(no subject)
It was strange how easily George had been able to slip into old habits. The smell of talcum and sweat hung heavy in the air creating a musk that was almost strictly masculine. George had breathed it in deeply the first time he had stepped back into the ring. He had been so careful that first time, gently lifting the top rope to test its resistance against his strength. He had gone ball to heel into the mat with that very first step, the vinyl creaking as it shifted to absorb his weight. George never realize how much he truly missed being inside the ring until he found himself dead center in the middle of an empty gym. It was a strangely comforting feeling, as if this was where he was always meant to be. As if this were home.
Camille Bellamy still remained as elusive as ever, failing to turn up in physical form yet rumors of a woman matching her description had cropped up all around town. The Earl of Helmsley believed her family to be aiding in her efforts. George had been inclined to agree. Yet Edmund Bellamy remained undeterred, determined to linger about Stateside until he found his wife. George had been reluctant to speak his mind on the subject. Edmund did not want to hear that his wife had grown restless and likely had no intention of return to England with him, not from his family and especially not from a servant. Yet in the tedium of waiting around for an explanation not likely to turn up anytime soon and ducking in and out of bars and country clubs investigating any lead on her person, George himself had grown restless.
It had been Edmund's suggestion that he start training again. Not competitively, of course. George's sight in his half blind left eye would never allow for that. But the diversion would be good for him and the exercises would serve to help him shed some of the many few pounds he had put on over the years. George had been hesitant initially but eventually agreed and set off to find a gym willing to take a broken down former alcoholic has-been in. He eventually found one in Queens that was just as broken down as he was yet strangely inviting. George saw much of his old self in the hungry youth that trained along side him, even took looking after a couple of them and offering pointers. At one point the owner had even offered him a job, but George already had a job and for now he was content with the few hours he managed to squeeze in in a week for himself.
It had been a night not at all dissimilar from the last and the one before that. He was one of the last remaining bodies left in the building, the owner off somewhere sorting out the books. His legs were sore, the muscles in his calves strained and sweat beading along the lines in his forehead and down his back. He didn't notice the sound of the back door creaking open, loud as it was. The blood seemed to throb in the cramped hands that flexed open and shut, the gauze around his skin once white now a sickly yellow as sweat discolored the pigment. He stood before a speed bag, giving it a gentle nudge as he willed his hands to to stop hurting. He wasn't done yet. He was good for another minute or two and gradually the gentle nudge turned into a swat and eventually a torrent of swings until the bag was nothing but a blur he struggled to keep up with.
Camille Bellamy still remained as elusive as ever, failing to turn up in physical form yet rumors of a woman matching her description had cropped up all around town. The Earl of Helmsley believed her family to be aiding in her efforts. George had been inclined to agree. Yet Edmund Bellamy remained undeterred, determined to linger about Stateside until he found his wife. George had been reluctant to speak his mind on the subject. Edmund did not want to hear that his wife had grown restless and likely had no intention of return to England with him, not from his family and especially not from a servant. Yet in the tedium of waiting around for an explanation not likely to turn up anytime soon and ducking in and out of bars and country clubs investigating any lead on her person, George himself had grown restless.
It had been Edmund's suggestion that he start training again. Not competitively, of course. George's sight in his half blind left eye would never allow for that. But the diversion would be good for him and the exercises would serve to help him shed some of the many few pounds he had put on over the years. George had been hesitant initially but eventually agreed and set off to find a gym willing to take a broken down former alcoholic has-been in. He eventually found one in Queens that was just as broken down as he was yet strangely inviting. George saw much of his old self in the hungry youth that trained along side him, even took looking after a couple of them and offering pointers. At one point the owner had even offered him a job, but George already had a job and for now he was content with the few hours he managed to squeeze in in a week for himself.
It had been a night not at all dissimilar from the last and the one before that. He was one of the last remaining bodies left in the building, the owner off somewhere sorting out the books. His legs were sore, the muscles in his calves strained and sweat beading along the lines in his forehead and down his back. He didn't notice the sound of the back door creaking open, loud as it was. The blood seemed to throb in the cramped hands that flexed open and shut, the gauze around his skin once white now a sickly yellow as sweat discolored the pigment. He stood before a speed bag, giving it a gentle nudge as he willed his hands to to stop hurting. He wasn't done yet. He was good for another minute or two and gradually the gentle nudge turned into a swat and eventually a torrent of swings until the bag was nothing but a blur he struggled to keep up with.