2237-06-16 - Fight Therapy

Lyn works out some frustrations on the punching bag before sparring with Gage.

Date: 2237-06-16

Location: Gym -- Vanguard

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1136

Jump to End

The gym is occupied by a few people tonight. One of them is Gage -- his left arm still bandaged neatly -- on one of the treadmills. He looks to have been at it for some time, a sheen of sweat across his skin, his pace easy and even. He's not listening to music, occasionally glancing around at any movement nearby while he runs.

Lyn makes her way in, carrying a water bottle and a roll of tape for her hands. She's now fully healed from the case of the exploding trucks almost a week ago, and itching to take out some frustration in the gym. She's in a tee and a pair of shorts, both with the CF logo on them, as she moves over to the heavy bags near the treadmills. She grabs a towel off the rack en route, and sets it and her bottle down by a bag, and sets about taping her hands. She gives Gage a nod of greeting.

Gage's head swivels as Lyn comes in -- just habit, more than any especial interest. He returns her nod, gaze flickering over her briefly. He slows his pace on the treadmill, but only by a few button presses, just enough to make casual conversation easier. "You want a hand there, Arda?" throws out, nodding towards the bag.

Lyn winds the sports tape carefully across her knuckles several times and down around her wrist for stability. She glances over at Gage's offer and ponders a moment. "Sure," she agrees. Because someone stabilizing the bag always makes things easier. She tears the tape with her teeth and does the other hand the same, before tossing the tape on top of her towel and flexing her hands a few times in preparation.

Gage winds down his run, slowing down by steps as Lyn prepares her hands. By the time she's done, he's stepping off the treadmill, grabbing his towel and running it over his face and shaven head. Letting it rest around his shoulders, he steps over towards the bag, reaching out large hands to steady it, positioning himself so he can see her form at the same time. "You look all patched up," he comments.

"I got lucky. The shrapnel that hit me mostly just cut skin deep. The Chaplain wasn't as lucky, but he's out of sick bay on light duty now." Lyn steps up and marks her range to the bag with an outstretched arm, pressing her fist against the synthetic leather covering. "You look like you're still healing up," she notes.

"Good to hear," Gage says briefly, presumably of the Chaplain. There's a brief twist of lips. "Just my arm. I'm ready to go, though," he says, with the stoic determination of pretty much every marine ever.

Lyn winds up and begins to slam her fists into the bag, mostly body shots, with the occasional head-level shot and cross. Her form is all right, but there's clearly things on her mind that she's working through with the bag standing in as a proxy.

Gage is good at bracing the bag -- not that it's difficult -- leaning slightly more weight into it with the harder shots. His expression is mostly even, but it's clear he's watching her form, with the slight twitch of mouth. Seems he knows better than to comment immediately, though.

Lyn tears into it, even leveling a kick or two when she gets really angry, and then she slowly begins to wind down, calm starting to come over her as she finds her groove and shoves all the other things out of her head. "What!?" she asks with a grunt at his mouth twitch.

"Aint saying nothing." Gage is a wise man, indeed, that or obviously trained by a wiser woman at some point.

"Uh-huh. Your face is saying things your mouth is denying," Lyn retorts. "Just ask, it's not like the entire Vanguard isn't all nose in my business as it is." THWAK! THWAK! THWOP!

Gage gives a little shrug of shoulders, causing the bag to sway off center for a moment. "Punching a bag that's a substitute for a face aint much gonna help. Gonna make you feel real good for oh, a few hours, is all."

"Actually it's decent therapy. Keeps me from punching people in the face," Lyn grunts. "Helps work off frustration." WHAM! She kicks the bag hard again. "I'm trying to learn how to meditate but it's going badly."

"Aint nothing wrong with a little fisticuffs. Took plenty of tension off when I was on Tauron," is Gage's view, but then, he's still practically a shit kicker himself. "Yeah, you don't seem the meditating sort," he adds, with a sudden grin.

"Not." WHAM! "At." THWAK! "All." BAM! Lyn pauses and wipes her forearm across her now sweaty forehead. "CF brass frown on punching your fellow soldiers in the face, I'm afraid. Even screaming at each other can get you dressed down." She's still sore over being called out by Mercer for her and Jonas' yelling match in the head.

"Aint much they can do as long as you both agree to keep it on the Dee-Ell and don't do it in public." Gage's grin suggests he hear that story about the yelling match in the head, too. "Most marines aren't liable to rat. Better to sort things out up here, than down there, I figure," his head tips towards the ground, although realistically he doesn't really know where Picon is in relation to where they are.

"Most marines aren't. Some are," Lyn retorts. "I don't let it interfere down there. I do my job. Always." Hell she did it the week after her homeworld fell to the cylons, in a move that wrecked that very relationship with Ingvar.

"In my experience, it depends entirely on how far up the chain they are -- or they want to be," Gage says, with a grimace. "Well, not for nothing -- I don't know you or whoever your beef is with -- but seems to me like the best way to get over it is to fight it out or frak it out."

"Latter is definitely not an option," Lyn states with a scowl. "Anyway, it's handled. Just working on getting my own shit together now." Even if that's a very lonely journey. She gives the bag a few more strikes then stops to wipe her face on her towel and take a drink from her water bottle.

"Yeah, it sure looks it," Gage says with a precise sarcasm, gesturing towards the bag as he takes a step away, hands resting on his hips.

"This isn't about that," Lyn insists. "Just general...stuff." Like her failed flirtation with the Chaplain. Getting dressed down for something she didn't instigate. The cylons getting tactically wiser. She begins unwrapping her hands. "Thanks for spotting."

Gage gives a slight shrug. "No problem. You want to spar against a person instead of a bag, I'm down. Don't promise to go easy on you, though," with a flickered grin, as he tugs his towel from around his shoulders.

"Aren't you still injured?" Lyn asks, arching a brow at him. She slings her towel over one shoulder and rests her hands on her hips.

"I'm a marine," Gage says, blandly, as if that's all the answer he needs.

"All right then," Lyn concedes, tipping her head towards the mats used for wrestling. "Bring it on." She's not a melee expert by any stretch but she can hold her own. "If you get hurt though, and Mercer chews me out, you're doing my ship duties for a month, got it?"

"Aint doing your shit," Gage is quick to retort, as he follows her to the mat, pulling his towel free and dropping it to the ground next to the mat. "If a little bitching from an NCO worries you, you gotta toughen up some more."

"Uh-huh, tell me that again when you're the subject of his ire," Lyn snorts. She wipes her hands on her towel before dropping it, and settling into a casual stance.

"An NCO's job is to bitch, can't get mad at someone for their job," is Gage's opinion on the matter. He closes, swiftly, and after a quick exchange, comes away with a slightly bruised thigh. "Not bad," he allows, in that manner of quiet praise.

Lyn is clearly used to sparring. Might be the fact she was literally born at Arctic Station Thula, where things get real dull if you don't find ways to occupy your time. She spins in and manages to come away with a slight bit of leverage and smirks at Gage. "Thanks."

This time, Gage closes a bit more slowly, wary of Lyn's quickness. He doesn't particularly try to protect his injured arm, using it to block, while he ducks in closer for a strike aimed at her side.

He tags her, barely, just glancing off her hip as she spins away from it almost in time. ""Not bad either," Lyn concedes, as she backs away to track his movement again.

Gage, of course, offers solid bravado by way of response: "And me, with one grievously injured arm, I'd say that's better than not bad," he retorts. Of course, that probably leaves him open, as he's busy grinning at her, but not so guarded with his posture this time.

He's flapping his mouth at her when Lyn ducks inside his reach and sweeps his leg, looking to send him to the mat. "So grievous," she drawls with a wry smile.

Down Gage goes, with an oof of reaction. Of course, that doesn't mean the battle is over: from the mat, he grabs for her leg to pull her off balance.

Lyn gets grabbed and she tips down onto the mat next to him with an audible thud. "That's gonna leave a mark," she mutters.

"Only on your ass. Unless you flash that thing around, think you're fine," Gage retorts. There's a brief scuffle, but getting leverage on the ground is harder, and neither seems to win out over the other.

Lyn tries to get a grip on the slippery man, but she can't seem to get any leverage on him. "Well considering we all shower together, flashing it is inevitable," she retorts.

For a moment, Gage manages to pin her down, using his weight to halt the fight for a second. He must consider that a victory, since he releases her and retreats, climbing back to his feet and keeping a distance to allow her to do the same.

Lyn taps the mat when he pins her, signaling his victory. She rolls up slowly, a bit creakily. She's still have sleep issues, but she's doing better than she had been prior. "Nice move," she complements begrudgingly.

"My brother taught me that one," Gage says, "He always was a little bit of a cheat. Still," he gives a shrug, as if to say, a victory is a victory. He steps to the edge and reaches for his towel, running it over his face.

Lyn takes another long drink from her water bottle, and wipes her face. "Another go, or are you worn out?" she asks with a grin. She does have moxie at least.

Gage is too much of a marine -- and probably too much of a man -- to refuse that challenge, no matter how worn out he might be. With a lift of his chin, he gestures towards the mat in an unmistakeable, bring it gesture, as he steps in.

Lyn chuckles as she steps back onto the mat, tossing the bottle onto her towel. She cracks her knuckles and then rests her hands on her knees, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waits for him to make his move.

Gage doesn't wait long -- it's not impatience, though -- as he closes the gap between them, feinting towards her face while trying for a strike with his foot against her leg.

He tags her, but Lyn doesn't go down, shifting her weight just in time to keep her balance. "Sneaky," she quips with a broad smile. Then she rolls down onto the mat to her hands and knees to try and strike the backs of his knees with one leg.

"I try," Gage owns it, without a beat, and as she goes down onto the mat he quickly takes a step back. Not quite fast enough, though, as her strike impacts the back of his knee. It wobbles him briefly, and he backs away a few more steps, grimacing. He closes again soon enough, trying for a kick at her middle before she gets out of the way.

Lyn's hands come up to catch his foot, stopping it from tagging her, but also tying her hands up from being able to strike back. "Not hard enough," she quips. She seems to actually be enjoying this, and getting less cranky by the minute.

"Didn't want to put you back in the infirmary so soon. Seems like you need to be able to punch things," Gage says, as he retreats a step, an unspoken moment to allow her to get to her feet again before they resume.

"Don't we all?" she asks. Lyn gets back to her feet, feeling the burn of unused muscles. Not a lot of wrestling happening with Cylons, thankfully. She steps in to try and land a strike on his shoulder, aiming for the tattoos.

"True enough," the other marine responds easily. Gage manages to counter the strike with his left arm, deflecting some of the strike and absorbing the rest. He doesn't counter immediately though, stepping back again -- perhaps because it's his left arm.

When Gage moves to protect his wounded arm, Lyn takes advantage and cross swings towards the other side of his body.

The quick strike hits, earning another grunt from Gage. Well aware she's taking advantage, his gaze narrows briefly as he steps to closer the gap, feinting and waiting until there's an opening to strike at.

And she leaves him one, as Lyn oversteps past him from the strike.

Gage takes advantage, aiming at her side just under her arm. It's not a hard tap though, and he steps back to give them both space afterwards.

Lyn pants and holds up a hand. "I think that's it for me. I used up most of my juice on the bag."

Just as simply as that, Gage nods and accepts her words. Maybe he's too winded too, after his run. He steps towards the edge of the mat, scooping up his towel, tugging it over his head.

Lyn wipes her face with her towel and drains her water bottle. "Thanks for the spar. I needed that." She offers a hand to shake.

Pulling his towel free, Gage gives a grin in response as he reaches to shake her hand. "Couldn't tell," he says, kind of blandly, despite the grin.

That gets a small chuckle from the recon marine as she shakes his hand. "We should do this again some time. I think we've gotten so used to shooting at Cylons, we've forgotten what it's like to tussle in close combat."

"I'm down. Can usually find me here, or playing Triad in the lounge." Gage's mouth twitches briefly at her latter comment, but whatever's on his mind isn't voiced aloud. "Time for me to hit the showers. Later, Arda?" is said, half an afterthought, as he's already on his way out.

Lyn still has to get her own run in, so she gives him a little mock salute and heads for the treadmill. "Later Tomak."


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