Alan Joyce
Dec 17th, 2002, 03:17:16 AM
"Three, two, one, now." Alan said quietly to himself as he set his wristwatch exactly to the wall clock's time. Being late was not his style, though it had been known to happen in the past.
But at the moment, time was a commodity he had a vast quantity of, and so the blonde man in his tan three-piece tweed suit paced casually down the hallway to a door with the words "Training Center" etched into the metal in a dull sheen. His soft-solded shoes quietly tapped the polished floor with each step, and his hands were tucked neatly in his pockets as he wandered in and looked around.
It was nearly empty, he could hear people in the distance, but see nobody. Alan was about to find his map again when a familiar sight caught his blue eyes. A set of punching bags.
For recreation back home he used to box and work out with such bags. For a while he dabbled in amateur tournament boxing until his nose was broken and he decided to go back to fun bouts with friends. Taking another glance around, Alan smiled and unbottoned his coat, taking it off and draping it over a towel rack. His vest was next, followed by his tie and linen shirt until he was down to a white cotton tank-topped undershirt with his suspenders over it. His wristwatch, with black alligator-skin finished leather band, was set aside along with his gold class ring, and he stepped up before the speed bag, rolling out his shoulders before adressing the teardrop shaped leather bag. "Alright, pal, it's just you and me. Let's see if this old fellow can still dish out the good stuff."
That said, Alan balled up his fists and had at it with the speed bag, only occasionally missing a shot or landing one incorrectly.
But at the moment, time was a commodity he had a vast quantity of, and so the blonde man in his tan three-piece tweed suit paced casually down the hallway to a door with the words "Training Center" etched into the metal in a dull sheen. His soft-solded shoes quietly tapped the polished floor with each step, and his hands were tucked neatly in his pockets as he wandered in and looked around.
It was nearly empty, he could hear people in the distance, but see nobody. Alan was about to find his map again when a familiar sight caught his blue eyes. A set of punching bags.
For recreation back home he used to box and work out with such bags. For a while he dabbled in amateur tournament boxing until his nose was broken and he decided to go back to fun bouts with friends. Taking another glance around, Alan smiled and unbottoned his coat, taking it off and draping it over a towel rack. His vest was next, followed by his tie and linen shirt until he was down to a white cotton tank-topped undershirt with his suspenders over it. His wristwatch, with black alligator-skin finished leather band, was set aside along with his gold class ring, and he stepped up before the speed bag, rolling out his shoulders before adressing the teardrop shaped leather bag. "Alright, pal, it's just you and me. Let's see if this old fellow can still dish out the good stuff."
That said, Alan balled up his fists and had at it with the speed bag, only occasionally missing a shot or landing one incorrectly.