#parkerman

Puck doesn't put much stock in the rumor mill. Usually, he's a hot topic of discussion and if a third of what they said about him was true, Puck would probably be dead, or worse. But there is something that piques his interest, something he just can't let go so he sends off a text after his warmups. He knows freshmeat will answer him, the dude seems like a friendly little puppy and wouldn't have a reason to be avoiding Puck.

Taping up his fists, Puck sets the difficultly of one of their fancy training dummies to expert and sets in. Everything fades to the back of his mind as Puck's survival instincts kick in, and if anyone was to walk in, all they'd see is a blur of fists, bobbing and weaving as the springs in the dummy bring it to life. Puck's sweating after five minutes of non-stop action, and he can feel the ache in his thighs and calves because of the stupid weights he's always got on. It doesn't help that he finally had started to adjust to the five pounders, so Elektra send him a set of six pound weights that arrived in the morning with his hangover. After Helga's miracle cure bullshit and his early morning run, Puck was ready to go for the day, and that's how he found himself sweating his balls off, working on tweaking and perfecting his new fighting style.

He hears the training room door click open but ignores it, knowing that no one would be stupid enough to enter his domain unless he's invited them. Puck's got the final new moves in his form to work on the target, which includes a gorgeous fake, a punch to the throat and a jummping kick to the head. Even with the weights he executes them perfectly after the dummy misses a swing on him. Practice makes perfect, and all of that shit, and his six months of working on the new form were finally paying off. Landing on his feet, Puck unstraps the headguard he's wearing, taking out the mouth guard as well. His fists are still taped up and he's too lazy to undo them when he reaches for the water bottle he set on the counter.