I'ma kick you in the -BEEP- !

[imaya]

We're going off tonight
To kick out every light
Take anything we want
Drink everything in sight
We're going till the world stops turning
While we burn it to the ground tonight

[/i]


“Holy cow, talk about a walking eye-gasm. Heya, honey. You, me and a bottle of massage oil. Let’s make the world end?”

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t such a good idea to say such things out loud, where all kinds of people could hear it and take it the wrong way. Nor was it such a good idea, in that the speaker could always get herself thrown out for harassment, or just plain ‘ol being a pervert.

…Nah hell, she was never a fan of sticking to social conventions. And if she got kicked out? There was always beating on her stupid brother who refused to listen to good sense.
Aka, her advice.

Grinning from ear to ear as a fellow patron blinked owlishly at her, Imaya trotted down the gym aisle resisting the urge to snicker. It was always fun to surprise the nice looking guys; see that look of shock and horror on their faces, as they realized what the hell she was getting at. All in all, for a woman with a libido like a squirrel on crack, being in a gym surrounded by muscled, sweaty bodies was probably akin to an alcoholic swimming in Budweiser Lake. And, normally, she liked to keep her work out sessions to running away from perverted animal-zombies or playing ‘touch me and I’ll smack you’ with the local morons who passed through her mama's bar.

But when a girl gets visited by a blast from the past, claiming that Brother Dearest has skipped town, rather than talk to her? A girl just needed something to hit.

And, given that little assault charge two months ago, a punching bag was probably a good idea. Not that it was her fault, really…was it so bad to break up a bar fight by hitting the instigator over the head with a barstool? Psh, of course not.

To the naked eye, the woman charging toward a free punching bag with a vengeance, probably looked like the very last person who would frequent a gym. The clothes were about right; a sports bra, exercise shorts and sneakers replaced her usual garb. What was making a few of her fellow patrons stop what they were doing and stare, however, was probably the adornment of sparkly clips keeping her dark green streaked hair pinned back from her eyes, the leather armband reading ‘My Mama Kicked Yo Mama's Ass,’ and the multitude of bright tattoos on her arms, neck and back.

Ignoring the curious glances, Imaya made a stand off with the punching bag in front of her, glaring at the sand-filled thing as if it had sprouted a familiar head. Tugging on a pair of gloves- brand spanking new…damn, she’d left the tags on again- she squared her feet, clenched her jaw and proceeded to punch the hell out of the poor thing.

Ah, that made her feel so much better. An hour of this and some bloody knuckles, and she could ignore the fact that her twin, her brother, her BLOOD kin had freaking ran away from her for the umpteenth time.

…That, and plan out where she'd nail the bastard, next time she saw him. But for now, being calm was number one.

[/center][/blockquote]

[benwinchester]

Walking into the gym, Ben instantly felt a little more at home. What could he say? Research wasn’t always his thing, and most of the time, he wasn’t really the best at it. He’d been back in Texas for a couple days, and he wasn’t any closer to figuring his case out. Instead, he was actually just getting more and more confused by the increasingly large stack of papers and theories piling up on the desk in his motel room. Needless to say, he needed something that required a little more… Brawn than brains for a while.

Gyms were pretty much home for Ben anyway. When he wasn’t hunting or dating, he was usually always trying to find the time to work out, often letting it take up ALL his time if he wasn’t careful. That wasn’t a bad thing, though, was it? To be a hunter, he had to be in shape, right? Not to mention, it never hurt to look good. Especially with the last name of Winchester. Then, it was practically REQUIRED, well, in their minds at least.

So, walking through the gym, Ben eyed the other people as he walked through, returning the curious glances coming his way with challenging looks. He wasn’t really trying to pick a fight or anything, that was just how he was. He was pretty much used to everyone staring at him like a freak, he was a Winchester and always the new guy wherever he went, even now, so he’d pretty much developed the natural instinct to return even simple looks with one where he tries to look dominant, like nothing they could say or think would bother him.

Did he actually need to do it 90% of the time? No, he didn’t. Did he do it? 100% of the time. That was what got him his cocky reputation just as much, if not more than his attitude, the fact the he always had the look like he thought he was top shit.

Ignoring he weights and other things, Ben made his way directly to the punching bags.
As messed up as it was, Ben knew that he got his best ideas when he was beating the crap out of something. To quote his mom, he was DEFINETLY his father’s son. Violence inspired him.

So, reaching into the bag he’d carried in with him, Ben pulled out his gloves, then took a deep breath as he slid them on, eyeing the punching bag.



He took his first punch softly, then another. Soon, he got into the rhythm and began slamming his fist into the bag, even throwing in the occasional kick. All the while, he would occasionally glance over at a girl using another bag across the way from him. He really had no choice but to notice her, seeing as they were the only ones using the punching bags, but all he could see was her backside, not that he was complaining. It was a GREAT view.





((OOC: Mah bad for the sucky first post... *hangs self* My muse is being a douche. Hopefully, my next post'll be better ))