ArchivedLogs:Saturday Workout

Saturday Workout
Dramatis Personae Doug, Eric
In Absentia	2013-02-16 Doug meets Eric.
Location <NYC> Sweat - Greenwich Village
An apropos name; it is hard to escape the smell, when visiting this fitness club. Open twenty-four hours, this facility comes equipped with all the bells and whistles for those who want to train hard. All the standard gym equipment can be found and then some. In addition to private personal trainers, there are group classes in all sorts of things, from bicycling to crossfit to yoga to martial arts to more esoteric fare such as pole dancing and dodgeball. An olympic-sized pool makes this a popular draw, and the sauna rooms by each locker room are nice spots to unwind after a heavy workout. Late in the afternoon, Sweat is a somewhat busy place. People, invariably in lycra, spandex, or similar tight-fitting gym wear, bustle everywhere from machine to machine and take up room on the floor meant for free-weights. The pool is busy enough to have a time-limit enforced on some of the lanes, and the treadmills are at a premium. Jogging quickly on one of them, black hair sweat soaked with a few mussed strands sticking to his forehead, Eric is dressed in a chest-hugging blue shirt with the logo of the New York Police Department on the front of it, and a black pair of shorts. A white towel is carefully draped over one of the arms of the treadmill, though as Eric hits the stop button on the treadmill, it is picked up and used to wipe down his forehead. Panting and breathing hard, Eric steps off of the machine and takes a few steps away to let the next gym occupant step right up and get back to their running. He adjusts one of the earbuds in his ear and tosses the towel over one shoulder, glancing around the room as if considering where exactly he should go next. A Saturday afternoon is a good time to work out, Doug has found. For everyone. He's one of two waiting for a leg press, a towel thrown around his shoulders. In a yellow tank top and blue rugby shorts, he doesn't look that different from the fellow in front of him, other than /that/ guy is a mass of muscle, and Doug's frame is a leaner soccer build. The blonde listens patiently to the man's patter, liberally peppered with 'dudes' and 'bros', an ever-growing bored expression on his face. He looks like he's trying not to yawn in the meathead's face. As it is, he looks relieved when one of the machines opens up and his conversational partner moves to claim it. He exhales heavily, even. Eric frowns for a moment then steps over towards the machines. He glances around the busy clusters of people and at the /lines/, and purses his lips to one side. "Mm." he mutters under his breath, standing partially to one side of the aisle. His frown turns into a scowl and then he shrugs, once. "Freeweights it is," he murmurs to himself, taking a step over towards the racks of weights. He lets his hands drift in the air above the dumbbells, finally picking up two of the 25lbs dumbbells and finding a free space on the mats. Doug waits a moment more, watching as his former line-partner starts his reps with a noise like he's giving birth. Doug's jaw drops, and he moves away, shaking his head at the nearly-obscene noises coming from the weight machines in spite of the signs asking such expression be kept to a minimum. He looks around, gauging the crowd, and also opts for the freeweights, moving to claim a couple of twenty-pound dumbbells for himself and heading onto the mats. Finding a spot near a guy in an NYPD shirt, he offers a shy smile and a nod as he sets the dumbbells down to take the towel from his neck. "Busy today," he notes amiably. Eric is in the middle of a rep of squats, but he gamely raises a shoulder to knock an earbud out of one ear as he continues to work. "Eh?" he says, with a wide smile as his eyes flicker up and down Doug in an appraising manner. "What was that? Sorry, I have the music turned up." he says with a bright flash of teeth. T-shirt aside, he certainly doesn't sound like a New Yorker, nevertheless a member of New York's Finest. He sounds like he's from significantly further south - down in the Deep South. Georgia. "I said it's busy today," Doug repeats himself with a small grin. "I don't usually come in on Saturdays. I didn't think it got this busy." He squats to grab the dumbbells, and stands up slowly, beginning a set of curls. One arm rises and falls slowly as the other moves in counterpoint rhythm. The older man's workout gets observed as Doug continues his own. "I wish I'd remembered my iPod," he says, breathing out slowly as his biceps strain with the weight. "But I didn't want to go all the way home for it. What are you listening to?" "Busy indeed. I don't usually come here on Saturdays. Hell, I don't usually come here at all!" Eric says, with a grin. "But I was in the area last night and this mornin', so a friend let me use his membership." Eric says. He sets the weights down for a moment, stretching out his arms and his legs. "Not a bad place. A little crowded for my tastes, but." he shrugs again. "I'm listenin' to Daft Punk. Good workout music." "It's not usually this crowded in the mornings, and late in the evenings. But I'm hardly here any time other than those, because of classes and homework." Doug lifts a shoulder, and squats to set the weights down, rolling his shoulders as he straightens. "I won't be coming /back/ at this time of day any time soon. There's much less of a meathead quotient at my preferred times." He offers a wide grin, his eyebrows lifting at the I.D. of the music. "Oh, /damn/. I love Daft Punk!" He motions at the iPod. "Which album? I like Discovery, but their first one, Homework, has 'Da Funk' on it, and I love that song." Eric smiles and gives a pointed glance to the grunting man over on the weights. "Yeah, I know what you mean. You're not even going to get a good workout straining like that." he says, tutting. He tucks the earphone into the edge of his shirt before picking the bells back up and starting another set. This time, however, instead of straightening in a normal squat, his legs propel him several inches into the air with each rise, landing nimbly back onto his feet in a jumping squat. "Alive 2007 - their live album. It's mostly Discovery tracks, recut." he says, over the sound of his footfalls. "Oh, man," Doug says, beginning a new set of curls. "I watched that concert online. It was /sick/. The album is great, but I'd give my eye teeth to see them live." He grins a grimacey sort of smile, and makes a small strained noise as he pumps his arms. He glances over to the meathead, and wrinkles his nose. "A person shouldn't make noises like that in public," he says. "Isn't there some sort of decency law that prohibits porn sounds in public?" "I wish. If he were outside, maybe... but not in a gym. Still. They coul' be nice and throw him out for us." Eric says, grinning. "Or I suppose I could. But it'd be a mess, and I have a workout to finish." For the moment anyway, his voice doesn't even seem to be straining, and his breathing is quite normal as he jumps into the air. Doug grins at the idea, and ends his rep, squatting to set the weights down gently. "There's really a law like that?" he seems amused by this as he fetches up his towel to mop at his face. He grins up (and up and up) at the older man, and tilts his head. "I suppose there'd be a lot of paperwork to fill out, if you were to be the hero," he says thoughtfully, narrowing one eye at the light bouncing. "And it /would/ be a shame to interrupt such important work." The grin now is shy, and there's a mischevious look in his blue gaze as he stands back up. "I'm Doug," he offers, interlacing his fingers and extending his arms over his head in a stretch that comes with a popping sound along his spine. "There's laws about almost everythin', I've found. One only needs the circumstances to apply it. Besides, I don't like gettin' in fights except at night, or for work." Eric says, and his smile has no shyness to it. "Eric. It's a pleasure to meet you, Doug." he says, eyes bright. "Yeah," Doug says with a playful wrinkle of his nose. "Daytime fights /are/ kind of trashy." His grin slips a bit wider, and he nods at the introduction. "The feeling is mutual," he says as he squats to claim the weights again, this time moving into a set of lunges that bulge his soccer-player thighs slightly. This seems less of a strain than arm curls, and he quickly finds his rhythm. "So, if this isn't your neighborhood, what is?" he asks, exhaling with a lunge forward that carries him closer to the older man. "Is this your beat, or something? Do cops even still /have/ beats?" "Oh, I live... well, a couple different places." Eric says, with a bright smile. "Nah. I work out of the midtown south precinct, though I'm on loan to the Central Park Precinct right now about half-time. They're short-shifted, and we're covering as best we can. And... yeah, we do." He shrugs his shoulders, putting the weights back down and squatting down for a moment to relax his legs. "Walk and talk patrols, they call it." "A couple of places." Doug seems mildly amused by this answer, and he shakes his head as he lunges forward. "That's convenient. I could use a place closer to campus, myself, but I like where I live. So, two places would really be helpful." He pauses, coming to a full stand before setting the weights back down and bending one leg back behind him, pulling at his toe. "Huh. I guess I've seen cops in the park and stuff, but I guess I never associated that with a /beat/." He grins. "I guess I always picture one of those fat cartoon cops, twirling his baton and talking in an Irish accent. Not sounding like a Southern gentleman and...." he breaks off, color creeping into his neck and ears. "Not fat." "Or on a bike, as the case may be. I got transferred to the bike patrol a few weeks ago. Hence all the leg exercises," Eric says, eyes dancing. "Oh, yeah? Well, there are lots of fat cops, and lots of Irish cops, but I ain't neither." He stretches upwards and back, deliberately letting his shirt ride up to reveal a slice of tan, taught muscled skin. He winks, playfully, at Doug. "I was a sheriff's deputy back in Georgia a'fore I moved up here, so you're not far off." That flash of skin deepens the color in Doug's neck and ears, and he attempts to cover it by mopping at his face. It's a long moment before he speaks, lowering the towel enough to reveal his eyes and nose. "Georgia, huh?" There's a crack in his voice that brings a grimaced squint to his eyes. "We lived there for a couple of months when I was a kid. In Athens. But I was too young to remember anything about it." He lowers the towel, revealing his color has returned mostly to normal. "How long have you lived in the city?" Eric's eyes twinkle as the other man's cheeks burn red, and he nods. "Athens. Yeah, I know where that is. I was in Moultrie. Born, raised, worked. The whole nine yards and all that." he says, with a little half-shrug of his shoulders. "Oh, I've been here a couple years, now. Moved to the city, hung around a few months before I joined up with the force again. How about you?" Doug smiles politely. "I don't know that town," he confesses. "But I think that's cool. People from the South are awesome." He grins, and flips the towel over his shoulder. "Two of my neighbors are Southerners, and they're the nicest people I've met." He stretches, twisting his torso lightly. "I just moved to the city at the beginning of the year. I stared Columbia this semester." He grins. "But I've lived in upstate New York state for about seven, almost eight years." His smile turns a bit self-conscious, and he lifts a shoulder. "Between you and me, I prefer the city, though. Less boring." Eric laughs. "If you think upstate New York was boring, you definitely wouldn't have liked Moultrie. It was... a city. Barely." he says, grinning. "I covered the entire county, and I think I knew about half the people there on a first name basis." he says, voice teasing, eyes dropping from the other man's face to shamelessly watch Doug stretch. Then he leans down and picks the weights back up again to resume his third set. The tiredness starts to leave notes in his voice as he speaks. "There are certainly advantages to livin' in New York City, I've found." "Ugh," Doug says with a laugh, bending to catch up the weights and begin his own set of squats without the jumping. "That sounds like Salem Center. If you're a townie, you pretty much know everyone there is to know." He grins, pushing himself upwards. "The city has more to offer,' he agrees, offering a lopsided grin. "It's awesome to get most any kind of food delivered any time of day. And there's all kinds of stuff to do, and people to meet." He nods at Eric, tilting his head to one side in a jerk. "Like I said, it's not boring." He does a few more squats, then, in silence. When he stands again, he pauses, and purses his lips before he speaks slowly. "What advantages have /you/ found?" Eric's eyes flick over Doug once more and his smile widens, wickedly. "The /people/, I've found, make the most interesting part of the city. Down in Moutr- ah, fuck." he says, stumbling slightly as he lands, hard. He catches himself before he falls, but he lets out a hiss and lowers the weights back down the ground. "Ouch." he says, rubbing his ankle slightly. "People are a lot different down south, is what I mean." he says, straightening back up and experimentally twisting his ankle in the air. Doug blushes at the once-over, ducking his head and grinning shyly. "Well, yeah. There's all kinds of folks. That's what keeps it interesting." His eyes widen at the sudden expletive, and he ignores the signs and drops his weights on the mat, stepping forward. "Shit, dude, are you okay?" His knees bend, as if he's about to squat in front of the bigger man to check. "That landing looked pretty bad." Then he /is/ dropping to his knees on the mat. "Let me see." Eric twists his ankle back and forth and lifts it. "It's fine. I didn't twist it, and it's not sprained. Some ice, maybe, but it'll be fine." he says, giving the other man a smile. "Don't worry about it." he waves it off. "But I think I'll switch to arms. Or, maybe, just take a break. I can catch up tomorrow. Today was supposed to be a cardio day anyway." he says, shrugging his shoulders, and bending down to pick up his towel to brush off his forehead. Doug frowns. "Man, I wouldn't take any chances," he cautions. "A mild sprain doesn't seem like much, till the next day when you can't walk on it." He lifts a hand in the air as if weighing something. "I've been playing soccer for four years. You'd be surprised at the ankle injuries that don't seem like much, but are." He frowns around the room before he stands and retrieves his weights. "You shouldn't walk on it very much, in any event. Before you ice it, I mean." He lifts a shoulder. "I hope your friend lives close by." He looks like he might have more to add to that, but he flushes, and shakes his head. "For your sake." "I don't think he's much interested in seeing me again." Eric says, eyes teasing. "I think the offer of letting me use his gym membership was a very convenient way of getting me out of his apartment so he can go about the business of forgetting the previous night ever happened." the police officer drawls, playfully, as he picks his own weights off of the ground and steps, carefully, over to the weight rack to deposit his weights on it once more. After doing so, he reaches down to his waist to pause the music and remove the earbud that has been in his other ear. "I'll take the subway home. Not a long trip." Doug closes his mouth with an audible click for the information, and it visibly rolls through his eyes as he parses it. "Oh," he says, and then reddens. "Oh! Well, um. You don't look like someone that's easy to forget," he offers gamely. "Um." He looks around the gym, and wrinkles his nose. "You don't have to take the subway," he says. "I just live in the East Village, and I've got ice packs and some wraps that I can give you." He chews his lip. "I mean, it's the least I can do, right? For one of New York's finest?" "To protect and serve." Eric says, eyes sparkling. "I think I'd like that. I'm sure I could return whatever you leant me." he says, with a smile. "I can borrow a black and white and drop it off tomorrow. If you're right, I'm going to get sent to desk duty for a few days while I recover." He winces. "My sergeant is going to /ream/ me." His lips curl up into a smirk and he winks at Doug. "Verbally, I mean." Doug grins, and his blush for the suggestive remark isn't as deep as previous flushes. "No rush," he says with a shift of weights that might be intended as a wave. "I mean, I have this stuff for exactly this sort of thing. Soccer is hard on your legs." He moves to put the weights back, even returning to get Eric's and put them on the rack before he's returning. "Did you bring a bag?" he asks with a grin, eyes sparking with some sort of mischievousness. "Or did you meet your friend dressed like that?" Eric smirks. "No, I have a bag at the front desk. Though, I have to say, I'm not sure which is more revealing, gym clothes or club clothes." he muses, as he steps along towards the aisle and towards the exit. His pace is slow with a small limp, but even by the time they have reached the end of the aisle, his limp has become more pronounced, almost to the point of looking forced. "How far's your place?" he asks, curiously. Doug nods, and...disappears. He takes off, disappearing into the locker rooms and emerging a minute later with his own bag. He catches up to Eric as they get near the counter, and moves to offer his shoulder to lean on. "Not far," he says. "It's the Village Lofts. About a block away." He takes Eric's bag when the counter attendant produces it, and grins apologetically up at the older man. "If you lean on me, we can be there in about ten minutes. And that way, you can take the weight off your ankle completely." He lifts his eyebrows. "I promise the elevator works." Eric smiles at the other man, then freezes, suddenly, mid-step. "Wait. The Village Lofts?" he asks, slowly, eyes scanning the other man's face. "Uh... the southern guy you mentioned. Tattoos, piercings? Has a couple kids?" he says, lips pursing. "Mmmm..." he hums, considering, as he glances down to the side. "Well." He shakes his head. "Lead the way." he drawls. "Yeah!" Doug says, frowning a bit at the sudden stop. "That's Jackson. He's pretty cool. He brings me cookies and stuff." He shrugs, and puts his shoulder under Eric's arm, wrapping his own around the man's back. "How do you -- oh, right. The investigation." He grins, and pushes the door open. "But we live on different floors. You won't have to get all official with him or anything." Then he's leading the older man out, and down the street.