2019-09-05 - Put Em Up

Joey reliably has been here since five, opened at 5:30 and took care of the light morning construction crowd before they hit work. Let's face it it's not like Boxing gyms are like Globo Gym. They're niche, and have a weird presence to them and are filled with grit and aggression. It's also a solid three hours before Erin comes in so the place is pretty quiet to himself. Right now Gorillaz kicks over the speakers and trying to clear his head of this week's overstressed bullshit.

Alexander is not necessarily here to add too Joey's stress levels, but the sight of Crazy Clayton at one's doors isn't something that most townies relish. Particularly not those who don't like crazy people sticking their noses in parts of their business that should remain unstuck; although Alexander's never been overt about interfering in Felix's various business ventures. And, bonus points, he looks relatively calm at this moment as he slips inside the gym. Relatively. He's still watching the interior like the walls might suddenly come alive and eat him, overdressed in a long-sleeved shirt that's two sizes too big, and faded black jeans, with work boots. His sleeves have been rolled back to keep them from flopping over his hands, and there's an impressive line of bruises, now fading into greens and yellows, along one side of his face. "Are you open?"

The walls might come alive. More than a part of Elm Street has its ghosts, literal and figurative. That the building is built on the back of brutality, violence, and more than one death in the day? Oh yeah it's a real Mentalist's picnic.

That heavy bag is buckling in the middle as it takes abuse from the 29 year old. One-Two, one-two-one-one, one-two... it continues as Joey notes the interloper, but doesn't break stride. He does, between winded breaths, answer the man, "5:30 every day... cept Sunday."

It's Elm. Alexander is accustomed to the faint and ever-present air of misery, death, and violence that hangs in the background - although it does make him careful not to go reaching for things at random. At the answer, he sort of slouches his way forward. He has an almost perpetual air of trespassing, like a mangy stray who expects to be kicked out. His eyes are flat and intense, though, watching Joey work like it's something he's recording for later testimony under oath. A jerky, wary sort of nod at the answer. "I'm told it would be good to do some bag work." A glance at the bag that's currently being pummeled. "And that you're a good instructor."

The bag doesn't swing wildly and get out of the way, it just folds buckling right where all that duct tape is. All the inertia having no real chance to escape. There. Still at the words and the man walking inside his glove goes tout to keep it from swinging back on him, and waving it off there's a slight but offhanded wave of his glove that suggests to it cool it. It shouldn't listen as it's inanimate but it could be perceived that it does. Well... if one is not Joey. He doesn't even seem to notice. His attention is on Alexander.

"You're Erin and Min's friend." no he and Carver don't talk and they certainly don't fucking 'hang out', but it doesn't mean Joey's not paying attention or not know who and what the guy is. What might be attitude gives way to something else and the side nod invites the lurking lurker who lurks inside. "You're healin up."

Alexander's eyes flicker as the bag just sort of obeys Joey's wave and that little push of power that accompanies it. He stares at the bag for a long moment, then at Joey. "You know Miss Addington?" He might not mean that to sound as skeptical as it does, but well - the Kellys are at one end of Gray Harbor's social structure, and the Addingtons are at the other. He doesn't answer whether he's friends with either woman, but does slouch his way inside. "Yeah. Wasn't as bad as they thought, originally. Head wounds bleed like a motherfucker." Which is something everyone knows, of course. The weird thing might be that there's no scar, or scab, or...anything but those rapidly healing bruises. "How much? To be allowed to hit the bags."

THat's a fact all boxers know: Headwounds bleed like a summovabitch. Hell it stopped the first fight between the ring greats when de la Hoya first fought Chavez. Still a hellof a thing to stop a fight to, but it still stops a fight.

Stoic expression holding the question brings a pause and normally he wouldn't give up information, but seeing as she flew out of there like a bat out of hell to find him in the hospital answers only, "She works for me." The world can fight him on that point really. His people don't answer to the rest of the world, just to him. World can fuck right on off this week. He admits to Alexander, "They were both pretty fuckin worried. Min told me all what'd happened." there's a pause and he asks carefully shifting his weight to his back foot as if to slightly disengage from being 'on' and relax whatever issue he had withthe bag. "Lemme ask you somethin. You lookin to hit em to have somethin to hit or you think it'll solve somethin?"

Alexander disapproves of the idea of Erin working for Joey. His face tends to either show every feeling he has, or it's as blank and dead as a mannequin, and right in this moment, it's the former. So the disapproval is really obvious. "In what capacity, Mr. Kelly?" But the building agitation is derailed when he talks about people being worried. He winces, looks away, and fidgets in place. "They don't need to be worried about me. I'm fine." It's a guilty-sounding mutter. The question in turn brings his attention back, eyes narrowed, posture defensive. "I want to hit something. It's not a difficult concept. I can go elsewhere if you don't do that here, or don't want me here."

If you talk about her she will come, all field of dreams style or something. Or maybe she was just on the schedule to come in at this time. Probably the second option. Dressed in what has now become her uniform, a pair of black and white pants bought from the fitness department of her favorite store along with a shirt that matched. Like some Garanimal set or something. There's a lightweight hoodie over it. Her growly sounding car announces her presence as she pulls up outside and the music can be heard even after she turns off the ignition. She's singing to it and she's out there waiting till it ends. It's almost over!

Joey has pretty much come to expect this reaction. His opinion of other people's opinions on the decisions he makes remains, as ever, entirely non-existent. In dead-pan he says only, "Ask her. She's a grown ass woman. She'll explain herself if she wants to." Empowerment: 101, let the person stand up for their own damn self. He's only plan B.

The explaination comes with a slow nod of approval. "And that's the good reason. Yeah. We got you, Clayton." The side of his glove itches at his forehead and his eyes flick to the door and back, "She's here now. Ask her."

Alexander's already made a twitchy sort of turn as the car pulls in, hands curling for a moment into fists, then relaxing as he recognizes the car. "So I see." He frowns. "As you said. She's an adult. She makes her own decisions." He's not going to ask; he's just going to disapprove. Silently, but somehow loudly at the same time. He turns back to Joey. "How does this work?" He moves, then, slinking his way towards the bags and giving them a look like he's sizing them up for hidden knives. But curiosity compels him to add, "What's the bad reason? Why is there a bad reason?"

"My life.. would suck.. without youuuuuuu!" It was a clear day, the top was down on the car and as Erin sings out the end of the song she bobs her head to it. Go Kelly Clarkson. Ok, music off and she gets out of the car even locking it remotely behind her despite the top being down. Habit. Through the bay door she goes, she's even got a small bag over her shoulder. Not gym gear necessarily but office supplies. "I went shopping!" Her true love."And I bought a new house too." She just announces to Joey until she notices Alexander and she brightens. "Oh I'm so glad to see you out of the hospital." The bag is deposited by the office doors and she approaches the other two. Mostly Alexander. She looks over his throat with a practiced eye and squints at him. "Are you able to talk normally now? And how's Oscar?" A smile to Joey. "Good morning boss."

Joey weathers the judgement like a bolder in a river; cold and unmoving, but thankfully less soggy. when Alex asks how it works he waves him in with a flick of his fingers. He's got his fingerless sparring gloves on that protect the knuckles and the wrist, but leaves his digits free. Well this is where Alexander gets enabled, but he answers honestly, "Well the wrong answer would be learning how to hit shit to solve problems. Trust me when I say were it that fucking simple I'd be skipping around here like it's god damned Disneyland. Just gonna start up more problems and if you're not prepared for those? Lights fuckin out man." He holds up a finger clarifying, "Getting all the bullshit out? That? That it's extremely useful for. The man is violent, not stupid.

Then Erin comes in in what only can be destribed as a stunningly better mood than he's seen in three days. "Moooooornin, Erin." The tone shifts in address to her, "Ah did ya? You finally move into a nicer neighborhood?" Not that he's out to slam his buddy B's place... but he did in all its absurdity. "If you need a recc for a good house inspector for the approval keep your eyes out for Ronnie. Her brother does that shit. he'll get real honest with ya."

"There are problems violence solves. There are problems violence doesn't. Yes." Exasperation flickers across Alexander's features. "I know that." He gives the other man a blackly amused up and down look. "Although I'm willing to pretend I don't if it means you'll skip around for a bit. And I can take pictures." He turns back to Erin. There's no cut or scar on his neck - only bruises that have faded to greens and yellows with a few darker places of blue and purple. "You bought a house? Congratulations. I'm fine." And indeed, his voice seems back to normal; warmer and more human when he talks to Erin than to Joey. "Luigi doesn't approve of Oscar, but I keep him in my office to keep me company while I work. Thank you again, for him. How are you doing?"

Good morning, Joey. It's a nice day so far. Nothing terrible has happened. The house is still on Bay Road but it's in the older ports. It's more an oversized cottage. Both of you will have to come see it sometime. I'll have a house warming party." Erin gives a bit of a cheesy smile. "I'm not exactly good at cooking though so expect catering. Or potluck." The idea of getting an inspector is noted and she nods. "I will make sure to do that. Byron found the place. I'm going to decorate it myself."

Once her survey of Alexander has assured Erin of his good health, she smiles again without even having to touch his chin and lift it to check him out. "The bruises look rough, but compared to the alternative.." A look of sadness darkens her already dark eyes. "I'm just glad you have people who care about you to help take care of you. Because we all know how stubborn you can be in accepting anything from anyone." Hearing his voice, she nods her approval but has to laugh when he mentions his birds dislike. "I think because he remembers you coming in that night covered. It brings flashbacks to your poor bird."

No muscle-car rumble to announce Itzhak this morning. He walked, like a real New Yorker, which was also handy for warmup. As September eases in, the mornings are crisp and wet.

He pauses on the threshold of the bay door, eyeing the interior of the gym. Whatever he's looking for, he finds its presence or lack acceptable, and he swags on in. Upnods to Joey, and smiles, a little, but warmly, to Alexander. "'Sup, guys." Erin he doesn't know, and he actually eyes her extremely warily, then glances at Joey in a silent request for confirmation that she's not going to whip out her nipples at him.

Alexander barks a rusty sort of laugh at Erin. "Possible. Luigi is not a fan of sewers or the things that dwell therein. I think it's more that he doesn't like competition for attention. Isolde's frog occasionally whips him into a frenzy of jealousy." But as she mentions the wound and what could have happened, he looks away, hands twitching back into fists, then relaxing again. He looks at Joey, and pushes his long sleeves up again to keep them from flopping over his hands. "So. Hitting things. I would like to."

Itzhak enters, and Alexander gives the same nervous twitch in that direction he had at the sound of Erin's car, relaxing when he sees who it is. The smile is returned, brief but warm. "I'm going to try...bag work. Easton says that it's helpful. Punching him was only a little bit helpful." Because those are things Itzhak needed to know, really.

Joey Lee Kelly at a housewarming party on Bay St. He might have to figure out how to put sleeves back o his shirt for that. Fancy. He laughs with some amusement, "Oh shit well if B found you the place..." He chuckles, "They prolly owe em money. Awesome. Can't wait to hear about it beeeeecause I know you'll tell us." And yet at the same time he hasn't told her to stop yet.

Okay he's GOT to ask the room there, "Do birds get PTSD? I thought they just shit on people's car and call it a day." His eyes track to sound like any other feral creature liking to know what is going on around them to keep tabs on it at all times. "Sup, Roz." He looks to Erin and notes for her edification, "If he shows up off the clock it's fine." Looking back to Itzhak he answers, "Erin. We have a receptionist now. She's been takign care of shirts for the place." Both eyebrows go up in that look of get a load of that concept.

Joey, for all he is a human brick of lead, seems to be pretty damn well informed, "Yeaaaaah, Minerva mentioned as much. Told her to call me if that happens again. Not a fan of assholes stepping up in my friend's faces. Consider me old fashioned." He walks over and gets the sparring gloves and hands them to Alexander going offer things at the bag. There's actually a lot to think about to protect the wrist and shoulder. Foot stance is covered in brief then the positioning of how he wants the hand to align with his forearm to protect that wrist and get maximum bag for his punch. He's a lot of things and nice is not on that list, but the longterm well-being and effectiveness of how his members train is important and for that understanding why and how to do it so they are not doing more damage to themselves than the bag is everything. This he'll make fucking time for.

Alexander wants to hit things? yeah. But he's going to take the time so he can do it correctly.

"I think you're right. I think he gets jealous of shared attention. I can sympathize with the bird I think. Everyone loves attention." Erin is just tossing out a light tease to Alexander. She props her arm on the edge of the ring or something nearby the bags. "Byron has good taste, you have to hand him that." Her smile visibly brightens. "I am! I'm excited about the shirts. They're going to look so great. All the members can get them. Cheap advertisement too. Imagine all you muscular men with the sleeves torn off, flaunting your stuff, wearing a Kelly's Gym shirt." Upon seeing Itzhak she offers a friend;y smile. "Welcome to Kelly's Gym. I'm Erin. If you need anything just let me know. Or the boss over there."

"Howyadoin," Itzhak says to Erin, relaxing. "'m Rosencrantz. Itzhak. Iiii dunno about flauntin', not my biggest skill." He's stripping off his long-sleeve henley, and in fact he's wearing a tank top underneath. A lot of ink gets revealed, though he's not muscular in nearly the same way as Joey. Long and wiry, not a lot of bulk on the guy. "You hit Easton?" he says to Alexander, eyebrows popping up in interest. "...Why? Did he say somethin'? I'll hit him too." He's kidding. Or is he. While Joey sets to teaching Alexander to handle the bag, Itzhak starts taping up his hands.

"I don't know that I would call it PTSD, but birds remember being hurt or betrayed. Luigi doesn't like unpredictable changes. Doesn't trust them." Maybe it's weird to talk about a bird like he knows what it's thinking, but it's Alexander. He is like that.

And if Joey is a serious instructor then Alexander is a serious student. Two things are clear: he's no stranger to hand to hand violence, and he's had no formal instruction in it. His stance and form are all instinct and trial and error. He could improve. A lot, since he's not as built as Joey or has the reach of Itzhak. The gloves are new, and he frowns and fiddles with them, but doesn't complain.

He shakes his head at Itzhak. "No. He's good. He thought it'd help. It did, a little. But bags may be better."

Joey takes his fucking time and while he leans on being rather taciturn but here he takes the time. There's no expectation put that anyone else has to aspire to be the ripped, compact human combine he's spent 17 years working on. He just wants safe and correct. He leaves Alexander to it with his repetitions to work though, "remember, it ain't about power, it's about control."

Looking back to Erin he nods, "yeah I take it you got my text back saying I liked that third one you showed me yeah?" Fingers poke out of gloves and itch at his forehead thoughtfully. "Roz you're up. Show me what you're working on."

"It's nice to formally meet you, Rosencrantz. Itzhak? What do you prefer?" Erin isn't going to call him both! "I did get the text, Boss, I kind of liked that one also. I've called T-shirts plus to get a pricing for different amounts and sizes and should get a quote back soon. I'll let you know when it comes in." She settles in to watch the practice some but will eventually take her bag to the office and unload the office supplies. Probably a few at a time so she can hang out with everyone else.

Back to basics, Captain Javier Ruiz de la Vega said.

And so she is, though what brings her here today is largely the flyer that has been put up all over the city of a Ladies' Self-Defense class, folded in her hand, and that brimming, youthful curiosity that she demonstrates in almost all things - intent, in the end, of checking out where the location that said class was going to be held. Isabella Reede keeps an active lifestyle, though most days, the ocean is her gym of choice, with the habit of taking early-morning swims and dives in a wetsuit - but with the onset of cooler months and the unpredictability of the Pacific Northwest weather, that specific solution will become untenable before long.

She is dressed for a workout, albeit it looks like she had just come from one, having taken to the concrete today to run for a few miles; yoga shorts, with it being too warm for pants, running shoes and a tanktop with a hoodie tied around her waist, with a running band slung low on her hips that carries a portable water bottle and a pocket in which to store her phone and keys, as well as the telltale wires of earbud headphones presently curled around her throat and sticking there, bare swaths of sunkissed skin dewy and humid from her earlier exertions. Dark hair has been pulled in a messy topknot, pieces of it clinging to the sides of her face. Almost always comfortable in her own shell, she doesn't seem to care that she's walking into the building looking like a mess, green eyes flecked with gold bright and fiery with the volatile cocktail of biochemicals coursing through her system, sweeping curiously over the warehouse-type building, a hint of approval on her features.

And perhaps to derail any assumptions that she's there to check out the local eye candy, she finds Erin Addington first, if not just because she stands out anywhere she goes, fashionable even while dressed down. Whenever she meets the woman's gaze, there's a splay of both hands up in a What are you doing here??? gesture, before taking on a quick clip to head in her direction.

Itzhak spreads his taped hands at Erin, quirking an eyebrow and just one corner of his mouth at her. "Don't give a shit, Kelly here calls me anything that comes into his head. Think he likes 'Z' best because he don't have to think about too many letters." He's got a New York accent that could blister paint, with a rolling Yiddish cadence. To Joey, he says, "I'm gonna throw a punch at you and you're gonna tell me what I'm doin' wrong."

Before he squares up with the Collector, he shoots one of those sharp wary glances over his shoulder at Isabella as she comes in. He squints at her, not recognizing her.

Joey nods satisfied with the news of the shirts. There's even a faint smile of approval for Erin before Itzhak starts running his mouth and he barks back, "Well there ain't a lot up there so you get what you fuckin get" That said he wades towards the ring and says dryly, "Well you're taking a swing at me and that's usually the first and last mistake right there so I'll save you some time." He calls over his shoulder, "Erin you need me I'll be in my other office." The ring. Har har. There is a pause to look in on Alexander and he course corrects from there, "Widen your stand more and drop down, don't lean forward. You'll go off balance." Looking to Itzhak, sparring gloves on; half finger, solid padding to protect the knuckles and fingers. Wrist support. Not the tiny throw pillows of formal fights. "You been doin what I been tellin you to focus on, Z?"

"Control," Alexander agrees, toneless with concentration. "Never one of my strong points." That's a mutter under his breath, perhaps not meant to be heard, but with the exertion of the solid punches he's throwing at the bag, it comes out a little more forcefully than perhaps he intended. At the realization that Itzhak and Joey are going to spar, he slides around the bag so that he can eye both men in between punches. At least he doesn't have any problem punching a bag, although he's going slower than perhaps he might if he weren't trying to keep his stance and wrists as Joey demonstrated.

But when he hears Isabella's voice, his hands drop. It almost looks like he might be about to try and hide the gloves behind his back and pretend that he has never hit anything, EVER. But instead he just gives a sheepish sort look in the direction of her and Erin. "Hey." Then a frown. "Why are you here, Isabella?" He probably doesn't mean that to sound as rude as it does. But it's very rude.

"Z it is. As long as you're good with it." Erin agrees easily. She remains out of the way, but she does watch so later when she's participating, she can practice some of all she had been learning. "Your other office. I like it." A thumbs up and a smile for Joey. "I finally got some sparring in with Jack. At least he held back some on the punches. I'd be colorful today."

Looking over, Erin notices the approach of Isabella and she brightens. "Hi! I'm glad to see you here. Another friendly face. This is a great place to learn self defense and that's what brought me here in the first place."

At the moment, not at her best - her eyes are somewhat bloodshot, visible from when she's managed to get face-to-face with the taller woman, indicative of a very rough evening before, and one that would have kept her in bed were it not for the fact that it simply isn't in her to be sedentary when she can help it. Isabella's lips quirk faintly upwards in a grin, lifting bare shoulders in a light shrug, addressing Erin once she's within conversation distance of her. "So, does that mean you're going to this thing?" She wiggles the folded up flyer in her direction. "I saw it in my run and got curious about the locale. How have you been?"

Alexander's familiar voice has her pausing, and slowly turning around to gape at his direction - because really, in the end, this is one of the last places in Gray Harbor in which she'd expect to run into him, but her face brightens visibly when green-gold eyes fall on him. "Alexander! I-- "

And then, the rude tone. Her expression flattens almost immediately, and while he's managed to derail her by his presence, she recovers quickly. "Stalking you," she tells him, dryly and non-plussed. "Yep. Just lying in wait, hoping to catch you shirtless." Her smile does return, eventually, inquiring brows lifting upwards at the gloves on his hands. And while she says nothing about it, there's a wink in his direction and the unmistakable air of approval. Anything that protects him out there is a plus in her opinion, not to mention the appeal. "Also this." She lifts up the flyer again.

Itzhak thumbs-up to Erin. "Nice ta meet ya, you put up with this ferschtuppkopf Kelly?" He laughs outright at Joey's comeback. "Yeah, yeah. Stance, the thing with the," he twirls fingers in a circle, "can't remember the word, you know what I mean." He puts 'em up, minding how he drops into the stance. "Jesus, no wonder you got thighs look like a couple of watermelons wrestling," he grouses as he feels all his weight in his quads.

Ooh, is Alexander watching them? Itzhak's dumb enough to take his eyes off Joey for a flicker of a second to make sure Alexander is properly admiring them.

Joey mumurs, "Stop callin me your mama's pet names for you." Oh he wants to look at Alexander? He gets a free POP to the shoulder for that. Not to hurt but to make him pay attention. he's like he didn't fucking learn from Byron's mistake! That stance though he can hold all damn days. There's guys bigger than him, certainly, and Itzhak is one of several who have the reach on him. Sometimes it's about who you can make move. He's just got to be meaner than his opponent and want it more. Rather than try to ambush Itzhak he holds the sparring glove out there to tap. "No head shots. I need my face in tact for tonight to win a damn bet. Cool?" He needs a face now?

Alexander winces immediately at the change in Isabella's expression. "I didn't mean that you can't be here, Isabella, I just meant--" his eyes flicker to the two men sparring in the ring, and he makes himself stop that sentence cold. The bag is given a couple of especially hard hits - hey, this is good for working out emotion without having to talk about it! Yay! It gives him a chance to rethink this whole conversation, and he throws her a brief, tentative sort of smile. "It's nice to see you, Isabella. Anywhere, and I regret my currently clothed state. And, uh," he squints at the flyer, "that's not a bad idea." He even manages to bury whatever else he desperately wants to say with just whaling the hell on that bag, and giving the two in the ring another long look from around the bag.

"He's the easy one to get along with." Erin answers Z with a grin and a look to the boss. When Isabella gets closer she glances down at the paper that's being waved. "Oh I am definitely going to that. We can partner up if you want? You should join the gym, it's worth it. I'm here all the time now. I paid for a year membership in advance. Now I work here too." A sheepish sort of look as she carries on excitedly. "I feel like I'm taking control of my life and not letting others run it for me. It's very liberating."

It must be the way Alexander's punching the bag, but Isabella doesn't return that tentative smile because her attention is clearly on it. Green-gold eyes drop to his fists and the way he angles himself, the way each strike craters faint outlines on the surface of it, shaking sand and leather against the chains and foundations that keep them steady and suspended. Whatever her thoughts are there, however, she keeps to herself. But she at least gives him some reassurance that she's not really all that annoyed - it's simply her nature to be quick with her return fire: "It's nice to see you also," she murmurs.

There's also a glance at the bodies in the ring, not recognizing either of them, before Erin gets another smile. "What are you trying to say, Miss Addington? That you actually work for what you've got?" Laughter more implied than heard shows up in the line of her mouth. "I figured you just rolled out of bed every morning, and..." She snaps her fingers. "Suddenly in couture and fabulous once you've got your feet under you." The excitement she hears, though, softens her expression visibly. "I'm glad to hear that," she says quietly. "You deserve it. Though...wow, you work here? I guess I now know where I can find you when I want to see you."

Pop! That sure gets Itzhak's attention: he twitches, eyes snapping back to Joey, entire lanky body ready to launch at him... then with a rueful twist of his mouth taps Joey's glove. "The hell you need ya face for, scaring small children and animals?" Then he comes in at him, short jabby punches aimed at Joey's ribs. Itzhak has reach with those long damn arms, and he's startlingly fast. One second he's bapping Joey's gloves in a kind of knucklebump, next he's on the move and in Joey's face. Tall dude, he's got a knack (and a bad habit) of scaring opponents with his size and speed.

And he may be showing off juuuust a smidge for the pretty women and pretty man not in the ring. He and Joey make a picture and he knows it.

Joey doesn't take his eyes off Itzhak and when that blow comes in he's like to think there's that sound of transforming metal sheeting clicking down into place like fucking transformer reads to take the brunt of that. and he does moving with it. And it's a great sot. Jimmy Kelly rule taught Joe: If you lose something take something else with you. And there it is under that long extension of Itzhak's JL going for the heavy left hand double jab. It's one of the dangers fighting a southpaw like that.

He growls, "She's workin... for e'erybit... she's fuckin got." It's weird that before 4 days ago his attitude would generally be 'well that sucks' and go back about his day. Asking him for the tools to do shit herself has put her on the weird list of His people and he takes some fucking pride in that. Okay, Duarte less so but he fucks up the sandwich order while running his mouth. He moves like a hungry dog looking to take the lanky man apart. He does answer, "My brother and I gotta win a bet. Long story sort there's a public...thing later."

Alexander's breathing hard, with all the punching, so his huff of air when Erin encourages Isabella to sign up at the gym might go unnoticed. He pummels the bag with several quick strikes, expression twisted like picturing something specific. He's starting to sweat, his too-long bangs flopping untidily over his eyes as he tries to listen to both conversations - well, conversation on Erin and Isabella's side, and spar-talk on Itzhak and Joey's. Wistfulness comes and goes in his features at the conversation and banter, but he seems content to just eavesdrop on both, rather than try and participate. Or maybe he just needs the breath; this is a workout, after all. Curiosity, always his besetting sin, does prompt him to call out, "What's the bet? Why does it involve your face? Are you switching places?"

"Well, mostly. My grandmother wouldn't let me get away with it that easily. She worries about me." Erin shrugs. What's a girl to do? "You think I look fabulous?" There's laughter and a little self deprecation in her eyes at her own jest. "I do like working here, very much. I hope you come often. I think that Alexander may be doing the same. We could all practice between us and kick this town's ass." Not that Erin curses much, but she's feeling pretty good right now.

Her attention is taken by those fighting and Alexander on the bags. "Besides, where else in town could you get a view like this?"

She has taken a comfortable spot next to Erin, fishing out her water bottle and taking a sip, and well in the process of draining it - exercise and a hangover will do that to a young woman, though Itzhak's efforts in the ring do not go unnoticed, open appreciation on her features - too expressive, in the end, for her own good - as he and Joey Kelly, himself, go round after round. There's a half-smile playing up on the corners of her mouth, but while she's not bothering to hide the fact that she's looking - and without heat, in the end, her admiration is akin to a patron looking at a gallery full of wonderful things - there's an intensity there, never one in the end to discard the opportunity to learn from her betters, even if it's just witnessing to see how something is done properly. "She certainly looks it," she tells the coach, and she genuinely means it. Itzhak gets a surreptitious thumbs-up: Keep doing what you're doing.

That changes, though, every time her attention gravitates back to Alexander working the bags, face taut with concentration and severe determination, all too cognizant of her quickened pulse and how it ticks on the side of her throat, her expression half-exasperated and largely at herself. The man doesn't even try and this wouldn't be the first time she has contemplated going to the hospital, unable to help but wonder if there's anything wrong with her. What is this?!

"Darling, the entire city thinks you look fabulous." Isabella's contralto is a languid, lazy drawl, and with no small measure of envy, canting her head towards the taller woman. And while mention of her grandmother tempers that smile, good humor simmers over the sunkissed lines of her. "Well, first things first, let's see how well you dig me out of the books," she tells her with a laugh. "I received a very blatant reminder the other night about how I've been neglecting the entire social thing lately."

Besides, where else in town could you get a view like this?

She caps her bottle, exuding an air of tremendous innocence. "The beach," she says, as always decisive. "But since summer is pretty much over, you may have a very good point."

Itzhak's a southpaw himself...and not that used to fighting lefties. A lot more used to having the advantage of his best swings coming from the wrong side. Now he's on the wrong side! Joey's padded fists land like very tiny meteorites. "Hrnf!" Itzhak grunts loud, grimacing--then he flashes Joey a savage grin. "Now we're cookin' with gas."

All thoughts of peacocking or what the hell Joey's up to with his face or who that gorgeous woman is (now giving him thumbs up!) or what Erin's doing or not doing with her life fall away. Here's what Itzhak really came for: honing himself on the Lead Brick. He matches Joey, prowling in counterpoint, his hazel eyes intent. Shit is ON.

Punches get thrown and landed and taken, until Itzhak's winded, sweating, saying, "Okay okay all right already! Uncle, I give!" laughing breathlessly and holding up his hands in surrender.

Joey answers the question about the face and the view "Platinum Cabaret. Later tonight actually." Wait wut??! He dodges the next couple swings and gives Itshak a couple more love taps to the other side of his ribs. but when the hands go up that foot comes back and the gloves come up and he shifts his weight to the rear to disengage and pull himself out of combat to catch his breath. wandering over his glove extends for Itzhak to tap. "Yeah got in over my head on a bet- fun not cash- but yeah, Jaim and I are goin. for the equivalent of open magic mic night." He shrugs as if not taking it too damn seriously of all things "Don't worry this ain't a career change."

Alexander reads the newspapers, at least. Even the ads. He stops hitting the bag, and just sort of stares blankly at Joey for a moment. "You and your twin brother are going to strip at the amateur night?" There's no condemnation - just sort of an astonishment at the idea. A couple of blinks. "...that will be popular." Then he sighs, and starts stripping off the gloves. He puts them neatly on an available surface. "This was helpful. Thank you. I might come again." A nod to Itzhak, and to Erin, and he walks to Isabella and, unless she dodges his sweaty, bruised self, will lean into give her a quick but rather intense kiss, before saying, "I should head out. Have some research to work on." A glance to all. "Don't die." It seems to encompass all of them - maybe even Joey, although the way his eyes linger on the man suggests he's uncertain how much he means it for that guy. Then he squares away whatever payment he has to do, paying in cash, before walking out.

The fabulous part is there there but she does find interest in the rest. "My Gr... family would be surprised at how much I haven't been going out to party lately. I feel like I'm letting so many people down. All my friends from high school? They're calling less and less when they go out. I understand how you feel but it's nice not to be partying all the time. The world looks different sober." Erin smirks. "The car drives better too."

While she talks to Isabella she does watch the others and she hears mention of the Cabaret. "Are you guys planning on dancing?" She tries for the imagery and has to throw a whistle out there, playfully. "Isabella, here's your chance to socialize."

With the approach of Alexander, she smiles warmly and nudges Isabella. "And there's your plus one." Perhaps delivering it a little more wistfully than she should.

"What ride do you have these days?" Isabella wonders, perking up visibly - her interest in vehicles largely falls on the classic American muscle, but she remembers all of Erin's prior cars, and often the talk of high school. "Byron's got the Rolls, Vivian's got the Aston Martin. Are you-- "

She's effectively cut off when Alexander's taller, broader shadow crosses over her own, and she tilts a more open smile his way. "You do-- " His kiss is quick, but unafraid to afford the public air a glimpse of what happens when the chemicals between them ignite. There's an index finger that lifts, when her face turns and her mouth slants against his in those fiery few seconds.

Somewhat glassy-eyed when the man walks away, green-gold stare following his wake, she blinks over at Erin, her thumb coming up to absently brush over the curve of her lower lip. "Plus what?" she wonders, before the rest catches up with her. "Oh...no. No," she says with a laugh. "I've got work, and...wait, who's dancing?"

Itzhak daps gloves with Joey and ducks out of the ring. He grabs the bottle he'd brought with him and glugs. Too much breathing happening to actually talk. Itzhak slumps onto a bleacher bench, chest heaving. Alexander and Isabella share a kiss goodbye and Itzhak's eyebrows pop up--then do something complicated. He looks away and drinks his water, grunting in response to Alexander's traditional 'don't die' farewell.

After a minute, when he can breathe again, he squints at Joey. "You'n Jaime are taking your clothes off at the strip club tonight?" He considers that. "Welp, guess I gotta be there now."

Joey tilts his head to the side serious as a heart attack to Alexander ignoring the first world problem of cars where half of his clientel has to get a ride or walk. In that same even, matter-of-fact manner he usually has, "Yeah? Eh that's the goal. We figure it'll be fun and novel if nothing else." Isabella's question he clarifies an answer to answering the others as well. "Yeah, me an my twin brother Jaime." Itzhak's comment gets a snort with amusement, that dimpled grin wryly making an appearance, "Just remember you pay me to hit you."

"Maserati." Erin says with more than a little pride. "I love that car." She doesn't speak though until after Isabella is finished kissing Alexander. "You two are so.." not sweet.. " hot together. See, that's what I want to find. Someday. Definitely not today. I want to take some time and deal, and be myself."

The response from Joey gets a thumbs up gesture. "I think it sounds like a good time. I hope you win. I'll find a great place for the trophy."

With the sparring session over, Isabella finally gets a good look at Itzhak's and Joey's faces. That easy smile returns, long fingers lifting in a faint wave of greeting. "Well done," she tells both, once they climb out of the ring and drop onto nearby perches, like raptors in flight. Even the way they hunch on the bench is masculine - and in the best of ways. The proprietor's remarks earn another one of those flaring grins. "You box," she tells him. "And if your brother looks in any way like you, it sounds like a great time if nothing else." Itzhak's comments about being there gets an appreciative nod and a point in his direction in emphasis.

Word on Erin's Maserati puts an indescribable expression on the archaeologist's face - something poised in between wow and of course it is. "Which one? How many horse? God, now I'm sorry that you're not partying as much lately where I'm invited so I can't even volunteer to be a designated driver. I-- "

The other woman's wistful remarks, and unapologetic observation, has the green-eyed brunette suddenly looking very interested in her water bottle, though she manages to hold back a cough - otherwise she doesn't comment on Alexander; sobriety keeps that lid tightly shut. The tail-end of her words do earn an uptick back of that incisive stare, though. "What do you mean?" she asks. "Time to deal?" Someone is very much out of the loop there. It really is saying something that Byron and Alexander know about Erin's recent heartbreak and she doesn't.

Itzhak wipes his damp black curls away from his forehead, drinking in sullen silence. Until Erin says the M word and he looks around at her, frowning in disbelief. "You drive a Maz? Are you jokin' me? ...You got a mechanic?"

Joey looks to Erin and almost says it; grand larceny no-no of dialog and leaves it at a smirk of amusement, "Were you not working for me I'd let you find a place for that trophy wherever you want. but I don't think it's a contest either, buuuuut thanks. I actually appreciate that." He gives that look to Itzhak like god give me strength to keep my mouth shut here And rolls with, "It's a pretty bitchin set of wheels. Speaking of which I gotta call Zoe up to take a look at my damn bike. She owes me a small favor." It's back to Erin he offers, "Hey, being attached to someone else's problems ain't all that. You're being you. It's a pretty badass thing to fuckin be and you're doin a good job." There, the lead brick of pugelist wisdom has spoken and that's the bottom of the well.

"It's a 2019 Maserati GranTurismo with a 4.7L V-8 Engine, 6 speed auto tranny with overdrive, 454 at 7,000 rpm Horsepower and 384 at 4,750 rpm Torque. I love my car and I'll never get bored of her. I'm careful with her until I'm on the long empty straight stretches of highway. She loves getting the cobwebs out from town driving." She better love her car, it's a 150k car!

And then from such happy things to the rest. "Geoff and I aren't a thing anymore. But.. I'm okay with that. He came over telling me he wasn't good enough for me and that he missed doing his impulsive, borderline illegal stuff. Like I ever cared if he did any of that. I liked who he was, not who he was trying to be for me. I never asked him to change anything." She shrugs again. "So that happened."

Hearing Itzhak she is grateful for the change of subject again. "Jack redid the upholstery after a sewer rat got in there." She casts a look to Isabella, "A large sewer rat named Alexander. And Jack does the light maintenance. Changing the oil and all. Are you a mechanic? He's mostly body work with some mechanic work tossed in but I want nothing but the best for my baby."

With Joey's words of encouragement, Erin gives him a lopsided smile. "Thanks. You're pretty fun to be around. But if you do win a trophy it goes right in the office window. You have to show off what you have!"

The specs rattled off by a woman who clearly loves her ride, green-gold eyes widen faintly at it. "Jesus Christ," Isabella says with a laugh, the look and sound of it just as open as her smiles. "Who needs a body if you have that?" Her expression sobers when it fades, though, when she's caught up. "Oh, Erin, I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't know..." And on top of everything, though this last she doesn't say out loud. Her hand does lift and if the other woman allows her, she rests a hand on her shoulder and gives it a warm squeeze. "If there's anything..." Her voice trails off, somewhat awkwardly, never one to be all too comfortable with feelings - especially in public! "...you have my number, yeah?"

Green-gold eyes glance over at Itzhak when Erin asks about being a mechanic, though the rat story earns the Addington heiress a laugh. "Have you told him that story yet?" she asks, of the human Alexander, before a sound goes off somewhere in her running band. Digging out her smartphone, her frown is visible and immediate when she sees the text message within.

"I better go deal with this," she murmurs, before smiling over at Erin. "I'll keep in touch. You too, alright? Stay safe. Nice meeting you both." This to Joey and Itzhak. "And good luck with amateur night!"

And with that, she takes up a light jog back out the doors.

Itzhak listens to Erin list off the specs, eyebrows slowly going up. "Girl, ya talkin' dirty," he says with a lopsided little quirk of a smile. The story about 'Alexander' confuses him, but then Isabella's leaving and he mutters, "Yeah, see ya," not looking directly at her, hunched up a little. He gets up. "Lemme know if she's busy," he says to Joey, "I'll take care of ya. I'm out." With that he grabs his bag and he's sauntering off, pulling his phone out of his pocket and starting to swipe a text out, grumbling.

Joey lifts up his hand and curls his digits in aball with a side look to Itzkah, "Yuuuup." He is not disagreeing with Itzhak. "Bud, just do me a fave? Just hit me now. Not the face." Lord give him the patience to not say it. newp. Okay and good. Isabella trots out and he looks to Erin and says, "Look I'm gonna withhold my opinion unless you want it, but I think... you're probably doing the right thing. Also? Put a note on a post it for me to smack Boy Scout later. He's not allowed to fuck up his shit. The committee has decided."

"I will, I have your number, Isabella." Erin offers, even allowing the squeeze to her shoulder. "See you later!" calling out after her. Itzhak knows how to speak to her when he talks about her car in great ways. "You'll have to take her around the block sometime." Anyone who truly appreciates cars should at least drive it. So it's offered to Z. 'See you later too." With the others gone she stretches a little, giving her attention to Joey. "I don't mind your opinion. God knows I need all the strength I can get now and then. My willpower is gone to hell when it comes to him but I'm getting better."

Joey takes a deep breath and lets the situation and his shoulder unwind rolling it out. "I think you need to also examine how she treats yous guys' friendship about her andhow it's excluding of you rather than actually focusing on your shit and what you're going through. My bros? I know their shit. They got fmaily loss they dealin with a breakup they dealin with trying to fortify their fuckin self? You don't pradae around that shit with first world problems. You're smart. The rest? You're gonna get caught up with taking care of your own shit and letting other people worry about wanting to fuckin hang out with you and no for your fucking car." Serious, but from a place trying to be respectful he says emphatically, "You are not your car, or your house, or your grandmother's pet. You're badass in bloom. Just... don't let her tear you down with that back handed shit." His hand curls into a fist to offer her a fistbump. "Now I'm gonna go shower up and try and win you a trophy to decorate with. Cool?"

His frankness was invited and Erin remains to listen to it. It all makes sense, some is hard to listen to but some sort of pumps her up a little. "Thank you," she finally says after some length. A smile is given at the last. "Go. Go win and I'll put that thing front and center. And really, thank you. For everything."

Joey takes a few steps back to turn to the back room with the rest of his stuff that's not on the tour is. The look is apologetic but not apologizing. "Proud of ya. Good work on the shirts." And with that he takes the gloves off and goes to hunt a shower.