[He's improved. The way his arm arcs is well-timed and well-aimed, but it makes contact with the mass of the bag... wrong. It shouldn't, if Asher'd swung a punch correctly like that. Asher only gets a few hits on the bag before Jin fully senses that something is amiss. His eyes are well-attuned to the flow of combat; he knows, very well, the proper rhythm of these motions; he knows that the certain flinch that Asher lets slip, the hesitation on the very tail of the punch, signals not poor form but pain.
Since when does Asher bind up his hands before they get to the training room?
Jin's mind races (stupid, stupid; should've known better, should've gone after him for whatever was bugging him harder) and he steps forward, footsteps quick, crisp.]
Stop, stop--
[Jin's hand is on Asher's arm, moving him backward and away from the bag.]
What the hell. Show me your hands.
[In case Asher didn't hear him, he repeats it, incredulous and pissed and worried half to death all at once:] Show me your hands.
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Since when does Asher bind up his hands before they get to the training room?
Jin's mind races (stupid, stupid; should've known better, should've gone after him for whatever was bugging him harder) and he steps forward, footsteps quick, crisp.]
Stop, stop--
[Jin's hand is on Asher's arm, moving him backward and away from the bag.]
What the hell. Show me your hands.
[In case Asher didn't hear him, he repeats it, incredulous and pissed and worried half to death all at once:] Show me your hands.