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credere

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From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

poetontheinside

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

From:

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.

From:

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?"

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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?"

From:

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?"

From:

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?"

From:

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."

From:

credere

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

From:

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.

From:

credere

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

From:

poetontheinside

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

From:

credere

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

From:

poetontheinside

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

From:

credere

One-two. One-one-two.

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

From:

poetontheinside

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

Specifics, he means.

From:

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."

From:

poetontheinside

He straighens up and rolls his eyes, taking off the pads. "You didn't do that because you were angry, you did that to prove a point to me. Not the same."

From:

credere

"If I'm not responsible for things I do when I'm angry then I shouldn't be here," he says a bit stiffly.

From:

poetontheinside

"Okay," he says, considering that. "Okay, I get that, I hear you. Your point is, why shouldn't you smash up your room if you're gonna have to fix the gym, too?"