thump, thump
The sound of a punching bag echoed through the empty weight room, chains rattling along with the cadence of fists against leather.
thump, thump
Smokey swung heavy blows, his brow furrowed in frustration. His body swayed in between hits as his mind contemplated why he's so on edge.
thump, thump
He's been at Beacon for a while now, but he feels like he hasn't done much at all. He feels cooped up.
thump, thump
Confined. Neglected. Ignored.
thump, thump
He wants to be out in the field, fighting Grimm. Hell, it doesn't even have to be Grimm. White Fang, evil robots, you name it, he'll fight it.
thump, thump
But instead of doing any of that, he's stuck here punching the dust off an old sack. And it is just...
thump, thump
...not...
Thump! Thump!
...CUTTING IT!
THUMP! THUMP! THWACK!
The punching bag was thrown off the hook keeping it aloft, landing with a dull thud on the ground. Next to it, Smokey panted, sweat dripping from his body and drenching his workout clothes. His fists were clenched, still not satisfied from pummeling the punching bag. His teeth were grit; he wanted something that could fight back. And his eyes? There's only one thing eyes like his look for, and that's a fight!