(SE) it doesn't hurt, it feels fine

Locke

im all for compassion

It's been awhile since he was last here and he can't say it doesn't feel good. Sure, training with the Dragoons had done wonders for his physique but there was something about just decking a punching bag. Plus, there's no one here to scold him about his form. Actually, he hadn't seen anyone when he walked in. Which is all well and good for him. It's not that he doesn't like people but he doesn't like people.

Once again, he's not wearing much save for the wraps on his hands and a pair of cloth shorts. It's not as hot in the Slagveld as it is outside but there's already sweat beading between his shoulder blades. Each punch he lands works up something in his system. He's not really mad about anything but there's some pent up frustration there, ripe and ready. Or maybe it's the heat. Either way, he misses his punch by just an inch or so and ends up cracking a knuckle. "Fuckin' gods, fuck!"

Good thing he's alone, right?

but not on my dime