2019-09-24 - FML - The Gym and the Week Up in Flames

Joey has a fairly regular routine. The man has a business to run and on all surfaces takes that very seriously up to and including yelling at a pair of titties for skipping around the middle of his gym tra la la. Any other time? Sure. But not on the clock, and not in the middle of his fucking floor. Today he's found hopping rope one foot for ten, then switch for ten, then back again. likewise the rumor has it late into the evening last night he violently revoked someone's membership leading to another late night and a very dour mood this morning he's taking out on the rope.

He's not the only one feeling dour, today. Although Alexander is also feeling ill, and it shows. His skin is slightly flushed, and there's a slightly glassy look in his dark eyes. It's sort of a wonder that he's here, in workout clothes (which, in his case, mean Addington High sweats and a small, battered bag over one shoulder), but sometimes when there's a sick coming on, you just feel that itchy restlessness that tells you that if you can just sweat it out, you'll feel better. That feeling is a liar, but Alexander is following it anyway.

He trudges in, casting a look around the gym interior. His gaze rests on Joey and the rope. "Kelly." His voice is scratchy, tired, and just a bit cranky, but he jerks his head at one of the bags. "Going to punch that thing for a while." Not asking permission this time, just heading over there.

hop hop hop hop hop-stop

Joey only has the start of the sweat he's going to acquire training today like he does every day like some sort of thugish kung fu. Those sharp green eyes lock onto Alexander immediately both summing up the man's physical state and taking a mental note of it. That shoulder that might be made of steel cables truth be told, rolls and one eyebrow goes up patiently, "Clayton... lemme ask you something. You go up to the cops running your mouth off to them talking shit about me?" He ain't a mentalist, he's just a guy that likes a direct answer.

Alexander tosses his little workout bag down by the punching bag before he even tries to answer the question. He stares at the bag for a moment, then turns to regard Joey with a flat, dark look. "Not that I can recall. But they'd have to be pretty fucking stupid cops to need me to tell them shit about you, Kelly." He runs a hand through his hair, squints at the other man. "What's this about, exactly? Collins?"

Joey glances around and it is quiet. The to-be 30 year old sizes up the cop-botherer and says in clipped words, "Yeah this is about fucking Collins. I'm trying to run a damn business here and in 12 hours I got you and two other people crawling up my ass about some asshole I ain't worked with in four years. I just want to know why until you, like ex-lax with a plastic badge, come in here and start fucking with my shit everything was fine." His head tilts with an eyebrow arching. Quietly he adds, "De la Vega told me what happened to the schmuck. Sucks."

"Yeah?" Alexander's eyes don't waver from Joey's. "It's almost like you and Collins have the same shitty taste in business associates, and maybe more than one person is able to come to the independent conclusion that you might know something about assholes coming to violent ends. If you don't like it, Kelly, maybe you ought to try better life choices." He doesn't raise his voice, but each word comes out sharper and more rapid, like bullets fired. And there's a peculiar shift in his expression - not the irritation; that's pretty normal. But the way his eyes suddenly go dead after it, and his head tilts to one side, like he's hearing something that Joey doesn't? That's a little weird. "Don't act like you give a shit that the guy bought it, either."

Joey knows when someone wants a piece of him. What he can't fucking figure out is why. Still out of habit he shifts his weight to square up between both feet. "Yeah, well surprise. I don't honestly give any shits about Lukas fucking Collins. He wasn't likable. We didn't fucking hang out. Lemme tell ya this, pal, you wanna shake down everyone in this god damned town that makes shitty life decisions you won't ever get any fucking sleep because you'll be too fucking busy."

Now the two fingers come up pointing at Alexander, "I did my three years for my dumb ass shit, and I didn't fucking bitch about it. I put in my work, so stop riding my ass. Sorry I don't meet your altruism standards but Collins was a piece of shit human being so sorry I don't feel all weepy and shit about it."

"I didn't fucking 'shake you down', Kelly," Alexander says, eyeing those pointing fingers like he'd bite them off if he was close enough. "I asked some questions. But you're right. I shouldn't have bothered. I know what you are. The world is probably better off without Collins." His voice goes odd and a little dreamy as he starts moving towards Joey. "It would probably be better off without you, too. That makes sense, doesn't it?" A pause. Like he's not really talking to Joey, but just checking some internal logic. "Yeah. That makes sense." He raises a hand and the overhead lights in the gym start to sputter and flare, the scent of ozone starting to get sharp as a couple of thin arcs reach down from the lamps to his fingertips. Somewhere, a lamp blows in a shower of sparks.

Joey holds his ground. The man didn't get the nickname 'Yard Boss' for no reason. "Yeah? Probably fucking would. It's sure as hell tried and failed though didn't it? Good thing for me natural selection is on a fucking vacation." He takes just one step forward and the lights sparking above? This does get his damn attention leaving a curious look on his face. "The fuuuuck?" He says to no one in particular, but definitely not Alexander, "Gramps if that's you this is not the fucking time."

"Natural selection." Alexander's smile flickers to life, but it's not a pleasant or warm sort of thing. "Don't think there's anything natural about it, Kelly." His voice turns into a sort of sing-song. "Who will rise up for me against the evildoers? Who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity?" The strands of - is that fucking lightning? - strengthen as he deepens the connection, more lights blowing as blue-white, jagged projections of light arc down from the ceiling to Alexander's hand. He advances steadily on Kelly, not even noticing when some of the electricity twists and sparks away from the circuit, instead grounding itself with sizzles and pops elsewhere in the gym. The strikes that hit the concrete leave black scorchmarks, but otherwise just soak harmlessly into the ground. But the strikes that hit the fighting ring? Most of those also die, but not all of them. A couple hit just right on the cover to kindle tiny flames.

Joey narrows his eyes, and words a low growl as Alexander rolls up like a chatty storm. Is he afraid of lightening? Eh, well he got shot at a bunch this week. (Totally the other guy's fault!) he's got rubber soled gym shoes on. This is a walk of aggression and to be perfectly honest Joey cannot put a pin in what this guy's actual beef is. "What fucking evil doers?! And what do you mean stand up for you? Ain't no one ever give me any fucking hand outs. You should ask your bougie ass girlfriend with her fucking parties and Gucci shoes and her fucking first world problems why the shit that ain't trickling out to you, me, or anyone else around this fucking place. I work for what I fucking got, so stop lumping me in with every grievance you got cause I ain't do shit to you."

Above there are sparks and where those sparks off Alexander arc and fall some of that pulled canvas... well it goes up like cotton does starting to fade a moment, glow red, and start spreading in rings.

"It's an imprecatory Psalm, you illiterate jackass," Alexander bites out, clearly miffed (more miffed? Miffed to a higher power) by Joey's refusal to recognize it. Look, when you spend too much time in cults, quoting Psalms of vengeance are a thing you do when you're about to try to murder someone. Or maybe Alexander's just a dramatic asshole under all the self-loathing and anxiety. Either way, the moment Joey's mouthing back touches on Isabella, by implication if not her name directly, his eyes narrow and his face goes blank. There's no more menacing, no verbal response. He just holds out his hand, and all that power that he's been gathering arcs out to try and ground itself in Joey's flesh.

In the background, that fire is starting to get a bit serious, and the acrid smell of burning cotton and plastic starts to overpower the ozone sharpness in the air.

Joey is there to hold ground, well... that is until an arc of electricity hits him square in the chest, lightening spidering across his chest and then pushes past in volume. The force sends him flying flat on the back, back of his head bouncing on the concrete. Yeah, Joey's just as surprised as the viewers at home on this one. Like entropy does that look that stops playing takes in the smoke the assault...the floor (ow~!) and with fists clenched the power near him drains for a moment ebbing, but not enough to shut Sparky Doo down. Rocking back to his shoulder he does a kip up to land back on his feet. Singed, aching, and pissed he just looks at Alexander eyebrow arched in that look that reads, You really want to do this guy? and then catches sight of what's around him "Chriiiist."

Alexander seems to really want to do this. WHY he wants to do this is still up in the fucking air, but when Joey goes down, he doesn't declare victory or anything. But he also doesn't try to draw more power from the outlets for another lightning strike. Instead, he reaches out to pick up some sort of heavy, handy object - he's not paying attention to what is other than it will, at some point, be considered adequate for 'blunt object' status in an autopsy report or case file - and advances on the man as he gets up. He doesn't speak, and there's just that same empty determination in his face. Bright side? It brings him into hand to hand range with Joey Kelly, which is generally not a good idea.

Joey has his attention focused and when Alexander's arms go up he goes right for the damn breadbasket with that heavy left hook. It should stop there, and his knuckles may pay for it some later, but bare knuckle or no he keeps going. "You bring trouble... into my house, and you burn...it... down?! FUCK YOU Clayton!" That switch is flipped on. However burning alive in a fit of vengeance is not on his list of shit to fucking do today! Though having a reddened scorch mark from close range lightening wasn't either.

Joey Kelly: Putting the punch in 'punch-uation'.
Who can't wait to see the School House Rock episode on this one?

Well, everyone should have seen that one coming. Alexander might have, too, but he's not fast enough to avoid it, and Joey's knuckles hit square, driving all the air out of Alexander's body. He staggers back, taking up a defensive posture, trying to block what blows he can. "Didn't...fucking burn..." he tries to wheeze out...and only then seems to recognize that, oh no, things are actually on fire. When did that happen? There's a moment of perfect surprise on Alexander's features, like he cannot figure out WHY he thought this was a good idea. Because it's not. It's a terrible idea. He starts backing rapidly away. "Fuck! Stop! I'm sorry!"

Joey is somehow, somehow, really not intent on killing the guy. It takes a lot of effort some days not to be, but then again he did do 3 years for aggravated assault. Hey he was aggravated, so he assaulted the problem. In corporations they call that 'Taking initiative'. Don't ask him why the double standard. The hurt is there though turning his attention to the ring on fire. as it builds up momentum. His hands lashing out and the planks in the bleachers rattle as the two units push back from the ring itself. The overhead lights, now affected are still sparking.

And it hits him.

He turns to rush into the office to grab his jacket on and then runs past Alexander to run to the back "Aw shit!" The door that says 'Employees Only' kicks open a moment before he gets there. That's something important he doesn't want to leave there. Clues? Felix's shit? The missing drugs out of a certain warehouse perhaps???

You know, under most circumstances, Alexander would be deeply interested in what Joey would find most important to save from his burning gym. But, right now, the building was on fire and it was definitely his fault. "Oh my god, what did I do?" he says as Joey runs past him. He looks around, then scrambles for the fire extinguisher attached to the wall near the office. He does know how to handle one, it turns out, and - still wheezing - he races back to the fighting ring and starts hosing down the flames while chanting, "Shit shit shit," under his breath.

Outside the bay door it's apparent where he ran to. Something in his coat is smuggled into the back seat of his car. Something with 2 skinny legs in jeans, and a brown ponytail. The kiddo was on premises. Aww great gobs. He pulls all his attention on the 4 year old frowning, "Just a lot of smoke, sprout. Nothing to get scared about. Stay in the car, okay cause breathing this stuff can be bad."

He closes the car door pocketing his keys giving Alexander that look of I'd eat you but you're putting my gym out right now. And with that he heads over to grab the garden hose hooked up outside he'd been refilling the kiddie pool with. "Think we might need pros on this one." That doesn't stop him from spraying shit down and trying t put the damn things out.

There's the moment when Alexander recognizes what Joey's hauling out to his car; like, for a flicker of a second, maybe he sees those two skinny legs and his brain goes worse places, but the kid's been mentioned before, and the guilt is immediate and crushing. "Christ on a jumped-up, chariot-driven crutch," he says to himself, although Joey may catch the end of it as he comes up. He continues to use the extinguisher, trying to keep the fire contained, at least, coughing at the billows of smoke and extinguishing material. "I'll call. Wet down stuff on the periphery. Keep the sparks from catching." He backs up just enough to be able to breathe, mostly, and puts down the canister to grab his cell from his pocket and dial 911. His report, at least, is succinct and urgent, and when he hangs up again he says, "They say they're on their way."

Hey, it's Elm. 'They say' is about the best you can do. He starts spraying the flames down again. Who'd have known dried sweat would be so damned flammable?

The tablet be damned. This is the most fascinating thing the kiddos seen in a while. The four year old's hands pressed to the inside glass of the back passenger window watching. The mermaids can wait. They're in water anyways. They knew shit was up all the way in their digital reef, yo.

Joey is not in a good fucking mood. Five years. He couldn't make it five ears without incident. This shit may not be nice but it is his. "Oh good. I will keep watering these three bricks and maybe there will be something left by the time they fuckin get here." Of this he seems to have more issues and as much as he wants to just beat the shit out of the guy this shit is heartbreaking and it shows. Right now is for focusing though, and one more thing. With a flick of his wrist he turns the hose, thumb over the hole, to Alexander calmly informing, "You were sparking."

Alexander doesn't look back at the kid. The gnawing guilt is QUITE LARGE ENOUGH, thanks. He just continues to grimly fire the extinguisher, shoulders hunched. A muscle in his jaw twitches at that sardonic remark, but he doesn't fire back. There's no anger left in him, and when the fire extinguisher sputters and dies, he tosses it aside with a sound of disgust and heads for the other one - only to walk into the stream of water Joey turns on him, instead. It soaks him down instantly and even rocks him back on his heels. "I wasn't sparking right then," he sputters in outrage. "Asshole! Try aiming at the fucking fire!" Despite the shouting, he still doesn't look angry. Embarrassed, guilty, and when he realizes there's a four year old not that far away, completely abashed. "Sorry. About the language." Even if she proooobably can't hear him from here. He shakes his head and squelches his way over to the other extinguisher, returning quickly to start trying to keep the fire contained.

Joey just. stares. No pithy comment. No snarky remarks. Just that dead stare of You set my livelihood on fire and have completely tanked my week, bruh. He does offer, "She's heard worse at home." With his free hand he fishes his phone out of his pocket and kicks off two texts. Looking up at the lights he asks out loud, "Make sure the outlets haven't overloaded and caught fire and kick off the light switch while you're at it?"

Alexander turns brick red with embarrassment under the stare. He ducks his head and immediately goes the check the damned lights. He tilts his head to one side, gaze going blank for a moment. "No overloads, but I'll shut off the power." The lights then shut off, immediately. But he makes the trip over to the switch anyway, and turns it off physically, just to make sure it doesn't come back on. He returns and starts emptying this fire extinguisher again. His mouth opens. Water drips from his clothes. He closes his mouth. Then opens it again. "I'm sorry. Send me the bill," he says, at last, so heavily that it's perfectly damned clear he knows it's not enough for any of this shit.

Joey fires off another text as the S.O.S. for food since how he's pretty much fungry. He focuses on keeping the est of the area watered down to reduce spreading and keeping it off the walls and the vintage fight posters that have been there since their promotion. Taking a big damn deep breath he just stays to task sorting out how he can fix this with insurance. "Good." Where the power is regarded in any case. "Well I'll be hitting up insurance first. That's what it's fucking for." It's also clear Joey knows that Alexander really ain't much better off than he is, and that he tries to play by the rules only makes it harder on the guy. "If the electrical ain't hit and it's just the bulbs they won't make me rewire the whole fucking place. Hasn't been touched since like fuckin '43 when it was built. Pretty sure they've been waiting for this to fuckin happen so... we'll see."

"The electrical's fine. Maybe a bit strained, but nothing's broken," Alexander mutters. "Wiring's old as shit, but it was solid when it was built and you haven't been yanking too much power through it." Y'know. Like Alexander just did. He closes his eyes for a moment, then curses viciously as the second extinguisher starts to sputter and die. "These things need to hold more. You got any others?" He wipes sweat from his face and glares at the fire, like he could put it out with just his glare. He can't.

Alexander shakes the extinguisher to get the most he can out of it, and when it can give out no more, he grimaces. "Fucking fire department. If this was a house, people'd be roast by now." Irritation flickers to life on his face for the first time since, you know, trying to kill Joey. "Someone should really just fucking kill them," he remarks, quite conversationally. "Just wait until they get here and then just fry them until their eyes pop." Then he sways in place. "Wait. No. That's...that's wrong." He shakes his head and starts to look frantic. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Nicole arrives in her old-but-still-in-decent-shape silver Honda Accord, eventually. Bursting out of the car door like she was shot out of a slingshot, bags of burgers swinging in her hands. She came from work, leaving the salon in the hands of one of the other hairdressers for the rest of the day. She had a couple appointments herself but was able to call while en route and get them to reschedule. Coming from work means she is dressed in all black; today that is a simple black knee length flared skirt, black ballet shoes, and a 3/4 sleeved black wrap around top. Long blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail that is not quite tidy, as if she put it in also while driving. When she sees the two men battling the fire themselves she stops to take in the scene a little before rushing closer. Her surprise (even though he did tell her there was a fire), nearly makes her drop the bags.

"Shit shit.. shit..." Nicole gathers the wherewithal to set the bags on the hood of her car and head over. "What can I do?" she asks, ready to help. "Got another hose? Put me to work."

Joey sighs and murmurs to the day's question of what the fuck is wrong with Alexander, "I'd have asked but don't suspect I'd get an answer." And then tires, not from a Fire truck and no red and blue flashies so no squad car with the danger disco bar lit up. But it's Nicole and Nicole means food... if they get a chance to actually eat. He calls out to her, "Jessie's in my car if you can make sure she's alright?"

If Itzhak was here right now no doubt he's be having a stroke asking Joey to explain what he's clearly written off ignoring the spectacle that was the assault on the basis of he never studied physics, but it hurt and so he punched the guy. it stopped... problem solved and onto the thing they need be worrying about. "You know you really can't yell at me for information to help some dead asshole and then suggest we kill the first responders so they can respond less.... hypocrisy do not suit you." His jaw tightens but now is not the time for a personal fucking war. "I'm really against yoga but you might consider it."

"I don't know. I really don't know, Kelly." But whatever it is, it is scaring the fuck out of Alexander. If it weren't for his rising fever and the heat of the fire, he'd be bloodlessly pale. As Nicole comes up, he flinches. "No," he murmurs. "I can't do that. I shouldn't do that." He stares at the unfamiliar woman, then glances at the kid, and takes a shuddering breath. "Look. The fire department's on its way. I don't...I don't think I should be around people. Right now. When the cops come, just tell them that I tried to h-hur-kill you, and that I live at 13 Elm Street. I'll lock myself in a room until they come get me." He looks down at his sooty, sweaty hands. "That should be safe enough. For now. I'm sorry. I didn't...no, I did mean to, but I shouldn't have." With that, he turns and walks away, head down, trying not to look at the kid, the woman, or anything else but the ground.

The kid is in the car. Oh goodness. Nicole takes one of the bags from the hood of her own car then opens a door, reaching in to grab a bottle of cold water, and hip-checks it closed before going to the Camaro. She smiles as she approaches, trying to act nonchalant. Everything is fine. Nothing to see here. When she reaches the window, she lifts up the bag and says, "I have food. Hungry Jessie? Can I sit with you?" She is set in her task now and perhaps thankfully, hears nothing of the conversation going on between Joey and Alexander. She has a child to keep calm.

Joey is pissed about his gym. There is absolutely zero room for error there but this is beyond the pale for Alexander. Looking at the guy he's ...(eew quite near literally) turning himself inside out. Finally sirens are off on the periphery. Jesse is in the car, hands upside down, elbows out so she can cover her ears and tell Nicole how loud the siren is in case she is completely oblivious. The hairdresser gets a bright smile and there is a conversation that can go on for a while. yes she liked fries, and let her tell you about the fire over the last bit of time and the splody sounds and Alexander gettin hit with the hose which she thinks is funny. She doesn't know but talking to a calm adult is always a great bonus. Nicole: Crisis MVP right now.

Looking to Alexander and eyes the sirens and looks back to the distressed man, "Why? It was a fucking accident. you saw the wiring. ain't like you caused the power surge." Either he really believes that or his bluff is on point. With some finality to he he says, "We'll talk." Because as angry as he is he's got insurance and the kid didn't get hurt. That's what counts. Also how does this sting more than getting shot this week? Fuck, dude!

The next 40 minutes is filled with the fire department, a statement, and him threatening every soul int eh room if they get the walls wet and don't need to but really it's mostly contained. The crunch of shoes on broken floating glass is going to be common for a bit. He makes an update to the Friendzone page and gets all essential things sorted. In the end the lights recede and the water drains and he shuts the power off at the box making sure everything is closed and locked up. The Gym owner throws his shit into a bag and heads out for a bit. His burger will be cold by the time he rejoins Nicole and Jesse. what a fucking night. "C'mon, let's head back to the house." Looking to Nicole two words that rarely leave his face surface, "Thank you."