Re: [punching, the redux]
Man, Patrick walked in expecting a fight (and he did not believe there was anything wrong with a good sparring session). Adrian said he wanted a fight, and Patrick thought they were there to fight. This was not a fight, man, and he was not sure if Adrian was simply not wanting to look like the bad guy, or if the dude had not really wanted to throw punches. Patrick had spent a great amount of time sparring for training, and he knew a fight; this was not a fight. He was not sure what this was, but he knew what it was not.
Patrick toweled off his face, and then he toweled at his neck. He had not collected anything to go yet. "What was this about, man? For you? What was this about?" he asked. He was not frightened or running. He did not mind having this talk. There had to be a reason for this, and he did not know what it was. He did not know (either) how this dude was different, and he did wish to learn this.
He walked over to his bag, and he pulled out his water bottle. The trek to fill it was a short, and he returned and sat on a bench, knees far apart as he drank down the water. He would leave here sporting a bruise on his jaw, but even this was not impressive, man. It was reddening, not an actual bruise. "When we were on the move, during the war, we would spar regularly. It would keep people from getting to worked the fuck up, man, and we would be sore after, but we would always feel better. There was a lot of anger that built up that needed releasing, as we were seeing people dying daily, and our chances did not look good. And there were not many chicks around, if you get my meaning."