Blowing off Steam

[Fiori]

There was a brief moment of doubt as Johnny stood there, confused and concerned as to whether he really HAD said something white supremesisty. Like, he remembered reading something about how the origins of the term Caucasian were actually pretty Yikes, so it wasn't that big a stretch to assume he might have muddied his words or something?

Except... No! No, of course he didn't say anything racist! Pissette was just trying to pit Heather against him! What an asshole!

"Wh-Duh-Fff... Don't gimme that look! No, of course I didn't say anything like that, Jesus!"

It was impossible for Johnny to not look flustered, which probably made this look all the more worse for him. Why the hell did Bissette do that?

"Try to give a guy some prep talk, and this is the thanks I get?" he continued, a disgusted look on his face as he turned to Bissette. "Well screw you, you miserable prick!"

He stormed off towards the exit, his earlier joviality thoroughly extinguished. Here he was, opening himself up a little to a guy he felt sorry for because they reminded him of himself when he was younger... And they go and spit in his face like that. Yeah, not making that mistake again anytime soon.

"Fucking loser" he spat, before slamming the door behind him.

((Johnny Benowitz continued in Just a Walk In the Park))

[SharkyTGirl185]

Bissette didn’t react to the slamming of the door or the torrent of anger Benowitz spewed out. He was quiet for a few moments before her yelled out sarcastically “Thanks for the pep talk!”

He glanced back at Heather, giving a sarcastic smile and shrugging as he slammed his hand against the punching bag.

He shrugs a bit again “No one else heard me say that, so it ain’t like he’s gonna get in trouble. Just wanted him to shut up.”

[Dr Adjective]

Making no move to interrupt, Heather simply watched Johnny storm out. She didn’t blame him.

“Fuck is wrong with you?”

Heather paused to roll her neck, stretching out the muscles with long names she did not care to memorise.

“Honestly. You have that shit of a day?”

She wouldn’t say so out loud, but even she thought it was kind of fucked up to answer a misaimed attempt to help with that kind of hostility. Were it her, she’d just have told him to fuck off.

With her hands hovering by her headphones, Heather waited a moment, the gesture an invitation to either answer or simply let her put them back on and restore the sonic isolation.

[SharkyTGirl185]

Bissette stopped in his tracks, going over the event in his head. He took a long, deep sigh as he placed his hand on the punching bag.

“Okay….fuck, now I feel shitty.” He threw his hand up and sighed, kicking the bag “Real shitty day.”

[Dr Adjective]

Okay, sincerity. She hadn’t really expected that. But that was good, right? Another small step in the masterplan to show people that anarchy was about community, not just being an angry punk with spicy opinions. How was it those emotionally intelligent people on the internet did it, again?

“You wanna vent? Or some advice? Or for me to shut up and leave you to it?”

Yeah. That seemed like it might work. No imposition, ball in his court.

[SharkyTGirl185]

Bissette paused. Communication? Talking to someone? Was this a game? A sick joke?

He opened his mouth. Shuts it. He opened it again, unsure what to say before he leaned back against the punching bag, throwing his hand up “Just a…stupid town with some…stupid people in it…can’t keep the noise down, constantly making a fool of myself with people…”

He spoke quietly, as if he was now embarrassed talking about his feelings to someone “Went to a coffee shop, talked to someone there. Made myself look like a loser talking about myself. It’s….”

He then gestured out to the door “Then got someone upset when they just wanted to give me advice it’s just….its stupid.”

He threw his hand up again, gesturing back to the bag “All…stupid.”

[Dr Adjective]

Yep. Relatable, relatable, relatable. Heathers hands dropped to her sides.

“Been there. Vegas fucking sucks.”

Piece of shit town, comprised mostly of piece of shit people. A gaudy neon monument to the most naked greed and exploitation, an affront to nature forcibly implanted into a desert valley it had no business inhabiting. Her home, for better or worse. Not unlike America as a whole, it was disgustingly, rotten to the core, built on a foundation of evil, and she loved it all the same. What’s love if not seeing all the flaws and wanting to help it be better anyway?

“Real talk though, if you wanna improve your technique… I got into boxing to hit stuff. Thought it’d be cathartic. But getting actually good at it? Thats kinda zen. And it might save your life.”

[SharkyTGirl185]

Bissette sniffled, scratching his nose as he sighed, giving a right hook to the punching bag.

“Meh…I guess. It’s not like I do any other shit.” He grumbles, placing a hand on his hip and cracking his back “I think I’ve already reached zen with my stash, and watching the Nevadan desert. That shit will make you reach Nirvana.”

[Dr Adjective]

Alright, in established. Heather pulled her headphones off of her neck and put them on top of her bag, off to the side. Her peers knew better than to fuck with the personal property of Heather Klein, nothing to worry about there. She made a mental note to ask later about that stash he mentioned, too.

"Okay. Sounds like teaching you to breathe, but there's more to throwing a punch than you might think."

She squared up to the bag beside Chester, falling into her own neutral stance more by habit than by intent to demonstrate. Perpendicular to the would-be opponent, right shoulder forward, angled just-so over her chest to guard while presenting a minimal target. Her right fist came up, not tight to her face but hovering a few inches ahead. She really ought to be wearing gloves for this, or at least tape, but she could get away with it for just a few blows.

"Lead with your non-dominant hand, and, well, get used to using it more. Unless you're a southpaw too, you jab with your left and cross with your right. Unless you're actively blocking, you can have your hand out a bit, give it less distance to travel. Smaller gap, faster jab."

Heather struck the bag once. Twice.

"You can step into it too, put the momentum of your body into the jab. You hit harder."

She demonstrated again, leaving a longer gap to demonstrate how much more the bag recoiled from the heavier blow.

"Then if you really wanna hit something hard, you bring out the cross. But try that first, trust me, it feels good."

[SharkyTGirl185]

Bissette tilted his head as he watched Heather. He took note of stance, her advice and her quick jabs against the bag. He took the position she was in, staring at the bag for a moment.

“Non-dominant. Faster jab. Step into it.”

With that, Bissette mimicked Heather’s movement, hitting the bag quickly twice before taking a step and a firm right hook against the bag, letting it jolt back. He took a quick breath, nodding a bit as he stepped back.

“How’s that?”

[Dr Adjective]

Heather pulled a face briefly at the follow-up, but didn’t comment. She wasn’t his personal trainer, if he wanted to mix it up rather than keep a narrow focus, not really worth making a stink about. The point was to focus on anything besides whatever had him in such a foul mood earlier, have something enjoyable and release some endorphins instead.

“Not bad. Make sure you keep your back hand up by your face, and reset back to that opening posture after a jab, don’t waste time lowering your arm or anything. Straight in, straight out, protect your face.”

She took up the stance again.

“Other reason you keep your main hand up there? You throw your cross straight from the face. No rearing up for a big haymaker, that just telegraphs what you’re gonna do. You turn your hips into it, put your body weight behind it, fully extend the arm, breathe out. Always exhale, every punch, or you’ll be exhausted before you know it.”

Heather demonstrated. Her left shoulder and left hip came around in tandem, arm twisting and extending, strike, grunt.

“And see, now your lead hand covers your face. Never leave yourself open. You try.”

She stepped back, crossed her arms over her chest and observed. Half focused on the technique, half on the response. Needed to be sure he’d cheered up before the next part.

[SharkyTGirl185]

Bissette seems more interested as he followed her instructions. Left shoulder and left hip came around in tandem, arm twisting and extending, strike, grunt.

The bag jolts back with the hit, and Bassett tried it again. Left shoulder and left hip came around in tandem, arm twisting and extending, strike, grunt. He stepped backwards, seeing the bag sway back and forth as he placed his hands on his hips, pursing his lips.

[Dr Adjective]

Coach Heather nodded, genuinely quite impressed with the progress. Then again, how hard is it to just follow along and copy? She wasn’t even sure if he was actually left-handed too, or just exactly aping what he saw.

“Looks good. Feels good, right? When you can really feel you’re landing a real hit?”

As opposed to just wildly pawing at it like a frightened kitten. She left that part out.

“Next step,”

Heather took a breath, tried to contain her shit-eating grin, and roundly failed.

“You go tell Johnny you’re sorry for being a shithead. Unless you want to learn first-hand how to take a punch.”

[SharkyTGirl185]

Bissette crossed his arms, giving a deep sigh before chuckling, shaking his head “Yeah, yeah, alright. That’s fair enough.”

He looked around, cracking his back “I guess that was shitty of me. I’ll go be apologize.”

[Dr Adjective]

“Yeah.”

Heather crossed back to where she’d left her headphones.

“Good boy.”

She quirked an eyebrow, shot the boy in question a playful smirk. He could make of that whatever he liked, most meanings one could interpret were ones she was comfortable to roll with. After that, not interested in further discussion, the phones came on and the Gost resumed.

Next up, the workout she had actually intended on.

[Exit Heather Klein, to elsewhere.]