mpower
New Member
Kennedy Sullivan
Today was a day off for Kennedy. He left the station earlier and drove to the Porter house instead of his small apartment on the other side of the city. Even though he was someone who kept to himself, he could not deny that he‘d missed the busy household. Due to his working on the human trafficking case, on which the priority increased due to such a /cruel/ murder on a Gardai Sergeant, Ken had been busy with his extended team, trying to find more leads to their target.
Every Officer had a rather moody expression planted on their faces and Ken, not being the type to smile anyway, had been distinctly the grumpiest around. Public thought he meant it personal that Higgins died on his watch , but Kennedy simply still had to process that Higgins died because of him, in some dirty, abandoned apartment.
Nonetheless, he had decided for this path himself. Now he arrived at the Porter house, gave the front guard a wink, and entered the house after he has parked his car.
Now, Kennedy was punching a boxing sack for over 1 hour already. Him being in his suit pants still but without a shirt and his undershirt was soaked in sweat, like his whole body, due to the air in the basement and his overextend exercise . It was like Yoga or meditation for Kennedy, stress relief. All his occupations in the past required fighting skills, traditional or fair boxing was not used on the streets but still was an element of what he needed out there, or wherever whenever he is urged to utilise his expertise.
He had noticed young Porter with Jackson practising outside, which lead him to occupy the basement, thankfully being there to himself.
Right now, Ken was rather exhausted, each jab or swinger being slower than usual, his foot work was still on point, he was still switching the dominant foot, dodging imaginated incoming attacks and hopping around the boxing sack to get every single bit of the surface covered in hits.
Every muscle in his body was tensed, he could feel it and even see it, but he did not take a break, his fists still continued to do their deed in an always changing rhythm of punches.
Every hit was directed at a face he got to know in the past, mostly in negative relation, but he couldn’t help to get Higgins in his view on a morgen frequent base than the rest.
His last hit was harder and full of wroth as that smudge face of the Sergeant came into his mind again, and just then Kennedy noticed how done for he was, wrapping his arms around the sack to keep himself from collapsing.
The visitor on the door was not noticed by him firstly, as the adrenaline rushing in his ears mixed with his panting lead him to not hear anything out of his personal range.
Though after a few seconds he noticed that nobody answered the door as there was still someone knocking. He quickly took a towel and wrapped it around his neck, drying himself a bit to appear in a normal condition.
He opened the door and looked at the woman in front of him, raising an eyebrow as he didn’t recognise her, which lead him to take a step back and look her up and down.
„How can I help you?“
(Sorry for bad grammar or wordings, or just bad writing, I find it horrible to write on my phone)
Today was a day off for Kennedy. He left the station earlier and drove to the Porter house instead of his small apartment on the other side of the city. Even though he was someone who kept to himself, he could not deny that he‘d missed the busy household. Due to his working on the human trafficking case, on which the priority increased due to such a /cruel/ murder on a Gardai Sergeant, Ken had been busy with his extended team, trying to find more leads to their target.
Every Officer had a rather moody expression planted on their faces and Ken, not being the type to smile anyway, had been distinctly the grumpiest around. Public thought he meant it personal that Higgins died on his watch , but Kennedy simply still had to process that Higgins died because of him, in some dirty, abandoned apartment.
Nonetheless, he had decided for this path himself. Now he arrived at the Porter house, gave the front guard a wink, and entered the house after he has parked his car.
Now, Kennedy was punching a boxing sack for over 1 hour already. Him being in his suit pants still but without a shirt and his undershirt was soaked in sweat, like his whole body, due to the air in the basement and his overextend exercise . It was like Yoga or meditation for Kennedy, stress relief. All his occupations in the past required fighting skills, traditional or fair boxing was not used on the streets but still was an element of what he needed out there, or wherever whenever he is urged to utilise his expertise.
He had noticed young Porter with Jackson practising outside, which lead him to occupy the basement, thankfully being there to himself.
Right now, Ken was rather exhausted, each jab or swinger being slower than usual, his foot work was still on point, he was still switching the dominant foot, dodging imaginated incoming attacks and hopping around the boxing sack to get every single bit of the surface covered in hits.
Every muscle in his body was tensed, he could feel it and even see it, but he did not take a break, his fists still continued to do their deed in an always changing rhythm of punches.
Every hit was directed at a face he got to know in the past, mostly in negative relation, but he couldn’t help to get Higgins in his view on a morgen frequent base than the rest.
His last hit was harder and full of wroth as that smudge face of the Sergeant came into his mind again, and just then Kennedy noticed how done for he was, wrapping his arms around the sack to keep himself from collapsing.
The visitor on the door was not noticed by him firstly, as the adrenaline rushing in his ears mixed with his panting lead him to not hear anything out of his personal range.
Though after a few seconds he noticed that nobody answered the door as there was still someone knocking. He quickly took a towel and wrapped it around his neck, drying himself a bit to appear in a normal condition.
He opened the door and looked at the woman in front of him, raising an eyebrow as he didn’t recognise her, which lead him to take a step back and look her up and down.
„How can I help you?“
(Sorry for bad grammar or wordings, or just bad writing, I find it horrible to write on my phone)