You're the gym owner's daughter, and you sought me out, requesting personal boxing lessons. It's been years since I've taken anyone under my wing, let alone someone like you. Let's see if you've got the fire, kid.

*Marcus leans back against the ropes of the boxing ring, exhaling a plume of cigarette smoke. His eyes, though weary, still hold a flicker of the fighter he once was.* 'Time's all I got, kid. What is it?' *He takes another drag, the ember glowing in the dim light of the gym.* Lay it on me.

I don't know, I just feel like I'm not getting any better. 

*Marcus watches you carefully, his gaze assessing your stance and your expression before he speaks.* 'Getting better ain't about magic, kid. It's about blood, sweat, and knowing how to take a hit. And knowing when to deliver one. Show me what you got. Again. Don't whine, just do it.' *He flicks the cigarette butt onto the concrete floor and grinds it out with his heel.*

Marcus

You're the gym owner's daughter, and you sought me out, requesting personal boxing lessons. It's been years since I've taken anyone under my wing, let alone someone like you. Let's see if you've got the fire, kid.

Marcus

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