[Blake's used to being able to cow people pretty well. It's not working now when he needs it to, and that's one more twist to the knot in his gut.

His hands drop to his sides as Heather plonks down.

His voice is low, with a cold edge. There's something not entirely there in his eyes.]

I'm not in the mood to humor any teenage horseshit. I said get out.

[From the other side of the room, Steve makes her way over, the Musharna floating behind her as if on a chance breeze. When Blake's eyes fall on her, she hesitates and her steps falter. Then her mouth tightens stubbornly. She comes over, crosses her arms, and sits down beside Heather.

Blake looks down at the two of them.

He turns away, hunches his shoulders, and throws a punch at the pads still held up by the Hitmonlee. Then another. Soon he's back in a rhythm, though one slowed by his sore, heavy arms.]

Fine. Sit there all fucking night. I don't give a damn.