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[credere]

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[credere]

"A little. But - it's all - different. Because he's with them, and I'm...not part of their family."

It's the best he can explain.

[poetontheinside]

"So if you wanted to make it a thing, you'd have to deal with all of that?"

He takes his hands in his own to check them, tilting his head a little before giving a satisfied nod. He doesn't know to what extent this is a big revelation for Credence, but he's intent on putting as little pressure on it as possible.

[credere]

"I suppose."

But he'd much rather turn his attention to the bag.

"What do I need to do?"

He's lifted his arms a little, in readiness.

[poetontheinside]

He'll go with it, for now, but he definitely isn't going to let go of it in the long run. He looks around for a second, then twists and goes to grab some pads.

"I wanna show you the technique on these first. Bag's heavy, if you hit it wrong you're gonna hurt yourself."

He slips them onto his own hands and gets in front of him. "We'll put the gloves on you first. Curl your hands into fists, put the thumb between your index and middle finger."

[credere]

"Okay."

He does it. It feels unnatural and he's not sure how hard to squeeze his thumb, if at all.

"Like this...?"

[poetontheinside]

"Yeah. Don't worry, when you start punching you'll feel how it has to go. Stand like this--"

He gets into position, knees slightly bent, fists up, though his are already covered by the pads.

[credere]

Credence mirrors him. He looks stiff and feels very, very awkward. He's not sure when or how the exorcism of his anger is meant to start.

[poetontheinside]

"Alright, good," he says, staying in stance. "Go one-two, one-one-two. Left-right, left-left-right. Hard as you like."

[credere]

"I just...punch?"

It's a rhetorical question. One-two, one-on-two. The blows don't have much strength behind them; he's reasonably fit, physically, but he's not strong.

[poetontheinside]

"It's good to get the technique before you throw your weight into it," he points out. "'Cause you can hurt yourself if you do it wrong. But this looks good- move your shoulders a little more, shift your hips when you move forward?"

[credere]

"My hips?"

He tries, putting more of his body into the movement, but it feels wrong. He feels....weak, doing it. It's generating more frustration than it's alleviating.

[poetontheinside]

"Hold on, I'll show ya," he says, pulling off the pads and throwing a few punches. He does it slow a few times, and then goes jab-jab-jab, showing Credence.

"Feels unnatural at first, but if you just move your hands you're gonna pack less of a punch."

[credere]

"Alright," he says haltingly. He waits for Ray to put the pads back on, then tries again. He feels the impact a little more, supposes it's...better, but he doesn't know what effect it's having.

"What is this meant to do for me?"

[poetontheinside]

"Depends," he says, waiting patiently for him to get a rhythm going. "We talked about this for when you feel worked up, right? You feel worked up now?"

[credere]

"Not really," he says. One-two, one-one-two. One-two, one-one-two. Some of the stiffness is gradually leaching out of him. "Should I be?"

[poetontheinside]

"Nope." He stands still, a solid force for Credence to push up against. "But if you are, it's a great way to get rid of that energy. I mean, for me, when I get pissed off and want to smash something, boxing's a safer way of doin' it."

[credere]

"I don't get hurt when I smash things," Credence points out, dutifully, while punching. "And I can fix them afterwards."

[poetontheinside]

"Sure, but it'll cost you less time to just destroy a bag in the gym instead of your whole room," he points out.

[credere]

"Other people use the gym," still relentlessly rational, though he's hitting harder now.

[poetontheinside]

He can take it, no problem, taking it as a good sign that he's putting more into it. "Sure. So what?"

[credere]

"So, they need to use the bags. And it's hard to get all the sand back in the right place."

[poetontheinside]

"You leave that to the supervising wardens," he says, with raised eyebrows: i.e., him.

[credere]

One-two. One-one-two.

"Why don't you want me to take responsibility?"

[poetontheinside]

"What d'you think you should be taking responsibility for?"

Specifics, he means.

[credere]

"Things like..."

He stops punching, turns his head, and stares very hard at the closest suspended bag until the chain snaps and it hits the ground.

"Things like that."