WHO: Xander Harris and OPEN. WHAT: Working out. WHEN: Afternoon. WHERE: Training room; Hyperion. RATING: PG-13. STATUS: In progress.
Xander was not a Champion. He was not a Slayer. Heck, he wasn't even a costume wearing superhero. Most people would take one good look at him and decide right then and there that he was nothing short of a really, really bad imitation of a pirate. He was neither of those things. No, Xander Harris was a soldier. The kind of soldier who occasionally cracked jokes and referenced TV shows and movies, but a soldier all the same. He had fought his way through his share of battles back when Sunnydale was a pretty little town sitting atop the mouth of Hell; he'd stood at the end of the world more than once in his lifetime and he had been nothing more than a kid at the time. It was funny, how that worked. Out of all the people that he saw surviving what they had been through, Xander had always believed that he was the one that wasn't going to make it. Yet here he was. Healthy, alive, and still kicking - hard, too, especially for a man that was half blind.
Being the survivor that he was, Xander didn't exactly feel okay with taking any chances on luck. He'd been lucky enough as it were, but that wasn't going to last forever. Xander had to stay prepared. Keep himself in top form. Death waited for no one and Xander certainly wasn't going to let it get the jump on him if he could help it.
Circling the punching bag that he'd seen to fixing after Buffy had smacked it clear across the room, Xander gave it a rough series of punches before he maneuvered himself to the side and repeated the action. The bag was just a bag. It stood there uselessly, taking each hit without issue. The fight was much harder out there. The target didn't stay still, for one thing. And it always, every time, struck back. It was why one couldn't go out there with their guard down. When that happened? People lost things. Like an eye, for example.
Xander struck the bag again, this time harder. The black material twisted, turning into the sneering face of Caleb. Can finish that other eye anytime you like, boy. You just say the word.