jonathanlund‌.     

This wasn’t a defeat in Jonathan’s eyes, it was a means to get even better than he already was. Yeah…that worked. He nodded as Peter stood by his side and followed his instructions, raising his fists slowly. “You’re going to tell me there’s all kinds of technique involved in this aren’t you. I always thought instinct was the best way to go.”

“You’re not a sabertooth tiger: your instincts are shit,” Peter replied. “I dare you to name one time where you followed your instincts and they were dead-on.” As he spoke, he fixed Jonathan’s fist so he didn’t break a finger, and lifted his elbow a bit more than he had lifted it himself. “There’s an insane amount of technique that goes into being able to either do damage or protect yourself with just your body,” he said.

jonathanlund‌.     

“Hold on, hold on.” Jon stood upright for the first time in a few minutes and tilted his head to the side. “Maybe a brief lesson on how the ‘fists of fury’, as you call them, didn’t land. Because that might actually help in round three…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t need the help…but the pointers might be…useful.”

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. –– That is, unless you offer the horse insider information on how to fix the atrocious way he had been fighting, it would seem. Peter didn’t allow himself the full-blown victorious grin he’d been wanting, but he did quirk his lips just a tad, taking his gloves off. “Of course,” Peter said, stepping up next to Jonathan. “Couple’a things, then. Put your fists up.”

jonathanlund‌.     

It took Jon the highest level of will power to not take a swing at O’Hare, but in all honesty, he was exhausted. Not that he would admit it. “Yeah and I’d win if I took you on and all,” he growled at the trainer, tailing off into some incoherent angry mumbles. He shook his head for a second, wiping his brow before looking up at Peter. “If I did want to tap out enough to want to do something else, which I don’t…what exactly did you have in mind that’s going to ‘benefit’ me?”

Peter leaned back, not wanting to correct Jonathan and tell him that O’Hare was one of the best fighters in her own right in this place. He watched her roll her eyes, and saw that she wasn’t going to correct the kid, so he let it slide. “If we had ended this here, which we won’t since you don’t want to, I’d have shown you the throw I did mid-round-one,” Peter said. “Or maybe how I kept out of your fists of fury right at the start of two. Maybe next time, since you don’t want to.” Peter adjusted his wraps, and stretched his neck for a minute. “O’Hare, ready to count down for round three?”

jonathanlund‌.     

Another miss. What the hell was happening? Even when he went toe-to-toe with Antonia he had at least managed some damage to her…but this guy. He let himself stumble forward, grabbing at the ropes for a second, turning to the other. “Since when?” He spat again. “Nah, next round…I got you…you…you wait.”

“I’m pretty sure I said we were boxing, not brawling, ” Peter said. He glanced at O’Hare. “Have we been boxing, or have we been brawling?” The trainer snorted, and replied, “You’ve been boxing. Mad Max over there has been falling, mostly.” Peter shot her a look saying you’re not helping, and turned back to Jonathan. “I can keep going,” he said, something of a warning. “Or we can do something that would actually benefit you. Your call.”

jonathanlund‌.

His breathing was laboured, he was sweating a lot, and everything ached. Literally everything. His ribs had been hit, as had his face. He’d managed to get a couple of blocks in but nothing that wasn’t going to bruise up later on. And literally after all of that, Jonathan was pretty sure he still hadn’t landed a punch. But he was stubborn and he wasn’t going to let this stop him, pushing O’Hare out of the way as he stood up again. “C’mon then pretty boy, ten more to go.” He spat at the side of the ring, a gloved hand resting on his ribs as he manipulated them secretly. They wouldn’t heal, but at least they would be stronger…harder to break if Peter hit him there again. “Ding ding.” He lunged forward, aiming a swipe at the others face.

Peter saw Jonathan lunging for him, and he easily stepped to the side of the off-kilter punch. He could have done more damage: combat was what he was built for. But Peter hadn’t been doing this just to cause pain. He’d been called in by Peyton to get the hot-head to cool off, clearly. Since he was clearly still seeing red, Peter let Jonathan’s body weight and his speed to the work for him, watching as the guy went sprawling. “Face hits are against the rules,” Peter said, hands on his knees from a safer distance. “We either go back to one, or you call it and we start training.”

jonathanlund‌.      

There was something odd about the way Peter was looking at him, like he knew something Jonathan didn’t, but he brushed it off as nothing. Secretly he was quite excited to get into the ring and let off some steam, not that he’d tell anyone that. If the government thought he had enjoyed himself at this compulsory training, then there would be no chance of him leaving. “Start again from Round One? That isn’t how boxing works…but whatever floats your boat.” He looked over at O’Hare and gave her a nod. “Make sure the pretty boys bandages are prepped. I’m ready.”

When O’Hare called for the end of the second round, Peter stepped back, pretty sure she had done so a bit short on time. He hadn’t gone easy on Jonathan, no, but he had pulled a few of his punches. There had been a particularly-worrying feeling when his gloved fist had made contact with Jon’s ribs toward the end of the first round, but they’d pushed through. Peter moved back to ropes, grabbing his water and squeezing some into his open mouth, dribbling a bit onto his chin. Swiping at the water, he looked over to Jonathan, and then beckoned O’Hare over. “Go check on him,” he said. “Call it if he’s not gonna.” 

jonathanlund‌.

“How is it worse? If you make a plan and it doesn’t work out you feel worse than if you do it spontaneously.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged before crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “Yeah I know how boxing works, I’m not some half-wit. You think you’re going to be able to last twelve rounds though?” He smirked, making his way over to the ring, motioning for the other to enter. “Ladies first.”

As Peter made his way into the ring, it occurred to him that Jonathan Lund had no earthly idea what it was that Peter did around here. He offered Jon a bit of a confused, amused glance, and pulled the top rope up, sliding between it. As he did so, one of the other people who worked at the training center came over with a stopwatch. “O’Hare is gonna keep time and judge,” Peter said, nodding at the girl he had come to know fairly well from his time as a permanent resident of the Lake Grimstone Training Center. “Any low blows, and we’ll start again from Round One,” Peter warned, though he didn’t think that Jon really understood what that meant yet. He sidled up to his space, and put himself into his ready position. “Ready when you are, O’Hare,” he said, waiting for them to be called into time.

jonathanlund‌.     

Jonathan tilted his head from side to side, getting an audible click from his neck each time he did, limbering himself up for this unwanted training session. “Yeah tried to escape. But it wasn’t exactly planned…more tried it on a whim. If I’d actually planned it, I wouldn’t be here now.” He wasn’t going to tell the other he had planned it, to the letter, and still failed, but they didn’t need to know. “So how exactly does this training lark work Champ? We just go at each other till someone wins?”

“That sounds even worse,” Peter pointed out, rather unhelpfully. –– But, sure. If the guy wanted to waste his time without planning, Peter wasn’t going to stop him, no. Apparently, all he was going to do was kick his ass a little bit. Having finished tying his wraps, Peter pointed to the boxing ring. “We’re not going at each other,” he replied. “This isn’t Fight Club. We’re boxing. Twelve rounds, three minutes. Nothing below the belt, holding, tripping, kicking… you know the rules of boxing, right? They apply.” He shrugged, offering Jonathan an expectant stare. “So… are we doing this?”

jonathanlund.

“Woah woah, slow down there champ.” he narrowed his eyes a little at the other. “No-one’s handing me my ass. No-one in this place even comes close. Not even you.”

Being no stranger to the droves of people who were of the opinion that they’d come out on top of a fight, Peter shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” he said. Over the years, Peter had handed many-an-ass to many-a-resident: the sparkle of it all had dulled a bit. With a sort of bored lethargy to him, he grabbed his wraps and began getting ready, leaning against the wall as he did so. “Tried to escape, huh? Sounds like you need a better plan there, Ace.”

blakenichols.

Blake snorted, rolling her eyes. “Paradise? Yeah, that’s exactly how I’d describe this place.” She honestly didn’t know what she meant–the bar, or the town, or the whole country. She was just feeling particularly sour and particularly unhappy with all of it. “What about you?”

“Something like that,” he agreed. What else was there to say? I have been one huge existential crisis for the last decade, so this is pretty much par for the course sounded… needy. And he didn’t need anything other than a goddamn break. “…this is weird, right?”

jonathanlund.

“Yeah yeah, training apparently. Bastards that run this place have me escorted for compulsory training sessions since I tried to escape.”

“Oh, that makes a lot more sense, actually,” Peter replied. Peyton had called him that morning and asked him to show up at the gym. –– Like he hadn’t been planning it already. “Looks like they wanted someone to hand your ass to you,” he explained. “That sucks. For you, I mean. Should be fun for me.”

blakenichols.

Blake rubbed her temple, wondering if she should look and see who was here. “To be honest,” she began. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here, but I’m not complaining about the company.”

Peter narrowed his gaze, in part due to confusion, though there was some small part of… he wasn’t sure. Contrary energy which compelled him to do the opposite of what people said. Oh, if you’re inviting me to sit down, maybe I won’t! Instead, he settled in, not saying much for a long minute. “So, uh. Trouble in paradise?”

“Et fasciné par ta lumière, moi, je suis devenu ton ombre…”

—

V. H. SCORP

He turns around and sees the world he knows fall apart The struggle you are up against makes you what you are Don't turn around when you're alone running in the dark The struggle you are up against makes you what you are