ArchivedLogs:Territorial

Territorial
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Toru, Trib	2013-12-27 '
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. It's getting late; the post-work rush on the gym has faded into a quieter nighttime crowd. Lucien has been here for some time, already working up a considerable sweat on the treadmills. He's just getting off of one now, dressed just sort of unobtrusively dark. Black lightweight running shoes, black shorts, black underarmor tank. His face is flushed, his shirt largely sticking to him, and he's mopping at his brow with a towel as he makes his way -- sort of /meandering/ back through the large gym off towards the showers. Not in any particular hurry, really; he stops by the rowing machines to exchange quiet words, quiet smiles, with a young man there, and then continues his meandering onward. The holiday is over, and Trib has had enough of staying in and being anti-social. So tonight he's declared it a workout night, and has even violated his self-imposed exile from Sweat to drag Toru out for a workout. (A Herculean effort, possibly, given the teenager's natural tendency to be sedentary.) As he emerges from the locker room, he's swapped his street clothes for a pair of loose grey sweat shorts and a blue tank-top that stretches across the expanse of his chest. On his feet, he wears a pair of tightly-laced boxing boots that slide on the floor as he shuffles his feet in an impatient dance. "C'mon, pup," he growls over his shoulder, reaching up to press his chin against the athletic tape wound around his half-hand and finish securing it. "I wanna lift some weights before hittin' the bag." The boxer's eyebrows lift when he spies Lucien approaching, and his lip curls at one corner when the man gets closer. "Lucien," he grunts amiably, dropping his hand to hold it out in greeting. "How you been?" Despite that generally sedentary nature of his, Toru was actually-- pretty easily convinced to join Trib to the gym, today. He even volunteered for gym bag duty on the way over. Being /nice/. But given that the gym isn't really his /thing/, he doesn't have much in the way of gym attire; a look through his clothes eventually came up with a pair of blue sweatpants, which he's paired with a black tanktop and his usual teal Chuck Taylors. Exiting the locker room, he runs a hand over his hair, mussing it up as he grumbles a good natured, "Yeah, yeah," in response to the growl. "I might not be so great at the spottin' thing.." When Trib addresses Lucien, the teen's ears perk up, head tilted to one side as he looks to see just who's being spoken to. There's no flash of recognition when Toru sees the other man, and if he does remember him, it certainly isn't evident in his demeanor. Nonetheless he does raise an eyebrow as he looks to Trib and asks, incredulously, "You makin' /friends/?" Lucien pauses in his forehead-dabbing, draping his towel around his shoulders. He has a water bottle in his shaking-hand, and transfers it to his left hand as he's addressed. There's a moment of slightly wider eyes, slightly furrowed brow, before recognition clicks in abruptly and a quick warm smile displaces the startled look from his face. "Trib. Goodness. /Alive/. These days I feel that is accomplishment enough." He steps forward to take the offered hand, his handshake coming as it typically does with both a quiet /assessment/ of the other man's mood and physical state, and a subtle-soft wash of warm comforting /happy/. Perhaps a very /tiny/ trickle of pleasure mixed in. "And you? I mean, clearly the same, but -- past that?" His brilliant green eyes shift sideways towards Toru, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. "Is that surprising?" Behind his firm grip, Trib's mood is decidedly /good/, for all that it doesn't actually register on his face beyond that slight curl in his lip. There's a deep thrum of guilt