@latibulx said: [ instruct ] & [ enough ]
— accepting
[ instruct ] your muse giving mine instructions / telling them what to do
[ enough ] your muse commanding mine to stop talking
[ 초 사나 ] — It was long past closing hours of the boxing studio. Night time gave him the promise of anonymity. Now that he was back home, he didn’t have the freedom to move as he liked. Especially, due to the fact that his return had not yet been publically announced. This left the young prince confined in the four walls of the palaste where his stay was hardly welcomed and most of his days were filled with long trist vegetating into obscurity.
An exception were thursday nights: his sessions with his personal trainer -- albeit now on his behalf stood a 5 foot 5 girl all geared up and quick on her feet.
The fluorescent lights filled the hall in a sterile white. The air was thick from the day full of classes. The sweat dripped down his temples. Jab left. Block. Right hook. Jab left. Block. Right hook.
“Always keep moving.” She instructed. He bounced from one leg to the other. Jab left. Block. Right hook. Jab left. Block. The glove stung when it hit his arm. In the distance, he could hear a reporter’s voice coming from a radio.
....another appearance of solidarity to his father, the late king....while Prince Nosan stays ignorant to the nation’s.....
Hongwee was flung back, glove to his chin and a resounding ‘thump’ as his back hit the ground. His chest rose quick and his breathing was heavy. He hadn’t noticed until now how exhausted he was.
“You are distracted. I told you to keep moving. Jungjin probably goes easy on you.”
She continued to go on and on. But Hongwee didn’t listen. His hand now out of the boxing glove, he grabbed his jaw, moved it a little. The pain was mild, and was mostly overshadowed by the frustration rising up in him --- the nation’s ignorant prince, the immature future king. He’d heard his name dragged through the dirt even before he knew how to write it. What a wonderful tactic that was on his uncle’s side.
“Are you even listening to me? Why are you even boxing if you--”
“Shut. Your. Goddamn. Mouth.”
It was the first time he raised his voice all night. He was raised better than that, but this time he was too distracted to worry about manners. With a flick of his wrist, he pushed away the hand extended to him, and rose to his feet on his own.