Post by Raphael D'Aubert on Feb 3, 2010 21:14:28 GMT -5
Gold's Gym
The boxing room of the fitness center was empty, and suited Raphael D'Aubert's purposes well enough for this solitary training session. A single heavy bag suspended on a chain hung in the middle of the mirror-lined chamber, the faint smell of sweat and exertion coming off its leather lining.
Stripped to the waist for comfort, Raphael slowly allowed his lean body to stretch in anticipation for the hard training session he put himself through every day. It had become a daily ritual for him ever since he had first strapped on the gloves and shoes of a Savateur, and seemed to offer him a brief moment of relief from the tumultous emotions that raged within him.
Bouncing about, he let loose a fouetté (whip kick) that snapped crisply in the air, followed by a series of swift jabs, crosses, and hooks that flowed seamlessly through the air in beautiful form. Since an early age, he had always enjoyed fighting, and had taken up the French martial art at the age of eleven after leaving the Rose Garden for a wealthy man's patronage.
Spinning about, Raphael landed a perfectly aimed reverse round-house kick that smashed into the heavy bag with the ball of his foot, causing the object to move a considerable distance in the opposite direction before swinging back into place. On a human being, that kick would have easily cracked ribs..
He had flourished in the art, mastering both the competative and street-oriented aspects to become the regional champion of Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur.
A powerful hook and cross combination shook the bag to its very foundation, allowing the young man enough room to drive a ferocious knee into its bulk.
Kick.
Knee.
Punch... Punch...
The young man continued on, sweat pouring down his chisled frame and onto the wooden floor below. Auburn hair whipped wildly about the air, slapping forcefully at Raphael's face. He paid no attention, instead focusing his all into punishing the unlucky training bag before him.
A final roundhouse kick deliver Thai style slammed against the side of the bag with tremendous impact, pushing the object several feet in the opposite direction with the sheer power of its delivery. Had it been Sebastian Flambert, the pathetic boy he had taunted earlier in the morning, standing before him.. He probably would've been dead.. victim of a savage beating comparable to being struck multiple times with baseball bats..
Huffing and puffing, the young man couldn't help but stoop to allow his hands to rest lightly atop his knees..
The boxing room of the fitness center was empty, and suited Raphael D'Aubert's purposes well enough for this solitary training session. A single heavy bag suspended on a chain hung in the middle of the mirror-lined chamber, the faint smell of sweat and exertion coming off its leather lining.
Stripped to the waist for comfort, Raphael slowly allowed his lean body to stretch in anticipation for the hard training session he put himself through every day. It had become a daily ritual for him ever since he had first strapped on the gloves and shoes of a Savateur, and seemed to offer him a brief moment of relief from the tumultous emotions that raged within him.
Bouncing about, he let loose a fouetté (whip kick) that snapped crisply in the air, followed by a series of swift jabs, crosses, and hooks that flowed seamlessly through the air in beautiful form. Since an early age, he had always enjoyed fighting, and had taken up the French martial art at the age of eleven after leaving the Rose Garden for a wealthy man's patronage.
Spinning about, Raphael landed a perfectly aimed reverse round-house kick that smashed into the heavy bag with the ball of his foot, causing the object to move a considerable distance in the opposite direction before swinging back into place. On a human being, that kick would have easily cracked ribs..
He had flourished in the art, mastering both the competative and street-oriented aspects to become the regional champion of Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur.
A powerful hook and cross combination shook the bag to its very foundation, allowing the young man enough room to drive a ferocious knee into its bulk.
Kick.
Knee.
Punch... Punch...
The young man continued on, sweat pouring down his chisled frame and onto the wooden floor below. Auburn hair whipped wildly about the air, slapping forcefully at Raphael's face. He paid no attention, instead focusing his all into punishing the unlucky training bag before him.
A final roundhouse kick deliver Thai style slammed against the side of the bag with tremendous impact, pushing the object several feet in the opposite direction with the sheer power of its delivery. Had it been Sebastian Flambert, the pathetic boy he had taunted earlier in the morning, standing before him.. He probably would've been dead.. victim of a savage beating comparable to being struck multiple times with baseball bats..
Huffing and puffing, the young man couldn't help but stoop to allow his hands to rest lightly atop his knees..
