02-25-2021, 17:40:38 PM
Out on the balcony was Ranma, pounding his fists into the wall over and over. He needed to blow off steam badly. It was just one case so far, and here he is already punching a wall in frustration. With every crack and pow his fists collide with the wall, he was deep in thought. Was he doing this because he believed Cookie was truly innocent? Or did he only try to prove Kellensea wrong because of her ego and pretension? At this point, he doesn't even know. From what he's heard, Kai has the most votes, but he's not so sure on whether or not Kai is the killer. Was it really like Kel said? Is Cookie Monster the real killer, and he had been defending a literal and figurative monster while accusing an innocent person because he thought it was too obvious?
A pained hiss, Ranma didn't stop punching the wall, needing to let out most of his frustrations. He just wanted to find Doug's killer. A martial artist and a man's job is to protect innocent people from harm. And he couldn't even do that. He couldn't do the one thing he can do. With a final shout, he slammed his bloody and broken fist into the wall, and slumped against the balcony, head down in shame. His fists were rubbed raw and red, his knuckles were busted and bleeding. But the pain of his fists couldn't compare to the pain he felt in his pride. His ego. His manhood. And here he is, not having a damned clue what he should do. What can he do in this situation? Punch, kick, throw someone? The only things he had under his belt was thirteen to fourteen years of training, and a cursed form that only worsen his mentality of being a man. Ranma just slammed his already ruined fist beside him, and continued to sit there, not a clue what he should do, or even his purpose.
A pained hiss, Ranma didn't stop punching the wall, needing to let out most of his frustrations. He just wanted to find Doug's killer. A martial artist and a man's job is to protect innocent people from harm. And he couldn't even do that. He couldn't do the one thing he can do. With a final shout, he slammed his bloody and broken fist into the wall, and slumped against the balcony, head down in shame. His fists were rubbed raw and red, his knuckles were busted and bleeding. But the pain of his fists couldn't compare to the pain he felt in his pride. His ego. His manhood. And here he is, not having a damned clue what he should do. What can he do in this situation? Punch, kick, throw someone? The only things he had under his belt was thirteen to fourteen years of training, and a cursed form that only worsen his mentality of being a man. Ranma just slammed his already ruined fist beside him, and continued to sit there, not a clue what he should do, or even his purpose.