@pointsforbravery
He winced slightly, the tape too taught against his knuckle. Taking a moment to unwrap it, then re-wrap it again a little looser - Four stared down at his own hands as he worked. It was still so strange, the capability of his own hands as weapons. For so long, he had felt so weak - too terrified to fight back against the one man that should have never been a monster to him to begin with. Now, with the weeks of training and constant moving -- he had changed. At first it was subtle, the shirts he started with becoming tighter, the ease of actions when they ran or practiced.
Letting out a breath, Four flexed his hand, making a fist and un-clenching it several times to test out his wrapping. It would have to do. He had a fight in the morning, and he wanted to get in some more practice as it was. Just as he always did -- others had gone out, something about a few drinks and tattooing, but that wasn't something that interested Four. The smell of sweat and dust propelled him to shake his thoughts and set aside the roll of tape that he had been using. Wiping the beaded sweat off his brow, he bent his knees a bit more, shaking out his hands as he squared back up with the practice dummy.
Too focused was he, now, to know if there was anyone else in the room with him. Most of the time, no one else bothered to be there that late at night. Most of the time, it was long after the initiates had gone to bed, that he was showering and fell into his own. Hitting the padded target, he gritted his teeth, the fresh cracks against his knuckles tender against the tape.