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|sorrow when Lucien notes his not-dead state, but it fades under that wash of happy. "Gettin' along," he rumbles in answer to the question, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And alive's good. Shows you're stayin' alert." He releases the handshake, and reaches out to swat idly at Toru. "Behave," comes without any sort of heat behind it. "You know I'm a charmin' fuckin' bastard." As soon as Lucien asks that question, Toru looks a bit /uncomfortable/ over having made his remark in the first place. "Naw he just's kinda." Scratching the back of his neck, he looks to Lucien and then tilts his head up to look at Trib. There's just about a foot of height difference between the two of them, it's kind of ridiculous. "...Inside joke," is what he finally settles on. He side-steps Trib's swat with a little half-smirk, but does look appropriately remorseful when chastised. "I'm always bein' hayve, when ain't I hayve?" "New York does have a way of keeping you on your toes." There's a wry note to Lucien's tone at this. He pops up the sport-top lid of his water bottle, sucking down a quick gulp and pushing the top back closed with his chin. "I regret to say that I lost your contact information somewhere -- in the swarms of zombies," Lucien says with that continued wryness but no genuine regret in his voice. He offers his hand to Toru, next. "Friend of Trib's? I'm Lucien. We -- threw some punches, before." Trib snorts a laugh, whether for Toru's protest or Lucien's comment is unclear. But he does take another useless swipe at Toru before abandoning it and leaning against the frame of the doorway. "Always finds a way to surprise you," he says to Lucien, nodding sagely. "I'd be fuckin' satisfied with a little borin', once in a while." He wrinkles his nose at the confession, and he rolls his shoulder. "Hope that was all you lost," he says, and there's an earnestness that lingers on the edge of his voice. "Lucky we ran into each other, so you could get it back." His smile widens, and he shifts his attention to Toru when Lucien addresses him. "He's more'n a friend," he grunts, gaze shifting back to Lucien studiously. Then, to Toru. "Lucien's a good fuckin' workout. He's got some fuckin' chops." "Good workout. Right." Apparently Toru isn't satisfied with Trib's answer, because he's quick enough to clarify, "More like /boyfriend/ of Trib's," as he shakes Lucien's offered hand, gripping perhaps a smidge more firmly than is necessary. There is /absolutely/ a hint of possessiveness to his tone when he says it, too; and accompanying, toothy smile. "Toru," he adds after a moment, as if as an afterthought. "I ain't in the habit of rememberin' everybody I've beat up so. Bygones, yeah? On accounta how we have a mutual /friend/ and all." "My sparring partners are rarely disappointed," Lucien says with a quiet hint of amusement. It's amusement that only grows in the faint upward curl of his lips at Toru's manner. His handshake comes with that same quiet assessment, though in Toru's case rather than the wash of happiness he only gets a quiet flicker of unease. "Goodness, I most certainly did not mean /you/. It was your boyfriend I traded --" He pauses here long enough to take another quick drink of water. "-- blows with. I do not tend to /fight/ -- ah." His green eyes sweep quickly over Toru, and he gives his head a small shake. "I am sure your sparring skills are more than adequate as well. -- Trib," His tone warms slightly here, weight shifting back to settle more heavily on his heels. "I did actally reach out to some of my contacts, though -- admittedly I would have to see if they are still, well." His lips press together /thinly/. "Alive. Ah -- that is, if you have not made your own strides in the interrim. It /has/ been a few months." Trib's eyes narrow at the shift in Toru's demeanor, and his smile uncurls slowly as he shifts his gaze between the other two men. "Think you'd remember tusslin' with Lucien," he rumbles finally, the words sounding as if they're being dragged through a rock quarry. He shifts his weight, moving off the door frame to loom closer to Toru and subtly place himself as a meaty wall, albeit one that barely offers any blockade. When Lucien speaks to him, his eyebrows lift, and he straightens. "No shit?" he says, his voice actually rising in unexpected excitement. "I really fuckin' appreciate that." He shakes his head. "I had a card last month for a sign-on amateur bout, but then the world went to fuckin' hell, an' it didn't pan out." He wrinkles his nose. "Promoter got ate, so I don't think it's goin' to happen." That flicker of unease works as a potent fertilizer for a suddenly-growing sense of /suspicion/ on Toru's part, the teen's grip tightening a little more on Lucien's hand before he abruptly releases it, pulling his hand back and holding that arm stiffly at his side. "Well, I don't," he finally answers Trib, though he's still boring his eyes into Lucien's as he speaks with a forced civil tone. As if suddenly realizing something, he suddenly gives a brisk shake of his head, blinking his eyes a few times and taking a step back against Trib, tiny Toru hand seeking out the boxer's larger one, to grip it in search of some sort of reassurance. "--So hey, uh, if you guys wanna talk shop I can find like-- a rowin' machine or somethin', yeah? Do some ... mad reps." "Eaten. That is a thing I never dreamed I would hear nearly so often as I have in recent days." Lucien's thinned-out expression fades back into neutral, and he nods in confirmation to Trib. "Yes, indeed. I shall reach back out to them and get back to you. Hopefully with no catastrophic interruptions, this time." The smile he offers Toru is warm, easy. "Oh, goodness, I wouldn't dream of interrupting your time. I'm in more of a pleasure than business mood at the moment anyway. But --" He slips his phone out of his shorts pocket, swiping it unlocked. "If you'd care to give me your number again I'd be more than happy to hook up with you soon. And talk shop." "It seems to be goin' around," Trib grunts, wrinkling his nose. "I really do fuckin' appreciate you doin' that," he asserts, jerking his chin towards his chest. "I fuckin' owe you. Big." His meaty hand closes around Toru's easily when it's sought out, tape pressing into the soft skin of the teenager's palm. The shake of his head at the offer is so slight as to be imperceptible, and underscored by Lucien's own demurral. "Gym's kind of my office, but I ain't in the mood for business, neither." He holds out his hand for the phone. "Will give you my number again, though. Maybe we can talk while we spar." There's a hitch at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes crinkle. "I can see if you remember anything I taught you, last time." Toru raises an eyebrow at Lucien's mention of interruptions, managing an almost noncommittal shrug. "It ain't like we don't spend plenty of time together already anyway," he notes, choosing words carefully. "I just came along to carry his purse anyway." Nodding to Trib, as if that wasn't already clear. The hand gripping Trib's tightens itself just a bit before relaxing again, the teen running his thumb along the back of the boxer's hand before letting it go. "'Sides, it sounds like you two're better suited for each other anyways. I ain't even been in a gym before, if you're gonna be doin' pair stuff you probably want someone knows what they're doin'." Lucien sets the phone in Trib's hand with a brief light brush of fingertips, another subtle shiver of happy-warmth fluttering out from his touch. "Thank you. And, oh, goodness, I would say do not worry about it but. The world as it is --" His lips curl upward at one corner. "You never know really, when calling in a favour might come in handy. In the meantime, though, I'll just look forward to seeing you in the ring some time." His hand curls loosely around the end of his towel, and he tips his head in acknowledgment to Toru. "Thank you," he says, rather /gravely/, a note of solemnity settling into his expression. "Your boyfriend will be in good hands, I assure you." "Hey, the way the world's goin', everybody's goin' to be fuckin' needin' favors," Trib rumbles, his eyes crinkling at the brush of fingertips. His own two fingers close around the phone, and he turns it to begin punching in his information. It takes him a few minutes, and comes with much cursing. "'Swhy I brought you here," he rumbles at Toru. "You need to start gettin' some exercise, 'fore you turn into a complete meatbag." He smiles, then, a flash of teeth that's gone as quickly as it comes, and bumps the teenager with his hip. "I'll get you a front row seat," he promises Lucien. "An' if it pans out good, you'll have that fuckin' seat as long as I'm boxin'." His grin this time lingers, wide and easy as he hands the phone back. "An' that's a fuckin' promise." His gaze shifts back to Toru at Lucien's assurance, but he doesn't add on, opting instead to look out over the gym, the point of his tongue bulging his cheek from the inside. "You're a meatbag," Toru grumbles, though good-naturedly, and turns to give Trib a little shove. "Go ahead and play with your friend, seein' as how I ain't heard of him before now I'm guessin' you don't spend a lotta time together, yeah?" There's a catlike smile there as he gestures out towards the rest of the gym. "I'll find somethin' I can figure out how to use, you can just find me when you're done." Arms get lifted to fold behind his head, but before he strolls off he asides to Lucien, "You can go ahead and warm him up for me, that seems fair enough." "I look forward to it." Lucien's smile is warm, here, though it fades into a more neutrally appraising look as Toru speaks. "This is only the second time we've met," he replies mildly. "Though I hope for his sake you are not this insecure with all of his friends. In times like ours, people need all the friendships they can cultivate and besides --" His eyes flick briefly over Toru, but only for a quick dismissive moment before slipping away towards the heavy bags. "-- I have yet to meet anyone who wears jealousy attractively." He takes the phone back, head inclining in thanks as he slips it away. His hand tips up towards the bags, smile small now, polite. "Shall we?"