{002}. † :: Too bad, but it's the life you lead ::
Well, she'd been there long enough to know the ropes and get what was going on. She'd been there long enough to get settled, long enough to meet people and make a few new friends... Long enough to relax and try to get over the shock of being ripped out of Heaven. Even with a wonderful and understanding roommate to talk to, her best friend being there, and what seemed like an almost completely peaceful new life, Buffy felt the ache within her that told her there was something more she was supposed to do. Or perhaps it was just the emptiness that seeped into her, realizing that she wouldn't likely be feeling closure, or peace, or solace again anytime soon no matter how nice the city was. Something stirred inside of her, whatever it was, and she felt restless.
She'd learned that there were gyms, training facilities, within the hotel - all ready and waiting to be used at her discretion. She had a lot of frustration to get out, a lot of pent up emotions that she wasn't able to express otherwise, so she decided to head that way and make full use of what was provided to her. Clad in a tank, some spandex pants, and a pair of well-worn tennis shoes, she entered the gyms and looked around. There were all sorts of work out machines and the like littered about the room, and it brought the slightest hint of a smile to her lips. This was a little more like home. No throwing knives, and no Giles... but it was something, at least.
Buffy immediately spotted an area where there was at least a little bit of padding on the floor, and a wall lined with punching bags that could match the size of a fully-grown man. This would definitely work for her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, approaching one of the bags. It looked totally untouched. She tried to imagine it as someone, something, she hated. Really, really hated. But in the end, she didn't need to. Her emotions overtook her, and she began to punch at it with every move in the book, occasionally kicking, and giving it her all. She breathed heavily and she could feel the weight on her heart as a surge of frustration and confusion and pain all mixed with excitement and adrenaline. Her feelings seemed to possess her completely, and dictate her every move.
A series of grunts began to come from her with the force her body exerted against the stubborn punching bag. It seemed cemented, unmoving, and she wanted it to thrash. She wanted it to fight back. She wanted to feel it wailing on her, to feel the pain of taking a punch - but that release never came. Buffy let out a frustrated shout as her body twisted and rotated into a desperate and forceful roundhouse kick. Still, the punching bag barely flinched. Her well-placed punches and thrusts dissolved into savage beating as she began to cry, keeping her composure as best she could through silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She went like that for several minutes, just flailing and beating the hell out of it until her body began to quiver with more forceful sobs. She'd talked to Daniel that first night, but otherwise had kept her emotions completely bottled. This was a release for her, even if it wasn't the one she looked for.
Her attacks slowed down and she weakly slumped against the punching bag, wrapping her arms around it as if it were a person, and crying against the unfeeling material. Buffy took a few minutes to just cry like that. It was overpowering, exhausting, but she needed it - and she knew it. Pulling back, she wiped the tears from her eyes and moved to the padded floor area, sitting and crossing her legs. She closed her eyes and centered herself as best she could, taking slow, deep breaths. This went on for about five minutes before she rose to her feet again.
This time, the exercises were slow... deliberate, and concentrated. She extended one leg and leaned her body to the side, arms bent over her chest, and poised. Slow versions of actual kicks and punches followed, all while her eyes remained closed. Giles would have chided her for being careless enough to train in a new place while allowing herself to be so off her guard... But Giles wasn't here, and Buffy didn't care if someone were to sneak up on her. She was in her own little world now, lost in her thoughts, and the sea of questions that would never be answered. She hadn't thought to call Willow or ask her to come along.
She didn't feel like she could. She felt... estranged, somehow. Like things weren't the way they used to be. They weren't, really. Buffy's slow exercises dissipated, and she began to flip across the padded area like a world-class Gymnast would. Back handsprings, and walkovers, and cartwheels and back tucks... Woven together in a complicated web of well-choreographed movement with just the slightest dash of inspiration for a punch thrown in here and there. And then, she was back at the punching bag.
She started slow, but hard. She was beating herself up more than the bag itself, her tears having completely stopped. They'd given way to an eerie calmness, one that was pensive, but without much hint toward what she was feeling. The only indicator were slightly-redder-than-normal cheeks and swollen eyes at this point, but otherwise there was nothing but solid concentration. She didn't even flinch when a tinge of pain rippled through her knuckles or her ankles. No emotion showed on her face, even when she was physically hurting. Something horrifying dawned on her in that moment, something that had crossed her mind before but she'd never been able to admit to herself.
Buffy couldn't feel.
She'd learned that there were gyms, training facilities, within the hotel - all ready and waiting to be used at her discretion. She had a lot of frustration to get out, a lot of pent up emotions that she wasn't able to express otherwise, so she decided to head that way and make full use of what was provided to her. Clad in a tank, some spandex pants, and a pair of well-worn tennis shoes, she entered the gyms and looked around. There were all sorts of work out machines and the like littered about the room, and it brought the slightest hint of a smile to her lips. This was a little more like home. No throwing knives, and no Giles... but it was something, at least.
Buffy immediately spotted an area where there was at least a little bit of padding on the floor, and a wall lined with punching bags that could match the size of a fully-grown man. This would definitely work for her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, approaching one of the bags. It looked totally untouched. She tried to imagine it as someone, something, she hated. Really, really hated. But in the end, she didn't need to. Her emotions overtook her, and she began to punch at it with every move in the book, occasionally kicking, and giving it her all. She breathed heavily and she could feel the weight on her heart as a surge of frustration and confusion and pain all mixed with excitement and adrenaline. Her feelings seemed to possess her completely, and dictate her every move.
A series of grunts began to come from her with the force her body exerted against the stubborn punching bag. It seemed cemented, unmoving, and she wanted it to thrash. She wanted it to fight back. She wanted to feel it wailing on her, to feel the pain of taking a punch - but that release never came. Buffy let out a frustrated shout as her body twisted and rotated into a desperate and forceful roundhouse kick. Still, the punching bag barely flinched. Her well-placed punches and thrusts dissolved into savage beating as she began to cry, keeping her composure as best she could through silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She went like that for several minutes, just flailing and beating the hell out of it until her body began to quiver with more forceful sobs. She'd talked to Daniel that first night, but otherwise had kept her emotions completely bottled. This was a release for her, even if it wasn't the one she looked for.
Her attacks slowed down and she weakly slumped against the punching bag, wrapping her arms around it as if it were a person, and crying against the unfeeling material. Buffy took a few minutes to just cry like that. It was overpowering, exhausting, but she needed it - and she knew it. Pulling back, she wiped the tears from her eyes and moved to the padded floor area, sitting and crossing her legs. She closed her eyes and centered herself as best she could, taking slow, deep breaths. This went on for about five minutes before she rose to her feet again.
This time, the exercises were slow... deliberate, and concentrated. She extended one leg and leaned her body to the side, arms bent over her chest, and poised. Slow versions of actual kicks and punches followed, all while her eyes remained closed. Giles would have chided her for being careless enough to train in a new place while allowing herself to be so off her guard... But Giles wasn't here, and Buffy didn't care if someone were to sneak up on her. She was in her own little world now, lost in her thoughts, and the sea of questions that would never be answered. She hadn't thought to call Willow or ask her to come along.
She didn't feel like she could. She felt... estranged, somehow. Like things weren't the way they used to be. They weren't, really. Buffy's slow exercises dissipated, and she began to flip across the padded area like a world-class Gymnast would. Back handsprings, and walkovers, and cartwheels and back tucks... Woven together in a complicated web of well-choreographed movement with just the slightest dash of inspiration for a punch thrown in here and there. And then, she was back at the punching bag.
She started slow, but hard. She was beating herself up more than the bag itself, her tears having completely stopped. They'd given way to an eerie calmness, one that was pensive, but without much hint toward what she was feeling. The only indicator were slightly-redder-than-normal cheeks and swollen eyes at this point, but otherwise there was nothing but solid concentration. She didn't even flinch when a tinge of pain rippled through her knuckles or her ankles. No emotion showed on her face, even when she was physically hurting. Something horrifying dawned on her in that moment, something that had crossed her mind before but she'd never been able to admit to herself.
Buffy couldn't feel.