PHD #216: Running Tartan
Running Tartan
Summary: Cora and Lysander meet again and this time under less navigationally-challenged circumstances.
Date: 30 Sep 2041 AE
Related Logs: Deer Season, Lost in Transition
Cora Lysander 
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.
Post-Holocaust Day: #216

Mid-afternoon, not that it makes much difference on a battlestar except in terms of duty rotations. Cora is off-duty at the moment, clearly, as are all those in the athletics area right now, one would hope. In military-issue tank, shorts, and sneakers, she jogs on a treadmill, dog tags bouncing just beneath the neck of her top. Unlike most she's without a music player, eyes focused straight ahead into the nebulous middle distance as she runs. Her form says running is something she does often, and well; the way it has begun to hitch slightly says she's been doing this for quite a while already.

True to his word, Sergeant Lysander appears with his 'I <3 Aerilon' t-shirt which has since replaced some of his regular clothing. The light blue fabric is only marred by the beginnings of sweat clinging to it. He's been training, actively, since his return from Ewe Aerilon. Then again, rather than continue his physical training, the marine only steps into the middle of that nebulous distance that Cora focuses on and stands there. With facing her and the treadmills, he brings up both forefingers of his hands to point at the stenciled, block-printed words and heart plastered over his shirt and offers a small grin. It's better than just saying hello, in his opinion.

It takes a bit before Cora registers that something has moved into her line of sight. She is pretty intensely zoned-out from the looks of it, and judging by the delay between Lysander's appearance and the moment when she suddenly blinks, and again, and her eyes widen and then narrow as she refocuses. It takes another beat for what she is seeing to be processed, and then the captain laughs aloud. It's brief, and not overly loud, but a definite laugh, and she shakes her head a bit, lips curving with obvious amusement as she eyes the sergeant and his shirt. "I thought I requested tartan?" she calls over after a moment, giving the garment another look, "I suppose baby blue will have to do."

Lysander gets noticed and that smile of his brightens, briefly, before he's opening his mouth to speak up. Though, rather than produce words he merely mouths a hello and looks aside to the rest of the room in case someone has registered the laugh. The smile melts back down into what it had first been and he takes a handful of steps forward, placing his hands neatly behind his back. "I thought you did too," counters the man. He glances downwards and then lifts an eyebrow and his gaze, "It was the best I could do on such short notice. I hope you don't mind, Sir."

"Hmm," Cora replies, gaze narrowed severely as she gives the shirt another, more careful going-over. She continues to jog as she does it, but eventually her lips purse, the intentionally skeptical expression slightly softened by a flash of teasing in her gaze and a note of it in her tone as she finally replies, "I suppose it will have to do, sergeant. You did at least choose the most feminine shade of blue possible, so that's something."

Lysander starts to hear an incoming compliment and so his expression follows accordingly in that it brightens. It happens up until it's pointed out as being feminine and his jaw drops just slightly enough to leave his mouth partly agape. "Well," he clears his throat and reaches up with his right hand to stroke over his chest with rapping knuckles before stepping forward some more. It's so that he can join her in this jogging business. "Somehow, I'm going to take that as a compliment." He tilts his head to the side, in her direction, to look at either her or the treadmill's current settings. He matches her speed. "But, per your words, is that a good somethin', or?"

Cora glances sideways as Lysander takes up a treadmill next to her, and her lips twitch in another hint of a smile as he decides to take her comment as a compliment, and then requests further clarification. She eyes his settings, and punches her own back up a notch or two, smirking at him as she picks up the pace. After a minute or two she replies, "It's a very fetching shade on you," the words slightly rattled by the running, but the good-natured humor in them obvious enough.

Mister Lysander is content on the current setting and he retroactively notes the beeps of a treadmill being kicked up a notch. He glances over and then reaches forward in order to do the same. What Cora does, Garret in turn matches; he's competitive. With her response, he looks in her direction again and takes the time to smirk as well. The expression lingers. "Definite compliment then," is mentioned by him. "Nothin' of a fashion mogul, mind you, but I'll work on that tartan stuff. Nothing wrong with keeping folks admiring, I mean."

Cora is flushed, and while her tanktop is dark, up close it's sweaty in the spots one would expect, and her breathing is somewhat loud. Competitive, though, for sure, and she smirks again when the marine matches his pace to hers. "Blue tartan would be fine," she informs him, words slightly labored, her accent softened, "Ideal, even." As for admiring, she chuckles softly, airily. "Certainly not," she agrees after a moment.

Some matter of minutes into things, the only thing going for Lysander is his being an enlisted marine and liking the idea of being near to physically distraught. He simply pushes onward while listening to the paced, dull thuds of his shoes upon the tread beneath him. He's also paying attention to the conversation though. "Blue," he can do blue, as obvious as that is. After a breathless pause, he questions in turn, "Certainly not? Well, I was hoping for at least a little bit of an ego stroke on that front. Looks like I was completely routed. Frak."

Cora's brows lift slightly and then draw together as Lysander speaks again, but it's a moment or two before she manages a response. "I was agreeing that there's nothing wrong with keeping folks admiring," she tells him, as dryly as she can manage with a mouth itself dry from a long run. A hand lifts to swipe over her hair before falling back to swing in time at her side. "As for an ego stroke," she suggests, dry still, "Aim higher."

"Oh," Lysander gives a small start with that but doesn't further interject upon things. It's easier for him to listen and jog instead of any other multi-tasking combination. He quietly laughs too. He had misunderstood, and that leads him into commenting in reply, "I'll just do it more carefully next time. Look before I leap an' all that." There's a brief pause before he adds: "And, from one hunter to another, nice shot on the trip with Lunair. I don't think I had the chance to congratulate you on it."

Cora makes an indistinct noise in the back of her throat at that reply, and returns some paces later, "Observation is important, but I would be wary of being over-cautious as well." She runs, and though she is clearly nearing the end of her energy, she sneaks a sideways glance towards Lysander and then punches the treadmill's speed up another degree. "Thanks," she replies, words more disjointed as she nears a sprint to close her run, "You bagged a couple two, yes?"

"This is all so relative, you know, I trained for this, marksmanship," but it's not like Lysander sits around in a bush all day waiting to call a headshot on someone, or something. The corners of his eyes tighten briefly and then he counters her speed increase with two of his own. He's thus far beyond simply jogging. He breathes at an even pace though to match the exertion. "Two, just two, but yours was a much cleaner shot. So if you want the rum I won with the challenge," he pauses and the beat is used to breathe, "Well, frak, I'm not above sharing when it comes to quality versus quantity."

"Marksmanship?" Cora echoes, "Yeah?" Eloquence is lacking when she is near to running out of breath, it seems. When he re-raises her, she laughs, the sound brief and hoarse, and she knocks her speed one higher to match him, eyes closing for a moment as she runs. She doesn't respond right away to the offer of the rum, or the compliment on the quality of her shooting. She focuses instead on not giving in and hitting that big read STOP button on the treadmill, but finally manages: "Deal."

Lysander breathes out a 'yes', or a laugh, he's running along the treadmill just a touch too hard for the man to figure just which it was he was going for. "Yeah," is added in hindsight, and then he further speaks up with a short, "Should be all in my file - what's left of it." He looks over towards Cora and his famous half-smiling smirk returns before he focuses on the adrenaline high that is running in place. "You know," the strength of his voice rises, "We should do this more often. Havin' a blast of a time."

That smirk is taken in out the corner of her eye; turning her head might upset the careful balance and inertia that's keeping her going at the moment. As for having a blast, Cora laughs, the sound a quick bark, incredulous, amused. "Unfair," she protests, obviously out of breath now, "I was finishing up when you started."

"But it makes you laugh!" He laughs this time around though, so it's done in pure jest. Lysander keeps it up, his sprinting, but in the moments that pass and with a sidelong glance sent in Cora's direction once again he reaches forward and begins to dial things down on his end. He's not a jerk, that is; not completely, at least. The remnants of his smirk still linger though, too.

When Lysander lowers his speed, Cora waits only a moment before doing the same, turning the machine down more slowly than he does, to a cool-down job. Arms are lifting up into the air and then folded on top of her head as she tries (mostly in vain) to catch her breath. "I need to stop smoking," she mutters, nose wrinkling as the machine gives a report of her work-out, the distance run listed at just over 8 miles. From a jog she moves rapidly to a walk, arms still up over her head. "I have a shift on watch to get to," she informs Lysander, "But I'm going to hold you to that offer to share the rum."

Lysander lifts his brows for a lingering moment and then flattens his expression, offering a short and subtle nod of his head. His chin is ducked for a while as he finally begins to power walk his way out of running alongside her. "Sounds like a plan then," he exhales for a lengthened beat which does wonders to keep him from becoming so hoarse and out of breath. He wets his lips and brings his hands up to lock behind his neck. "Should I take the initiative of not bringin' cigarettes?"

"Good," Cora replies of the plan. She laughs lightly at the remark about cigarettes and shakes her head, "Not unless you want them. I've plenty." She continues walks, breathing gradually slowing to something closer to normal. She reaches forward to switch the machine off and then smooths a whisp of hair back behind her ear and nods, stepping back to stretch. "Just bring the rum, yourself, and that t-shirt," she replies with a crooked smirk as she jerks her chin towards it, adding, "Unless you find any tartan in the meantime."

Lysander rumbles with a small, thoughtful sound coming up from the depths of his chest and he looks back over in Cora's direction. His hands are dropped back down to his sides and then his waist. His walking slows to something more natural than calmly get the frak out. He opens his mouth to speak up, finds himself speechless, and then stops walking in order to travel backwards until his feet hit the flooring. "After a small tournament against Major Hahn and a couple of others, I've plenty myself, but I don't smoke, so," he lifts his shoulders into a small, dismissive shrug while circling around the treadmill. He turns it off and leans against the railing so that he can look back to her. It sounds far more suggestive when he speaks up, but he verifies nonetheless, "Just the rum, myself, an' the shirt?"

"Triad?" Cora asks, lifting a brow. She seems intrigued. "Last time I played I nearly won a bottle of aged Aquarian rum off the CO." She stretches, one heel propped up on the edge of the machine as she bends and reaches towards it. His words cause her to look up, and she snorts softly at the suggestive tone, lips curling into a hint of a smile. "On second thought," she replies, "Forget the shirt and bring cards, instead."

Lysander uses his right hand to comb through his hair and then stands back and into the fullness of his height. His grinning returns and near-fully. "Can do," is affirmed and he gives off a short nod before circling back around to the rear of the treadmill. "So then I'll see you then, with Triad, an' wager my luck against yours."

Cora straightens back up as well, though her full height is not quite equal to his. Luckily it doesn't seem like a competition. "Sounds like a plan," she replies, stretching her arms up over her head and then back behind her before her chin jerks in another nod. She smiles a small, crooked little smile and says, "See you, then," and turns to head to the locker room.

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