Difference between revisions of "Logs:Punching Bag"

It's late afternoon and the weather outside is pretty nice. But Jadzia can only run for so long before she needs to be doing something else to exhaust herself. Right now that happens to be beating on a punching bag with wrapped fists and a well-timed kick thrown in here and there. If she's thinking about that bag being someone in particular, it's probably not someone that she likes very much.

Even with the whole of the Weyr to run around in, Drex is restless, and this afternoon finds him exploring the various rooms that lead off the inner caverns. This has lead to more than one awkward interruption, yet the noise coming from the workout room is too unusual not to pull the sailor in that direction. He takes a few steps in before stopping, slouching posture dropping a couple of inches from his height, frowning as he watches Jadzia rather openly and curiously.

The brownrider, blonde hair braided back away from her face, is wearing a sleeveless top and shorts that give her a nice range of motion. It's a range that she uses pretty well. It's a few minutes before she notices anyone else in the cavern, anyone else watching her. Once she does, Jadzia eyes the young man up and down, then goes back to her ass-kicking of the heavy punching bag. She's liable to have bruises by the time she's done.

Drex gives a grunt when she looks his way and, slouching past, takes a tour of the room, before circling back to where he can choose a seat near the wall, settling back. Conveniently, this places him just in Jadzia's line of sight.

She's not an unobservant sort, so the stranger in her line of sight is noticed. Jadzia ignores him for a few more minutes, though, or maybe imagines that he is the punching bag, before she's stopping to ask him, "You lost or something, kid?" in that tone that's basically asking 'what gives?'

A lift and drop of the sailor's shoulder in a single motion seems to serve for a response, though he does eventually follow it up with, "Little bit," and a grunt. Scratching at the back of his head, Drex finally adds, "Just curious what you folk do for exercise." And though he is a teenage boy and that's probably part of why he's staring so avidly at her, the other part is probably true, too. Curiosity.

"You folk," repeats Jadzia with just a hint of mocking. It may not be directed entirely at him, though. Just somewhat. "What folk are you that you're in a Weyr saying shit like that? Stupid folk? Asshole folk?" She's clearly in a wonderful, cheerful mood. But she's done punching the bag for now and starting to make her way toward the boy with all the attitude of someone who doesn't care that he's got both height and weight over her.

There's a hint of bristling response from Drex, briefly drawing himself up before slouching back down again, still sitting when the brownrider draws closer. "You that ashamed of the Weyr?" he replies, with a knowing grin, "Or just of being a landlubber?"

Jadzia isn't shy about proximity, but she's not dumb, either. Not all the time, anyway. She stops far enough away to be out of easy arm's reach, hip cocking to the side and her arms crossing over her chest. "Why would I be ashamed of the Weyr? And I don't need land when the whole sharding sky belongs to me, seaweed." Easy deduction.

Another of those annoying not-quite-shrugs answers her. "You're the one that assumed I was shit talking about the Weyr." Which he probably was, but nevermind. Drex is trying to rewrite history here! He gives her an up and down, speculative, look. "Bet you're the sort that goes to jelly soon as you're out on open water, without your dragon to protect you," a snort.

"You don't know shit about me," is Jadzia's brilliantly original response to that. "And you're probably the sort that pukes as soon as a dragon turns too fast." In other words, not worth her time. "You're a long way from sea," she points out like maybe he's too dumb to have realized this little tidbit.

There is perhaps the flush of color briefly visible under olive skin, Drex's jaw briefly flexing. "I got dumped here, after the storm. Apparently," with another smirk, if somewhat forced this time, "Dragons were destroying ships. That's what I heard. Guess we were lucky it was only a storm."

"Dumped," Jadzia repeats, eyeing him as her weight shifts enough that she can nudge at him with her foot. "Why don't you leave, seaweed? Find some other boat to fuck fish on. Sure no one here would be sad to see you go if you're so nice to everyone you meet." It's totally not that she, specifically, is grating, right?

Drex eyes her like she's an idiot. "Do you just get on whatever dragon is handy and fly off?"

This question makes Jadzia frown because, basically, yes. That's what she does. "There are riders assigned to cart you folk around Pern. So what is it? You scared of the water now?"

And now Drex looks confused. "I thought you all had a dragon of your own, and you didn't fly on other dragons. You folk are so..." he struggles to come up with a sufficient description, "Confusing." He huffs out a breathe, "Anyway, you might not care whose dragon or bed you land up in, but we have a ship, and she's our ship. We don't abandon her at a whim. We have to wait until our new ship is built." The clench of his jaw might be from the effort of explaining such a simple concept. But then again perhaps her latter comment scored a hit.

"We fly on other dragons all the time. Sometimes they're busy doing other things. They aren't our servants. Certainly not just some stupid ship." Jadzia could probably go on at length, but, fortunately, she stops herself and starts to turn away from her delightful company to go back to the bag she could afford to hit a few more times.

"Stupid ship--!" Drex takes in a sharp breath, the words coming out as he surges to his feet, drawing himself to his full height and... she's walking away. That kind of ruins the whole intimidating-height-thing. With a frustrated noise and a, "Stupid landlubbers. No idea," muttered in the brownrider's direction, he turns and heads for the door.

By the time he gets to the door, Jadzia's dull thuds of fists to bag are no doubt following after him. At least he can rest assured that she's imagining that he's who she's punching now!