring rather well.
Old man Pops Mendez only ever kicked out three people from his gym, and it wasn't on account of how they looked. He was an even-handed man and his son continued on that tradition. So when one goes into the old gymnasium they'll never know exactly who or what they might see.
Today, if someone were to go in they'd espy a group of people training. Some on the heavy bags, some on the weights, and in the middle ring just under the skylight are two men sparring with headgear and boxing gloves. Across the way are the locker rooms, right next to a wall of 'fame' as some of the professional boxers who've trained here and gone on to professional careers are commemorated. Far towards a series of mats in the corner an older man is teaching some form of a jiu-jitsu class to a handful of teenagers.
All of this, however, makes no nevermind to the elder X-Man who is near the far bank of windows that looks out onto the neighborhood. Logan's there, wearing sweat pants, and a sleeveless white t-shirt as he works upon the heavy bag. He's been at it for a while as the sweat is staining his clothes and trickling down the side of his face. But unmindful of who or what might be watching, he keeps on with his workout.

Even if it is not quite in mutant town - where Monique did most of her shopping these days, even if it meant to carry the bags through the whole city home - she did come to this gym to maybe learn one or other trick to calm down. Being partly a cat in genetics made it not easier when you want to do that, especially in a noisy city like the Big Apple and without a chance to power out the muscles that seemed to ache for movement sometimes. Eventually she ends at the entry to the gym, wearing a pair of dark blue sweatpants and a hooded training shirt in grey, the hood pulled over her head. Still she dislikes the odd looks of people at times, so better go a short length to hide your features, even if it is futile and unnecessary. Her eyes wander over the ring, bags and bench-press, before she smirks. Some crude instinct seems to prefer the bag for some reason, drawing her to the same row of three bags at which Logan is punching one again and again. Picking some tape out of the pocket she bandage her wrists and hands properly, before she approaches the one right next to Logan, hitting at the sturdy fabric with her knuckles. Considering her more ordinary strength id does not budge too much on the strike, the chain only making a slight noise. With flaring nose Tigerstripe inhales deeply to try again, taking in all the smell of sweat and old leather and dirt that accumulated in the old gym.

A few more swings into the bag and Logan seems to settle back into the here and now. There's something about just firing punches into the heavy bag that's almost meditative, that allows his attention to wander. But then it's back to normal, he straightens up and braces the bag with one hand even as the chain holding it to the ceiling clinks and clanks faintly.
He spares a glance sidelong at her, a faint glimmer of recognition sliding over his features for a moment. A small heh slides from him as he steps away from the bag. Taking a few paces, the elder X-Man sits down on the bench at the base near the ring, the two men still sparring above. While on the bench he reaches over and grabs his water bottle, lifting it and taking a few swallows before he sets it back down and proceeds to lean forward. With his forearms resting on his knees, he considers the room and Tigerstripe in particular.

Trying to hit the sack again so it does at least budge, Monique gives it a series of punches and kicks, but they are just enough to give it a slight swinging motion. Grunting about her obvious lack of training, she involuntary unsheathes her short but sharp claws while her punches and kicks slowly loose the proper style as it is shown in boxing or karate courses but turn more to instinctive clawing motions with hooked fingers, until she actually digs them into the thick leather. The bag begins to spin as she pulls the hand through, tearing the leather with a single finger while the other 4 just dig deep cuts into it, resulting in a slow drizzling of sand from it.

Lifting his voice, Logan tells the woman idly. "That's a good way ta get kicked outta here." He doesn't budge from the spot where he sits, instead seems to hunker down moreso and interlaces his fingers idly. There's a tilt of his head to the side and he casually murmurs, "Those things cost money n'all." Of course he's probably not really that concerned as he smirks a touch. Probably to himself.

The woman huffs as she realizes that she did loose control - something she really hates. All that try for self control at waste once again. "I know..." she more grumbles, trying to get that inner anger under control, which is not too easy when there are instincts demanding for quite some actions or things she simply does not want to give them. Mice are just disgusting as is raw meat. And licking over those hurting fingers now is not going to happen, if she can prevent it. "I hate when that happens..."

To be fair, the people in the gym don't seem too terribly mindful of it, though perhaps later on they might. As for right now, Logan is just fine to rest on the bench and look the place over. He casually tells her in that rumbling gravelly tone of his, "Mebbe you should just stick to the free weights or somethin' for the time being." He pauses long enough to take a pull of water and then stands up to walk towards the locker room doors.

The sand continues to run down from the sack in a slim line. "Lifting weights is not, what my muscles are after." Tigerstripe remarks, looking to the owner before eventually going over to him "Uhm, you have some duct tape? I had some mishap with the punching bag. Of cause I will pay for it..." she explains to him, hoping to sooth the waves before the sack has no sand in it and she gets kicked out.

Luckily for her the owner is obliging as he looks over towards the bag. Then from his doorway to his office he tosses her a roll of duct tape, holding a hand up as if to stay her explanations or worries. Though, to be fair, he does mutter a few things to himself as he goes back into the office.
As for Logan, he remains where he is near the locker room door, perhaps on some level enjoying Tigerstripe's discomfiture. "So what exactly are yer muscles after?" He pauses there, hand upon the wall next to the swinging door, occasionally having to step to the side when somebody wanders in or out.

Taping the cuts in the bag with quite some of the duct tape, Monique thinks about the question, giving Logan a stern look. "Ripping something apart it seems." she gives back, but there are much more urges trying to get the upper hand. Her nostrils flare once again, seeming to filter the air and involuntary she lifts her hand to the height of her neck, before she can stop herself from an attempt to lick it.

There's a small shake of his head as Logan considers her, his own nostrils flaring subtly as he takes in the surrounding scents. Of course there's the old mustiness of the gym, ages of sweat in the air, the rust and steel of the equipment as well as the tinge of exertion. But what's more there's the scent of the people, and to be fair her own is unique compared to most of the other people working out. He shakes his head idly and then pushes off of the wall beside the door.
"Don't look at me, I'm fragile." He says this with a self-deprecating smirk, though there is a tinge of amusement in his eyes.

Tigerstripe smells after quite a mixture that starts at A for angry cat to F for feline musk to H for heated muscles to L for lack of perfume to S for sweaty fur to U for unmet urges. But it is quite a picture of her, trying to control herself, including all the good and bad sides it might bring with it. "You and fragile? Come on, you have a back wide enough to push trucks." she taunts, pressing the hand she had absently lifted into the other, cracking the muscles.

A few steps carries him towards her and perhaps on some level he might know that she can taste the scent of him as well as easily as he's able to gauge hers. There's something about him, much more primal and severe. It's almost as if with each flick of the tongue she might be able to pick up on the intensity of him, the tang of sweat and exertion, the subtle hint of blood and steel, the toughness of leather from perhaps the old jacket he often wears. And, to be fair, there's a hint of attraction though he's going a decent ways to not letting it show.
With a gesture of one hand he motions towards the rack of free weights, strolling over there. "C'mon then, first thing's first. Get yourself a good work out, get tired, then see how ya feel afterwards."

The feline woman grunts, almost stepping into him as she targets for some of the weights seemingly. Up that close she hisses sharply, her slender frame like a matchstick in front of his boxy shape, but much taller. "Don't go kidding me. I guess you smell as much as I do, am I right?" she taunts, giving him what she considers a strong push with the shoulder, but it might more qualify as gentle for him. But for sure it is not aimed to hurt him, but is more like a playful taunt. "You want workout? There is the ring."

Those dark blue eyes of his hold her gaze for a time, and when she pushes him... well he does feel very solid. He's stocky, firm, and rather powerfully muscled. Not exactly the person you'd pick a fight with, though he knows she's in part playing as well.
There's a faint curve to his lip, a hint of a flash of fang as he folds his arms over his chest. "Don't go bitin' off more'n you can chew, darlin'." The X-Man takes a step back, opening one hand and uncurling the gesture towards the now vacant boxing ring. There are still people in the gym, but they're working out around the weights and the mats, luckily leaving the ring for them to use should they so wish. "After you if yer up to it. No claws though, like I said. M'fragile." Though it's curious why he'd say no claws, perhaps not wanting to 'out' himself right now or perhaps wanting to gauge how much control she truly has.

To Tigerstripe it is not the lacking of chance that matters in the situation. It's more the chance to keep control. And maybe there is her feral that deems a fight some more than just that. "Can only promise to try." Monique gives back. What was his name again? She had forgotten, but she did enter the ring, looking around it as she checked the bandages around her wrists, tugging at a piece of ripped fabric idly "So you said no claws, anything else?"

Pulling himself up into the ring, Logan slips in between the top and middle rope. He gestures towards some of the headgear nearby should she wish it, though he himself doesn't seem to be intent on availing himself of them. Instead he rolls his shoulders as he steps towards one corner, the powerful whipcord musculature of his neck and shoulders clear as he moves. She can almost see the interplay of his strong torso beneath the tight white t-shirt even as he turns to face her.
"No crying. And try not ta give up too quick." There's that same wild half-smirk that flirts at the corner of his mouth even as he steps forward, ready for her to do what she will and at the least hoping to give her a passing decent work out. Sure she might end up with a few bumps and bruises, but hey she asked for it.


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