Participants:
| Scene Title | Someone Else's Turn |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Lola wants someone else to be the punching bag for a while. |
| Date | February 11, 2010 |
Stealing a gym pass is fairly easy, and Lola's done it. She's also stolen a library card and more than a few grocery store cards. Along with, you know, the usual.
But this time, she decides to use the gym card. Dressed in leggings and a sports bra, with her hair up in a ponytail - red as it is - she makes her way to the one part of this gym she cared about - the punching bag.
Of course, there was somebody already there. But a quick lift leaves her with the man's wallet, which she tosses idly across the gym floor where it skids to a stop. "Scuze me sug, is that yers?" And then the punching bag is free.
PUNCH. "SON OF A BITCH!" So it's harder than it looks.
Reflecting on his lack of success so far in the investigation regarding the murder of Tanya Gibson, Nash has decided to let off a little steam and he played some basketball with some of the guys and just finished. He has a towel, wiping the sweat from his head, wearing an athletic grey t-shirt, soaked down the center and a black pair of lycra shorts, he spots Lola punching the crap out of a punching bag, screaming obscenities.
He remembers her from before, vaguely at least. He stands there watching her for a long moment, a smug grin on his face before he steps forward. "Are you trying to break your hand?" He drapes the towel around his neck, letting the ends hang down over his chest.
Lola still hasn't seen him, has his back to him while she holds her hand close against her body. If he didn't recognize her face or hair, he would recognize her scars. Her belly, her side, her shoulder, and up along her arms where the marks from the needles were. Yeah, she looks like a real champion, this one.
"Yes," she says in her cajun accent, stubbornly. "Why the hell else would Ah come in here on mah free time an punch a giant bag full a rocks?" CAuse that's what it felt like when she punched it.
That smirk remains, as Nash watches her. "You look like shit." He takes the towel again and begins to scrub it over his damp hair. "But if you're trying to break your hand, there are far quicker ways to do it." He shrugs and starts to walk off, "If that's what your intent is, don't let me stop you." He looks like he's heading for the men's locker room now.
Huh? How would he know how she looks? Turning and standing up straight, Lola watches the man go for a minute. She remembers him - shit, what name was she using then? Brigit's the name on the gym badge she stole. Maria? Wait, she knew him…after Kain shot her, right? So she wouldn't be using Maria then. Mary-Lou, that was it.
"Hey, ain' Ah screwed you afore?" She asks, as though it were hte most natural question in the world.
Nash pauses and turns around, his boyish smirk still on his face. "I think I was the one screwing you, but yeah. We've met." Met. It was a meeting for sure. Of course, remembering her name, well, that's another issue entirely. "Sounds like someone's pissed you off. Why aren't you punching them in the face instead of this bag?"
Lola smirks, crossing her arms easily. "Faces only crunch a couple a times afore they cave. This thing, Ah figure Ah kin punch fer days an still not gotta worry bout murder charges. Now ya gonna get yer ass over here an show me how ta not break mah hand or ya just gonna stand there an watch mah ass?" She quirks a brow, half miscehvious and half daring. "Ya know, make yerself useful an all."
Walking near, dropping his towel into the receptacle, Nash moves in. "Well, watching your ass has its upsides as well, but I figure I outta do a service to the community by keeping you out of the hospital, which you obviously can't afford to pay for."
He walks up behind her and reaches around her and takes her fist in his hand. His chest barely touches her back, trying not to get his sweat all over her. Well, again, anyway. He pulls her hand back. "Look, first, untuck your thumb unless you want it broken. Second, don't aim for the surface. Aim for the other side of the back, like you're going to punch all the way through. You'll find you can hit harder if you aim through the bag, not at the bag. And turn your fist as you punch." He shows her how by drawing her hand back and pushing forward, giving her hand a light twist.
"You've already seen mah ass," Lola reminds. "Now it's time ta earn yer keep." There's nothing seductive in her movements, even as he comes up behind her. She seems surprisingly focuesed in learning how to hit something. "But what if Ah'm aimin' fer his face? Ah don' wanna hit the ack of his head, Ah wanna hit his face. So why ain' Ah aimin' fer his face?"
"It depends on if you want to drop them up front, or you want to work them over for a bit and you don't expect them to fight back." He steps away from her and stands in front of the bag. "Looks, if you aim for the surface, or their nose.. okay, you hit it but look." He hits the bag and it barely moves. "But if you aim behind the bag or past their head." He smacks it with his fist and it actually pushes away a great deal further. "More impact, more damage, less chance they're going to get up and come after you. Try it." Nash takes a step back to observe.
"If Ah'm punchin' somebody, sugar, lets just go ahead an assume if he does get up he's gonna shank me or shoot me or somethin' that ain' so enjoyable. So lets go with that," She nods, stepping forward. She has to conciously move her thumb from her palm like he warned, and fix her stance. She does want to make sure that she hits this good. BAM. Not nearly so good as his, but a hit none the less, with surprising accuracy as to where a nose would be.
"So is this what ya do? Wander 'round, pickin' up chicks fer self-defense lessons?"
Nash makes a few corrections on her stance and strike before he smirks at her. "Actually, if you recall, I was on my way to the shower when you stopped me." At least that's the way he remembers it. "Besides, I have very little trouble 'pickin' up chicks'" Okay, there's a little mocking as he imitates her accent just a little with a grin. "So, who is it that pissed you off so much you want to beat the shit out of them?"
Lola gives him a mischevious glare when he mocks her accent. "Ya oughta ask me 'bout who ain' pissed me off, sugar. Ya'd get a shorter list." She strikes again, and this time the chains sway under her attack. She's getting angrier, perhaps, thinking about those folks that she hates. "Believe it or not, ain' everybody falls so easy like ya do fer mah pretty face." Now she's mocking him, and she's makin ga very open show of it. "Kin ya believe that?"
Nash's response is dry when he nods. "I would never believe that." He does, however, take a step back just in case she decides to try out that new technique on a live subject. "Well, looks like you have your work cut out for you. I suggest you don't go around punching everyone you hate as I imagine that'll get you plenty of jail time." It looks like he's edging himself away to leave. He does have some work to do, actually.
"How much?" She asks, stopping her punching and shifting on her feet to face him, running her hands through her hair. "Ah mean, not how much ta get inta yer pants. Ah already know yer free as a floozie," Haha, isn't she jsut so funny! "How much for ya ta come here an help me do this right?"
"Listen. No offense, but I doubt that you can afford me, on both accounts, actually. But, if you see me around here and I'm not already involved," hitting on some chick, "then hit me up. I'll help you out." He grabs the front of his collar and pulls it out a couple of times, pulling the sweat drenched fabric away from his chest.
Lola raises a brow. "Sugar? Doncha doubt what Ah kin afford. Just cause Ah been shot up a few times don' mean Ah can't." She shakes her head, turning away, almost dismissing the man as she turns back to the punching bag. PUNCH. She's sick and tired of getting beat up. PUNCH. It's somebody else's turn.