PHD #459: Running in Place
Running in Place
Summary: In which the CAG and the Marine private take to the treadmills.
Date: 31 May 2042 AE
Related Logs: None in particular
Cidra North 
Athletics Area - Deck 12 - Battlestar Cerberus
A large pair of mats dominates the center of this room, their centers taped-out for a small area to practice boxing or other martial arts. Around the outside are treadmills, bikes, weights, and an impressive variety of gym equipment to help tone and shape the bodies of the crew. To one side of the room is the locker room while at the rear is a hatch that leads back to the oversized swimming pool. Off to the side is a rack that holds boxing gloves, pugil sticks, and the associated pads for the sticks.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear
Post-Holocaust Day: #459

Fresh off light duty from a truly epic domino of injury and rehab over the last year, young Pvt. North is pounding away at a treadmill, her running shoes beating a rhythmic pattern as she takes her return to full duty to heart. From the look of the amount of sweat leached into her sweats, she's been at this for miles. Her long hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, and straight bangs stick to a sheen of sweat across her forehead. A towel and an empty water bottle rest on the floor next to her machine.

Cidra makes her way into the Athletics Area, clad in sweats, hair pulled back in a tighter ponytail that speaks of exercise business to be done. She glances toward the area devoted to free weights but, after a moment's thought, it's the treadmills toward which she directs her course. She picks out a machine that neighbor's North, as it happens. The younger woman earns a quick nod of recognition from her as she gets herself up on the thing.

North's breathing is fairly steady, but she's a bit winded when she glances over to note Cidra. She greets with a simple, "Sir." The shorter woman notes briefly the head pilot's tight tail, and reaches up to fix her own, which is sliding loose. She looks forward, so she can adjust without doing something silly like running into the arm of the treadmill because she's looking that-a-way. "Hills are nice this time of year." The incline on her treadmill rises to a 30 percent grade thanks to an auto program, and it's clearly taking its toll on her breathing. She struggles with her long locks, but ultimately gets her hair higher on her head, and triples the band over to hold it tight.

"What hills are you running on?" The question is asked a little dryly, though Cidra does not appear to be joking. She starts her treadmill off at a far more leisurely jog than the one North is pounding away at. Maybe she's warming up. "I always picture woodlands, myself. Perhaps that is but a sign of weakness, however. The high country is hard on the knees."

The private grunts softly and glances down at her empty water. She hmms and says, "There's a trail on Tauron that has a lot of really beautiful vistas," her breathing evens out after she becomes accustomed to the incline, and then it slowly drops off to give her heart a chance to slow slightly. She reaches up to wipe her brow with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She's a little flushed, likely baking in that cotton weave. "I would prefer something with a cool ocean breeze. Forests are nice, but I find branches with my face when I run in them." She reaches over to manually slow her own treadmill a little. "There are other ways to tear up your knees, no need to—" She stops dead in the middle of her sentence, when her brain catches up to her mouth. She looks askance at the CAG. "… What I mean is low impact workouts are better. Good to have your knees when you need 'em. Like in war and when you have to do stairs." Her accent is a bit muddled, so it's hard to place her Colony or origin.

"I never spent much time on the sea shore," Cidra says, upping her speed some after a quick gulp from her water bottle. "The lake country of Picon has some lovely trails. Used to run them often when I was stationed on-planet. The branches do not get you if you stick to the paths." Her own accent is clearly Gemenese, albeit with the edges filed off from a decade and change off-colony. The comment about knees just earns a soft snort, and her faint smile ticks up a notch. Is she amused? Perhaps. "Never got to see much of Tauron before the worlds fell, beyond a trip to Minos a lifetime or two ago."

"Is Picon nice? I was there for two days, but didn't get to see anything but the inside of some buildings and the space port." North smiles and hops to plant her feet on the treadmill's rails, so she can reach down to retrieve her towel. "I'm not the path following kind." She swipes up her towel and presses it to her face. The belt of her treadmill continues to whoosh by. "… I mean, unless there's orders." She hops back onto the belt and gives herself a breather with a much slower jog. "Of all the places I've been, I think Tauron and Aquaria are my favorites. I mean, it does depend on the city, but the people are so different. Rough in different ways." There's a hint of longing in her voice, but that's to be expected. A lot of people long for the Colonies, and everything they once had to offer.

"Parts of it very much, once one gets outside the ports and military bases," Cidra says. "Though I did but more rarely than I would like. It was very…it seemed every sort of person from all the worlds had to pass through their eventually. I grew up upon Gemenon, where I did not see someone from the Outside until I went to university. I suspect I did appreciate the novelty." A soft "Ah," and still with that hint of subtle amusement, at North's path comment. She keeps jogging, pace steady and straight. Not many turns in whatever road she's on. "Were you born upon Tauron?"

The cycle on the treadmill finally ends, and the speed slowly adjusts itself down to allow for cool down. North breathes a heavy sound of relief when it slows to a fast walk. She takes hold of the arms of the treadmill, as her legs finally decide this treatment isn't quite kosher after weeks of light training and duty. "I was born in the Southern region of Sag, but I traveled a lot with my Pop. I fell in love with Tauron when I was twelve. It made a mark on my soul." She glances over, her breathless words a little more more shy. She pauses before she asks, "You know how some places do that?" She reaches up to rub her right shoulder just briefly, small hands pressing hard. She wipes her face again with the towel, mussing her sweat sticky bangs. Her hair sticks up at odd angles. "I haven't known a lot of people from Gemenon."

"Most born on Gemenon do not leave it," Cidra says. Her tone is somewhat guarded when she speaks of her homeworld. And she leaves it at that. "Saggitaron? Ah." A nod, and then another quick drink from her water bottle. "I have known few officers from Sagittaron, but those I did know were of good quality. I do envy your travels. When I was a girl I wanted very much to see the stars. And…well, so I did."

"That's why I joined the CMC. I got to see a lot of crappy motels and apartments, and only sometimes made it out of the major cities to really see the Colonies I visited…" North watches Cidra for a moment, as her own treadmill slows to a stop. She clearly considers asking more of Gemenon, but after a moment, she just keeps talking. If Cidra were enlisted, perhaps closer to her age, she might ask. "Yes. I didn't see enough of the colony to really feel part of it. Sag, I mean." She ruffles a hand through her hair, then combs her fingers down through it to smooth her wild do. "I think I envy your roots. Maybe I'll find mine here." She smiles. Maybe because there's not a lot of chance of jumping ship. "I feel permanently rooted to Sick Bay as it is. It's good to be out." Her travels have gone from world hopping to room hopping. "I bet the view from the pilot's seat is pretty breathtaking. Of the stars, I mean."

"Roots sometimes just hold one down," Cidra says in that oblique way, still running. "I always envied birds. They could just fly away. And I must say, it is very freeing. Just the feeling you and the cockpit and a good engine can take you anywhere you wish to go." A pause. "We fly on orders, of course. Not wishes. Still, no place I ever felt more right. You are a Marine. Ah." She doesn't sound particularly surprised. "You look to be coming along well enough. When were you injured?" From the way she says it, there are enough opportunities that she can't immediately guess.

North grimaces very faintly at the question about her injury. She clears her throat softly and replies, "Parnassus Anchorge." In case the CAG's memory for dates doesn't kick in right away, she adds, "Last year." Over a year ago, in fact. There's no inflection to her words to indicate the difficulty of the recovery. "It took a tick to bounce back." She's been on desk duty in the Sec Hub off and on for the last few months, but it's unlikely a pilot would be aware of the minutae of a private's life, unless Cidra is a frequent visitor to the MaA or S2's office for any reason. "Private Bridge North," she finally supplies, by way of an official introduction. It's not every day a private gets to have a conversation with the CAG. There's a name to go with the face.

"Lieutenant Colonel Cidra Hahn," the woman answers in kind. Whether the private knew her name before or no, it seems the polite thing to attach it formally to herself. "Last year? My gods." She slows some, gaze directing at North with more attention now. "A tick indeed. Very glad you are back on your feet properly. Gods knows we need all hands. I remember Parnassus, far better than I would like. It was a strange place, many secrets there, and I shall admit I grow more glad it was destroyed the farther we get from it."

North dips her head slightly at the introduction and well wish, "Thank you, sir. It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance official-like." The smile she flashes is wide. "I guess you could say my training stuck. In the CMC, they teach us you don't do things halfway. No skimping. My DI was very clear on that point." She thinks for a moment before she says, "I don't recall much of it, the Anchorage, but they say that's normal. I gather it's a blessing, too. Plenty of people about to remember for me, and I am glad my shoulders are clear of that burden."

"A blessing? Well, perhaps it is at that." Perhaps like Gemenon for the private, it's a subject Cidra seems about to press on, but decides not to. "The Anchorage is long behind us, thank all gods. Best to look ahead." More water gulped, though her pace is slowing on the treadmill now. She will, likely as not, not be at this for miles herself. "You are still with us, thank all gods, and that is what matters now. Perhaps the only thing left that matters overmuch."

"I'd rather be alive, even after everything." North's reply is vague, but there's so much it could encompass. The massacre, her injury, the Colonies and day 0, recovery. She smiles again, and this time when she looks up, it crinkles the corners of her eyes. She bends to sweep up her empty water bottle. "Thank you for saying so, sir." She pauses, considers a few words, then mms. "I should hit the showers. Thank you for the company and…" The kindness. "Moteshakkeram." Thanks again, but just in a different language. Interacting socially with a LtCOL can be tricky for a twenty year old. She hovers where she is for a moment, as if half waiting for permission to go, though they're off duty.

"~Valeo~, Private," Cidra replies in kind. Well, the language definitely isn't Standard. Gemenese, if one knows about such things. "And…" With a touch of humor, "…dismissed." An inclination of her head to North and she powers the treadmill down. Though she lingers on it a moment to down more water, and mop her sweaty face with the towel casually looped around her shoulders.

North smiles a little wider, then bites her lip briefly as if embarrassed she stood there waiting for a dismissal. Still, she's grateful when it comes—that's clear from her posture. Her hand comes up and she does a little finger-wave to the CAG. "Sir." She's not so green as to salute here. "Enjoy the rest of your workout!" The marine beats feet to the hatch, and a Head somewhere beyond.

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