He hands her the gloves and helps her put them on. He secures them tightly so that her wrists will not suffer any more than they need to. She bangs them together. She is ready. She assumes a defensive posture and throws him an experimental punch, bounces back with catlike dexterity, strikes again. There is finesse in her precise strikes, as each hit lands solidly and squarely on the part of his arm where it was intended. "Just let go," he says after a few swings. She increases the pace of her hits, hander, faster, more angry, more furious. In a moment she explodes into a series of hard punches, her entire body weight behind her every swing. This is probably not good for her wrists, but she pursues relentlessly ignoring the toll which her anger is taking upon her, pounding away, losing all finesse and precision, letting the fury overtake her. She starts yelling and screaming obscenities at him with every punch. He stands still and takes it, his arm beginning to become sore. "Hold on a minute," he says and switches arm. She gives him a few moments respite before beginning again with renewed fury and anger, fists flying, lips moving, mouth screaming, unleashing all her vengeance against fate which has disrupted the balance of an imperfect world. Her face contorts in anger, burning blood red, like a silhouette of fire wanting nothing more than to consume everything that has ever hurt her. It is impossible to know exactly what she is thinking, but the negative energy is leaving her, and he is absorbing it.

And then her punches grow weaker and she backs down, sweating slightly. He removes her gloves from her hands as she sits. "Thanks," She says in between heavy breaths. "That’s what friends are for," he replies with a smile.