[indent][b][u]Argos Gymnasium, University District, Poseidonis, 
January 26, 2345 hrs.[/u][/b][/indent]

It was on days like today, where Mal was extremely grateful for the invention of [i]the punching bag.[/i]

[b]BANG! CACHINK! BANG-BANG! CACHINK![/b]

Doubly so was Mal, over the rhythmic din of flesh slamming into the leather and the rattling of chains echoing across the all-but-deserted gymnasium, grateful that the Atlanteans saw the merits of having a big bag of animal flesh filled with sand and hanging from the ceiling for the purpose of [i]beating the hell out of.[/i] Though honestly, how couldn't they? It made for decent cardio, helped you work on your form, got you used to the notion that the act of [i]punching[/i] something wasn't necessarily the most [i]comfortable[/i] way to pass the time, and of course, as Mal knew better than most-

-Was freaking [i]great[/i] when you [i]really needed to hit something[/i]. 

[b]BANG... BANG-BANG! CACHINK![/B]

It had been a long day, even before he'd gotten onto the boat- A quick ride out to Blud before dawn to have his annual visit to an empty alleyway a little earlier than usual. Eating breakfast. Saying goodbye to Henry and the rest of the castle staff. Kissing his Ma on the cheek and meeting Anatoli and Irene down at an arcade by the waterfront, for one last hurrah before he boarded a big damned submarine for the city below the waves. 

Meeting Virgil in there. Meeting Bjorn. Meeting the others after the long ride.

[i]...Seeing Karen again.[/i]

[b]BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG... BANG! CACHINK![/B]

He [i]had[/i] actually been hoping to see what may as well have been his [i]big sister[/i] down here. That somewhere during their little tiff over the scrying stone, he just might've gotten through her magical little (at times) [i]thick head.[/i] But... well...

[color=orchid]"Well, I’m here now—I kept my promise. You shouldn’t have any complaints, right?”[/color]

Those words stuck in the boy's mind. His eidetic memory playing it over and over again with perfect clarity as if the blonde were standing next to him while his powerful brain systematically dissected and analyzed the small details of her pitch, body language and brain activity.

Discomfort.

Irritation.

A bit of [i]frustration.[/i] More so than seemed entirely deserved for his routine foray into [i]'Mal's Storytime'...[/i] 

[b]BANG! BANG! BANG! CACHINK![/B] 

It painted a clear picture.

[b]BANG![/b]

Karen didn't [i]want[/i] to be here.

[b][i]BANG![/i][/b]

She didn't [i]want[/i] to be away from her magic space rock.

[b][i][u]BANG![/u][/i][/b]

[i]She didn't [b]want[/b] to see him, or perhaps anyone else again.[/i]  

[i]It was all just... so [b]inconvenient[/b] to her.[/i]

[color=orangered][b]"URAAAAH!"[/b][/color]

[b][i][u]BANG! Pshhhh...[/u][/i][/b]

Malcolm would be lying if he said that didn't sting a little. 

Had it the ability to do so, the bag, now split open and spilling it's contents onto the gymnasium floor- would have agreed wholeheartedly. 

[color=orangered]"Oh, fer..."[/color] 

The scarred boy managed out under a frustrated sigh, as the piling sand at his feet abruptly pulled him from whatever place he'd been inside his own head and he began peeling off his hand-wraps with his teeth- This line of thinking wasn't helping; just assuming what was going on in the blonde's head and then getting mad about it. Despite how easy it was to fall into that train of thought, especially with his somewhat unique way of reading people.

He needed to actually [i]talk[/i] to her.

The boy's eyes shot down toward the growing pile of sand at his feet and the busted bag hanging lop-sided from the ceiling.

...After he cleaned up this mess, that was.