[003]

[terminates]

[Private to Karrin Murphy]

I'm not doing that again.

----

[OPEN SPAM IN THE GYM]

[It isn't very often that Slade gets like this, but as of this moment, he is entirely frustrated not only with his current situation but also the circumstances that brought him here. Therefore, he is working off the tension the only way he knows how -- pushing

Comments

SPAM

[peektuttut]

[Tim gets antsy on the ship. He's used to doing way more than he does here. It's hard to just sit around and think up ways to get Sylar graduated when it's obviously going to take time. So Tim likes to work out his anxieties, too; occasionally by watching a movie with Martha, but usually by working out in the gym.

Of course, he usually only does that when it's empty, so he almost walked out when he realized someone was already there. Until he saw who it was. AND ONCE MORE, TIM WONDERS WHY HE DOESN'T CARRY HIS STAFF.]

Something's got you pissed.

SPAM

[terminates]

[When he considers the abilities that have been taken, he is appreciative of the few he has left. He hears Tim before he arrives, turning his head only slightly when he sees him. Just perfect.

He puts a hand on the bag, holding it steady. He's really not in the mood for small talk, but like hell is he admitting anything to a bat brat.]

Something's got you restless.

SPAM

[peektuttut]

Lack of skinheads to beat up. [He circled around, keeping an eye on Slade. Keeping both eyes on him, actually. He wasn't about to turn his back on the Terminator.] But that's obvious.

[Which means he isn't sure why Slade's pissed.]

SPAM

[terminates]

[If he's concerned about Tim circling around him, he doesn't show it.] Some things never change.

[He flicks a finger at the bag (fairly worn by this point) and contemplates hitting it once more for good measure. His muscles are already burning, though, and he doesn't feel like showing how he really feels to Tim, of all people. Maybe it's time to call it a day.]

SPAM

[peektuttut]

[That would be way too easy. Tim approached the bag, keeping some distance between them - and not letting the bag obscure his view.]

Apparently. [He reached for the bag, punching halfheartedly - mostly so he could keep his attention on Slade.]

SPAM

[terminates]

[The bag swings a bit, pressing against his hand, but Slade doesn't push back, just watching the kid, his diminished ire beginning to flare again even though he doesn't show it.]

Nothing better to do?

SPAM

[peektuttut]

Would I be here if I had anything better to do? [Yes. Slade was here. He had every reason to stay and make sure he wasn't going to do something...well. Bad. Tim realized it was unlikely - he was a mercenary after all - but that didn't change Tim's suspicions.]

SPAM

[terminates]

[Well, isn't that just precious. His eye narrows slightly, and it really is an effort to keep his frayed temper in check. He doesn't do anything, though, just pushes the punching bag back at Tim, with a little more force than is probably necessary.]

Knock yourself out.

SPAM

[peektuttut]

[Tim braced his arms with the bag as it swung, trying to hold back the scowl. He waited for the bag to still, hands only on it lightly.] Surprised you didn't break the bag.

[Okay maybe he shouldn't jibe Slade. But how often had he sen Deathstroke without all his, well. Extra features?]

SPAM

[terminates]

[Not very often, and that's how he prefers it. He smiles, humorless, at the scowl.]

I did.

[It took longer than usual thanks to his de-powered state, but this is indeed a replacement. He's been here for a while.]

SPAM

[peektuttut]

So something's really got your panties in a twist. [Tim tilted his head, jaw up. Watching. Because he's best at that.]

SPAM

[terminates]

[The smiles stays, but it's hardly pleasant, the look in his eye even less so.]

You'll never know.

SPAM

[peektuttut]

Maybe. [Tim shifted his grip on the bag, ready to shove it at Slade as a distraction or move it aside if h has to.]

SPAM

[terminates]

[He notices that, and again, it takes a lot of effort not to simply smash his fist against the brat's face. Thinking he knows him so well, when in reality, no one does. Not since Wintergreen passed away, and that's exactly the way he wants it.

He turns away, smothering the murderous impulse he so rarely feels as he picks up his towel.]

Keep telling yourself that.

SPAM

[peektuttut]

So are you going to trade school yard jibes for the next...well, however long we're here? If that's the plan, I think I'll pass. [He shifted to the side, keeping the punching bag between them, but not letting it block him.]

SPAM

[terminates]

[His control is slipping, and it speaks to just how agitated he is that a kid could rile him so much. He doesn't turn, though, forcing himself to walk away.]

Feel free.

[He, on the other hand, is leaving.]