Log:Lesters Slug it Out not Hug it Out
The gym where Morrison works out is a boxing gym, which means it's in disrepair, barely maintained by the club that barely manages to collect the dues, smells of sweat, and staleness, and the pipes are all leaky and wrapped in just about anything that can sort of contain the dripping from leaking everywhere. Even still, there's dry floor on which to work out, heavy bags and speed bags, a ring in which to fight, and some weights and workout equipment. It's not flashy or fancy, but it's serviceable.
Morrison works out on the speedball at the moment, one fist over the other rhythmically keeping the bag in constant motion, switching it up and reversing the rotation every so often, or changing to a different series of hits, always keeping that flow.
Amy's a pretty regular sight lately at the boxing gym. She's made noises about following in Morrison's footsteps and getting into some kind of professional fighting when highschool is done. But she's also going to do everything else as well, in that way only a teenager can. Track team, swim team, plans to make it big and go to the Olympics even, are commonly heard lines. And she's just gonna work at Lester Auto for cash as needed, a plan she hasn't actually discussed with her sister or her mother at all.
Still, she's pretty regular about keeping up in training and so here she is, school bag over her shoulder. Perhaps she's a touch early.
As she pushes into the familiar run down gym there's something about it that just pleases her despite the appearance, spying her older cousin pretty quickly and she wanders on over that way, closing the distance. "Hey," she greets all casually.
"Hey," Morrison says as he continues to hit the bag, not needing to watch it as he glances over at her without stopping. He nods toward the lockers and says, "Get ready. I'll come wrap your hands." Then he turns back to the bag. Once she's ready, he moves over to take out the tape and wrap up her hands for her. Sure, she knows how to do it. He's taught her, but it's faster to let someone else do it. He then nods toward the ring, which is empty. "Get in. Let's see what you've got."
Without a word, Amy is wandering off to the lockers and doing just that. When she's back she's all dressed for the ring. Despite her casual tone there's a tenseness to her, some undercurrent of annoyance that likely has nothing to do with anything here. Teen drama, most likely. She almost seems like she's about to complain that she can do her own hands, but after a moment thinks better of it and just lets Morrison do his thing.
She rolls her shoulders as she makes her way into the ring, slipping under the ropes and standing up, a few quick stretches done while she waits. "Straight fucking into it, huh?" She quips out in a drawl. "Fair deal."
"What, you wanted a conversation?" Morrison asks with an arched eyebrow, "Talk while you punch." Does Morrison give two shits about her undercurrent of annoyance? Nope. Teen bullshit is not his problem. Making sure she can still focus in a fight when she's tense? That is. He doesn't give her much time to react before he throws a punch at her, attempting to catch her off guard.
Rolling her eyes, Amy just shakes her head at the question. "Like you wanna hear all my bullshit." Amy knows it's not his problem. But all the same, she's annoyed, tense, and distracted. Her thoughts are elsewhere, and her guard is most certainly 'off' as that punch comes at her. It's only reflex and muscle memory that keep her from getting the worst of it, but her reaction is delayed and late, and she takes it on the shoulder with a grunt. She shifts to the side, focusing on Morrison and narrowing her gaze. At least she doesn't complain that it's not fair. But it does bring her focus back into the moment, lifting her hands and getting into a proper defensive posture before returning the favour with a punch of her own, and it'll be followed up by another in that one-two combination. Amy is often all aggression, putting a lot of her energy into ending a fight before it's even begun. It works for kids.
"I don't. But you're sloppy, so talk while you dodge," Morrison says flatly after his blow connects with her shoulder. He nods when she gets back into position and seems to have regained some of her focus. When she swings, he easily dodges both blows, blocking them with his gloves, but he gives her a nod of approval. That was better, clearly. He throws another punch at her, and now that she's focused, he expects she'll block it properly, or not, and she'll take another slug. He's never gone easy on her. That's just not his style.
She does block it. She's never really expected Morrison -- or anyone -- to go easy on her, and it keeps her mind actually on the fight. As she returns in kind, another punch, a feint low and too the left but it's the same feint she always uses. Most people she ends up fighting with don't really come back for more, so it often works. "You're not really the first person I'd come to with all my problems with girls, Morrison," she says dryly in those moments where she can get some words in. "Everyone's such a downer lately since Spear's half brother showed up or something."
"Why not?" Morrison asks with a smirk. "You never see me having any problem with girls," he points out, a sudden wolfish smile taking over his features as he ignores the feint entirely, blocking the punch easily with one glove. He backs up a bit, so she has to come to him if she wants to try to hit him again, light on his feet for someone of his size and musculature. "Oh? What does the Thistle kid have to do with girl problems?"
"You're so fucking funny, dude," Amy grumbles, though there's a twitch of amusement in her smile there all the same. She's surprised that he reads her so easily, not really realizing just how predictable she is at this sometimes, but isn't going to shy away when he backs up. She will move towards him, not quite as spry as Morrison might be, but with that youthful exuberance and a hell of a lot of potential. She doesn't really even hesitate, just moving foward to continue her attack, less with the tricks and more with just the straight forward punching.
"Spear Thistle asked me to go to Prom with him and I said yes because I wanted to piss off Ashley Freeland," she explains, her tone of voice suggesting she knows it's stupid but she did it anyway. "And Ash is pissed off by Spear who's annoyed at Cash who hates like everyone and it all started when that Hector kid showed up and he's Spear's half brother so that's how." It sure does sound like high school drama, but it might help if Amy actually began at the beginning instead of somewhere in the middle.
The fact that Morrison is gay is not a secret, really. It's just not talked about much. Those few outside the family who know with an ounce of self-preservation wouldn't insult him about it to his face and not expect to get theirs broken. The most trouble he's ever had with women is those craving a bad boy and throwing themselves at him, only to think that his brush-offs are him just playing hard to get. He has Poor Life Choice written all over him.
Something she says throws him off a little bit, because when she mentions Hector's name, he doesn't quite block the punch that follows it and she manages to slug him pretty good in the side. He shoves her arm away as he backs up again, regaining whatever focus he'd momentarily lost to take another swing at her. "What about him?" he asks.
Amy is almost surprised that she actually gets a hit through Morrison's defenses, and is ready for whatever she's missed, expecting it's a hit he planned to take in order to gain some other advantage. She realizes too late she actually got him off guard to take any extra advantage from it, pausing a moment, moving lightly on the spot as she watches him like a hawk, waiting for her moment. "I dunno man, apparently Cash and Spear had a falling out because Cash ran off and hooked up with this Hector De La Huerta guy without knowing he was Spear's half brother. It's all a bit to fucking soap opera for me. All I know is Jade Marchant was mouthing off at me and when I decided to shut him up Hector got in the way so I cracked him instead and now Cash thinks I'm amazing for it, but basically everyone hates Hector." A pause. "Except maybe Jade." She nods. "Someone told me Cash and Hector were a thing, until Hector called it off and called Cash's folks to come get him and bring him back home."
She steps foward again to continue to trade blows now, narrowing her gaze and trying to focus on the moment and see if she can break through Morrison's defense again.
Morrison starts to connect some dots internally. She can see him thinking about something, even as he sidesteps, avoiding her blows. Whatever momentary lapse there was at the mention of Hector de la Huerta, it seems to fade into something else as she goes on. But there's clearly recognition there, of the name, anyway. They trade blows back and forth, each blocking one another. But he's a fairly good fighter, and she's still learning, so that one shot is pretty much the only one that she lands, even though she watches him like a hawk. That doesn't mean he doesn't nod approvingly at the particularly good ones that she throws, however, giving her feedback with a nod here, a lift of his chin there, or a shake of his head when she gets too aggressive and her shots go wild. "Sounds like a soap opera," he says.
Amy's more than content to just work out her frustrations through the physical work out that is training with Morrison. She might take a few more hits here and there, but having gotten whatever was on her mind off it, even if in a fairly confusing way, it does help her focus. Amy isn't one to ignore feedback however; she's always been an attentive student and she's not lazy either, despite some of her school reputation. She just finds most classes no where near as interesting as things like this.
"I'll say," she mutters when they're wrapping up, standing there and rubbing at her shoulder afterwards, arching her back in a stretch as she does. "I tell you, the sooner high school is over and I can get away from all those losers the better."
That is something that they have in common -- more interest in the physical than the academic. Not that Morrison isn't intelligent, either, but he just isn't as interested in higher learning as he is in a good fight. He thunks his gloves against hers when they are finished and says "You're getting better. But you need to channel some of that rage. You open yourself up when you go in kamikaze like that." He leans up against the ropes and says, "It'll be over soon enough, punkette. Don't sweat it too much."
The thunk of the gloves and she grins a little, nodding. She listens. "Sometimes when I'm pissed off, it's harder," she admits with a nod. She's got that Lester temper, through and through. She does roll her eyes a little at being told not to sweat it though. High school is like her whole life right now. It's hard. "It's fine," she says though. "Thanks."
"I know you are," Morrison smirks. "You're too tough a little bitch to not be fine," he points out with a flash of that wolfish grin. It's a compliment, really. He pulls off the gloves then and starts to unwrap his hands, apparently done with practicing for the day.
Following suit, unwrapping her hands and beginning to make her way down from the ring, Amy is quick to head to her bag to fetch a bottle of water, downing a few mouthfuls. The grin is returned with her own similar smile. "Damn right." Picking up her bag, she packs up her few things and soon has her bag shouldered again, ready to head out. "That was fun. Next week?"
Morrison finds his own water bottle and a towel that he throws around his neck after wiping down his face a bit. He takes a swig from the bottle of water and nods to her. "Next week I've got a fight at 9. Come early. We'll get in what we can before the bouts." He rolls his shoulders a bit and then lifts a hand to her in a wave as he heads off toward the locker room.