Miro grumbled as he nursed his sore side. The numbness had set in, and an uncomfortable, throbbing sensation announced the start of a phenomenal bruise on his side. The just reward for his deeds. Bruised, rebuked, having aimed at, and without cash on himself.  He hoped the lad he had just met would survive a little more. This city was resembling more and more the warzone he had been born into. At least, people's hearts had hardened to such point.

Flipping his hood down, he grumbled in a low tone, reminding himself that the gym was still his best option... and whatever caused his prompt departure -that is, the antics of three girls- would likely be camping on his living room, kitchen or bedroom and eating his already dimished supplies.

He had hoped they had decency to put some clothes on, and not just underwear and towels.

[hr]

[color=007236][b]New York Slums: Vinnie's Gym[/b][/color]

Of course, they would still be there. Sitting leisurely at the basement and the gym, the choice of clothes and antics of the three girls had only improved so slighty. The good thing was that the two older, more developed girls, a blonde and a brunette, had put some clothes on. The bad thing is that they were his own t-shirts, being worn as some sort of saggy substitute of a one piece dress. 

The third was nowhere to be seen, the one with the monstrous bedhead mop of brown hair. She probably had gone to sleep again, after having breakfast. For unsurprising reasons to Miro, as she was probably only 12 or 13 at most, compared to the sixteen year olds he had in front of him.

"Hey, you're back! How was your training?" said the blonde, in an attempt to look nice, despite the earlier comment about Miro's sexuality.

Miro just snorted a salute, before zooming past the both of them, towards a small, separate room from the gym and the upper floor, with the proper living quarters. The seldom used desk of Vinnie still stood there, untouched, as some sort of shrine of a fallen champion. With the utmost care, he made sure to close the door before retrieving another bunch of paper bills from a hidden safe, and stuffing it into his pocket again.

Little by little, the money of the safe was being depleted. But it wasn't an immediate problem of bankrupcy.

When he rejoined the room, the girl numbers had increased by one. Bedhead Mop, now sporting a couple of rather childish pigtails, was nibbling on a chocolate bar, looking at the other two. And also with one of his t-shirts.

And then all three looked at Miro.

"Hey, Miro. I'm um... Vickie." said the blonde. "And this one's Helen." she added as she pointed at the brunette. "I know it's late for an introduction, but you were in a hurry, and pancakes were so damn appetizing, and um..."

"...I led them here." said the youngest of the trio. "I didn't know they would be like, um... this, Miro. I'm sorry." The brown haired kid said.

"Don't be. Bea." Miroslav tried his best to crack a small smile. She was too young to bear the brunt of all his cynicism.

"Holy crap, he can smile." said the brunette, Helen. "Munchkin, what did you do to him?"

"I'm not a Munchkin!" Bea protested.

"She's been here for the seventh time." Miro interjected. "Acquaintance."

"Are we acquaintances now, Miro?" said the chirpy Vickie.

"No." The slav dryly replied, as Bea snorted and burst into an infantile giggle.

"Oh, come onnn~" the blonde counterattacked, even so far to try a higher level attack, by putting puppy eyes, staring deep into the young man's soul...

"No." was his answer.

"You saw my underwear, didn't you. We're acquaintances, or you're gay!" The blonde insisted.

"NO." Miro snapped back, tired of the charade, his fists clenching into balls. His nostris flared slightly, before breaking contact with his interlocutor. The chirpy blonde's jabs and his own throbbing pain on the side were driving him crazy. Not to mention he had been aimed at, and he had been chased out of his designated place to do parkour. Too much pent up aggression, so the logical choice was to grab one of the sandbags, a couple of gloves, and start pummeling his target.

"I think you ought to stop aggravating our host, Vickie." Helen interjected, showing a degree of maturity Miro wouldn't have guessed the first time she saw her, traipsing around in a towel. "If the rumours are true..."

[i]BOOOM[/i]

Helen's sentence was never finished, as the sandbag, after receiving a particulary powerful kick, seemed to get loose and was catapulted a couple of meters, landing loudly on the floor.

"That was so COOL Miro!" Bea sprang to her feet, admiring the seemingly superhuman feat of strength happening before his eyes.

"What the fu..." Vickie added, blinking twice. "How is that even..."

"...It wasn't me." Miro cut short, before the girls' extremely imaginative minds made the situation worse than it should be. "The chain was too worn out. Probably from decades of punching. Vincent must've used this sandbag a lot, see?" Miroslav pointed at the rather obvious worn edges of the broken links.

Helen nodded. "You got us for a second, there. I mean, with the ridiculous rumours that you've decimated a SWAT squad AND a Seeker while being heavily wounded. I mean, not many GMGs can boast of such feats, much less a guy like you."

Miro seemed to tense at the mention of the Seeker moniker, in obvious fear and discomfort, before exhaling. "Need to see Vance. I need a new chain." He solemny announced, as he waved goodbye to the young Bea, while heading upstairs for a shower.