twiststheblade (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
twiststheblade) wrote2006-10-10 04:05 pm
twiststheblade) wrote2006-10-10 04:05 pm
Gym-time
The problem with working ut 'au natural', as it were, is the lack of resistance. Miho isn't much of a one for weights training, and her stretching routine uses nothing other than her own body, but every now and then it's nice to have something that will fight back. And, lacking an opponent, at least something that will resist. She assumes that the gardeners, and some of the other patrons, might have something to say if she started beating up the trees.
The gym, however, has punch bags. So, she's squared up against a heavy hanging bag, and a dull, fast
-thunk-
-thunk-
-thunk-
sounds out round the room. The bag quivers on its ropes, but it isn't going anywhere. She's fast, though, obscenely fast. And accurate. She has to remind herself that, unlike when she is sparring with the air, the bag cannot stand up to repeated hard blows on the excat same square inch of fabric.
It is possible to burst a punch bag. It's difficult, but it can be done. And she thinks that she might find herself rather unpopular if she covered the floor of the gym in stuffing. So she bounces lightly on the balls of her feet as she strikes, moving around the bag.
The gym, however, has punch bags. So, she's squared up against a heavy hanging bag, and a dull, fast
-thunk-
-thunk-
-thunk-
sounds out round the room. The bag quivers on its ropes, but it isn't going anywhere. She's fast, though, obscenely fast. And accurate. She has to remind herself that, unlike when she is sparring with the air, the bag cannot stand up to repeated hard blows on the excat same square inch of fabric.
It is possible to burst a punch bag. It's difficult, but it can be done. And she thinks that she might find herself rather unpopular if she covered the floor of the gym in stuffing. So she bounces lightly on the balls of her feet as she strikes, moving around the bag.
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Her face twists in grim resignaton.
"I just... don't think I can offer, or provide, what you need right now."
And maybe she doesn't actually want to. She's fed up with the moping—the moping about uncertain circumstances that aren't even going to occur for forty or fifty years. And in her mind, those circumstances are still better than those which most mortals get to enjoy.
"Not properly. To do so would be to change my very nature."
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"I'm just telling you how it is."
The ball is in her court, essentially.
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Suddenly, her hands are very, very interesting.
"I love you."
She looks up.
"And, you know, maybe more importantly, I like you too. And I'm not going to lose you because of my own stupidity about something that can't change and, really doesn't matter."
She smiles, a little.
"The only thing that really matters is you."
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Unfortunately, Goldy cannot echo that sentiment. She does manage a glimmer of a smile though. Compromise is good.
"The situation is not ideal, and I'm sorry for that. But what relationship is ever perfect?"
"We seem to have mutual liking, and respect, and love."
She wonders if that is enough, but there are no outward indications of such doubts.
"It seems crazy to bog ourselves down in worries about the future. Especially when the future is so flimsy in a place like this."
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There is a part of Miho that is well aware that this is never going to be what she wants it to be. There's also an awareness that part of something is still something, and all of nothing is still nothing.
She'll take something.
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"Deal."
There's a twinge of regret at the choice of word once it's out in the open. But, again, it's not evident on her face. Hopefully Miho won't think too deeply about it, because she didn't mean it that way.
It's still a curious choice of word, perhaps, given that Goldy is quite aware that she hasn't actually compromised anything herself.
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Perhaps she's stopped expecting her to change.
Perhaps this is the first step towards something that could be healthier for both of them.
Perhaps.
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After a few moments of somewhat resolved silence, Goldy reaches for the handles of the pec deck and starts to pump the pads again. She doesn't really have anything to add on the subject.
"You had better fix that punching bag," she notes without segue, "or Raph's going to be after you."
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"Shit. I don't think I can fix that on my own."
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—clank—
Cheeks now flaring a touch at her exertions, Goldy lets out a strained chuckle.
"Well... no..."
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The damaged panel lifts out of the ceiling revealing a blackness that is blacker than the blackest night.
A small man wearing clothes of a similar black begins to descend through the opening in the ceiling.
He's suspended on wires.
He's also bright orange of complexion.
Seriously folks, Mission Impossible ain't got nothing on these Loompas.
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Staaaaaaaares.
She knows about the Oompa Loompas. She's just. . . never seen them.
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Weights are released rather too abruptly.
Goldy has never seen them either, so she stares as well, though perhaps not with quite as much wonderment.
"Now that's efficiency for you."
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...down...
......down he goes. He's doing his best to not pay any attention to the women in the room. Bigjobs are just a distraction. Besides, the faster this is done, the quicker he can get back to his tea.
Childsized hands reach out for the now disconnected rope of the heavy bag.
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So Miho steps over, hauls the bag as upright as she can, and holds out the rope.
She's being useful - right?
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She reaches under the seat and grabs her bottle. Water will have to do in the absence of popcorn.
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Great.
This one's trying to help.
Fantastic.
He couldn't look more thrilled, oh no wait...he could.
If she really wanted to help she wouldn't have broken it in the first place, now would she? He sighs, rolling his eyes.
Once he's got the rope firmly in one hand, the other goes for a clip at his belt.
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She's just going to. . . be over here. *ahem*
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She's never quite accepted Milliphysics.
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A good smirk can go a long way, and in this case we mean that quite literally.
Once he's clipped the rope to his belt, he looks up towards the hole and whistles.
He whistles Dixie to be specific.
At once the ceiling begins to peel back, panel after panel, until there's a hole large enough to accomidate the gentle swinging of the now suspended bag.
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This is officially weird.
Fascinating, but weird. Still, she's quite prepared to be fascinated, and stare.
Okay, what next?
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Goldy is suitably enlightened, perhaps even a little sheepish to have doubted in the first place.
As work continues, she adopts a thoughtful expression.
"Do you think you ought to tip him?"
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"I don't know. What does one tip and Oompa Loompa in?"
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He takes another clip from his belt, attaching it first to the hook, and then to the bag. The new set up is tested with a few sharp tugs before the first line is unclipped.
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