[ mornings have been particularly rough for Bigby already (and everyone else, he can only assume), but he wasn't going to waste time trying to sleep on a couch in a cramped room. there's no doubt that there were bags under his eyes if anyone bothered to look at the table that he had been sitting alone at with a tray of processed food. he wasn't eager scarfing his "breakfast" down, either, namely because it... well, it tasted like shit.

he was instead enjoying his morning time smoke, which is not even slightly different from one of the other two dozen breaks he takes in a day for his bad habit. toting around the trusty ashtray he had gotten from the commissary, Bigby started losing himself to a daydream while he stared blankly at the mush this facility called food. feel free to snap him out of it and join him, if you'd like. ]

[ the new profiles were enough to make him grind his teeth to the point of discomfort. it's knowledge that is bittersweet ― more intel on everyone else, but at the cost of his being put on blast. Bigby's not particularly alarmed; it doesn't go into detail about how he literally moonlights as a wolf, and that was a relief. the fact that his age is listed as unknown, however... he didn't see many people with the same listed.

he's just about to sigh and walk away, to resist the urge to beat the terminal in, when he notices the skills section. ]

How the fuck is chain smoking considered a skill? High stamina? Jesus.

[ not even going to get into the yiffing part. that's... hopefully not seen to anyone. ]

[ it was probably on purpose that the gym mysteriously reveals itself the same day everyone finds out the place has gathered extensive details on them. regardless of the conversations he has with others involving the profiles, he was in great need of hitting something and was surprisingly pleased to find out there was a room that provided an opportunity to do so.

even if he thought it was stupid to offer punching bags with no boxing gloves, that's where you'll find Bigby. he doesn't care about risking a few bruised knuckles. not when they were still healing from vandalizing bathroom stalls. with his sleeves rolled up, anyone currently in the gym will see the imposing man wailing on the grain-filled bag for what seems like a handful of minutes already. he was hitting it hard enough to send it swinging back, so he could maybe use someone to keep it still. if you're not terrified of being hit in the process, anyway. ]