2237-07-06 - Den of Lions

Sparring match between Rothschild and Lanval, Aleksander and Kyle watches one while making wagers.

Date: 2237-07-06

Location: Gym

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 217

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Scene location changed:

Gym
Light panels in the ceiling cast a subdued light on the gymnasium. The floor in the front section is padded, intended for boxing or self defense practice. Punching bags, large and small, hang from the ceiling. The back of the room is devoted to exercise equipment. Treadmills, free weights, and weight machines of various descriptions.

Sleep is an elusive prey as of late. Rothschild blames the Picon sea air -- it must do something to her melatonin production. Certainly that must be it. So she is back in the gym, lacing up her old school boxing gloves -- a task that takes quite a bit of teeth and patience as there's no way to get them tight enough without an extra pair of hands. But, you find a way when you've enjoyed being solo at the bag. She is finishing up the tightening on her left glove, and pats the two together with a soft thump.

<FS3> Lanval rolls Alertness: Great Success (8 7 7 6 6 5 5 4 3 2 2 2)

After a bit of a spook in the Lounge, Lanval decided to continue on his little journey of his new surroundings. His arrival into the gym is quiet, as he skirts away from a pair of people that are exiting the gym, intent on trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. That is until he notices a familiar figure at the bag. It actually takes him a double-take to recognize the Hero of Trenoir - not because of who she is, but because of where she is. He thought she was pretty much lost forever to the propoganda machine that is the Leonis Military.

Approaching quietly, there's a pause as she struggles with the gloves, but waits to speak until after the first punch. "You'll break your wrist if it's not properly tightened, Sergeant." Words she spoke to him once. Not that he was ever much of a boxer.

The words strike her memory, and she actually blinks several times before she turns around to stare into the face of a ghost. Her dark eyes widen slightly, and her mouth parts in a slightly stunned expression. It takes her another heartbeat to settle into a smile that is soft, but still a bit rattled, and she brushes her brow with the back of her right glove. "Whittaker." She shakes her head. "Can't be." Though she knows it is. She steps toward him, and almost hesitates in placing her hands on his shoulders, but the solid presence of his frame will reassure her that she's not having an insomniac's hallucination.

"Reporting for duty." There are times where Lanval might as well be a ghost. He sounds the same, as in his voice is still holding that same Leonid accent that was so rich and vibrant once upon a time, but it seems that words are the premium these days. To his credit, he doesn't flinch away when he feels the gloved hands on his shoulders, after all, he only has a single inch of height on her. Hazel eyes search her face for a long moment. "Thought I'd only see you in pictures."

Eudora starts to laugh at his words, and she shakes her head slightly as she draws her hands up from his shoulders to his cheeks. She braces the younger Leonid's face gently in her gloved hands, and she shakes her head. "I heard they found you... I'm sorry I never got away to visit. I tried." She searches his own face, and she is smiling lightly again. While her reunion with Aleks had been joyful and energetic, she feels just a touch saddened before her former squadmate. "I thought I would be trapped in front of those cameras forever." She starts to laugh then, releasing the man and stepping back to take better stock of him. "Mm, I had to pull out some dirty tricks to get them to reassign me to a combat unit." She nods him over to a bench so she can sit, apparently forgetting her purpose here in the gym.

"Always been resourceful, Sargeant." Lanval offers, and finally offers a return to her smile when she cups his face. "You've been busy." comes the response as to why she's never been able to visit. "There's a war on after all." However, when he notices that she's pulling away and taking stock, he tries to straighten up. He's leaner. Perhaps even leaner than her. The dark marks that never quite left his hazel eyes speak of nights that are spent more in micronaps than in deep sleep. As she pulls away, he abandons his own reasons for coming to the gym to sit next to her. "You know, you can't blame yourself." For his going missing. For the mission that failed. He has to remind himself that in the end, it was noone's fault. Except the Cylons. "Are you squad leader?"

"You're thin," Rothschild says in a tone that has an almost maternal edge. "We'll need to fix that." Then she settles into her bench, and she rubs at her thighs slowly and thoughtfully. "Oh, certainly I can, darling." She looks seriously at him now. "Had the LMC not dragged me into their damned PR campaign, I would have continued on with you and the others, and I could have looked after you." Though she says those words without a hint of concern that Lanval cannot look after himself. Then she shakes her head at his question, frowning slightly. "No. Not quite how it is done on the Vanguard. I have been mission leader, but there's no exact squad leader day to day. We all report to Mercer, and we all respect the chain of command, but I do not have my own ducks to look after like I did in Waterford."

Taking stock of the situation, Lanval nods his head slowly. "Met Mercer. Good man. Ambushed a convoy down in the woods. Didn't agree with blowing the trucks after - thought we'd done better to set an explosion for when the Cylons went to recover." She can tell, there's that edge to his voice that speaks of a very different war than the one that the Timber Wolves have been involved in. "Met some of the others. They seem alright. But don't want to make.. any deep ties." There's a hint of fear in his voice, a slight tremble in his tone. "They broke us all up after the initial tour." And she knows the story of Roubiax already. His glance meets her own for a moment. "I'm not sure I fit in. But I made a commitment to try."

"I know," Rothschild murmurs, though those words could be linked to any of his sentiments. She looks around the gym as she works loose her gloves, setting them aside so she can work at her fingers instead. She then turns her dark eyes back to the fellow Leonid. "We can try together. I'm still finding my strides." She stretches out her legs a bit, sighing as she does. She lets a calm silence fall over them for a long moment, her eyes focused ahead of her once more. When she speaks next, she has chosen to return to her native Leonese, "Mercer will say you fit fine if you see yourself as part of the pack. And you can trust me to be at your side. I cannot say I know what it was like for you, Lanval. But I can promise that we are in this together now." She nudges her shoulder into his. "Mmm?" She prompts him gently.

"I'll help with the bag." Lanval finally responds. Taking Rothschild gloved hand, he turns it over so that he can work on tightening her strings. It's a simple gesture, one borne of affection for a friend and a leader. "Together. It seems so foreign now." he admits quietly as he works on the strings. "It took two months before what was left of us.. eight at the time.. realized that help wasn't coming." There's a frown for a moment. He's not one to talk much about it since it happened. He barely opened up to the doctors - and his official report wasn't a detailed novel. But they kept trying to convince him to talk about it. The shoulder nudge gains a momentary smile. "Told one of them once I served with you. He tried to call bullshit on me, until I pulled out that letter you sent from the tour." he smirks, finishing one glove so that he can work on the other. "That autographed picture got me so much cred." Finishing the second glove, he stands up and gestures to the bag. "I'll hold, you punch. Because the other way would be confusing."

The Leonese woman offers a small laugh at his offer, and she bobs her head in gentle agreement. She holds out her gloves at his gesture, letting him tighten up her laces on her old school gloves. "We are in the most desperate of times. I cannot think of any time in all my studies, or recent histories." She shakes her head, looking up at her gaunt-faced friend. She smiles gently at the reminder of the letter. "Oh, yes. I remember that one. Did you catch the subtle hints of absolute loathing? I was worried someone might read it and not sent it along if I didn't try to be covert." Then she works her gloves together, and stands at his gesture. "Now, I've offered to hold the bag for you. Did you bring your own gloves?" There's a gentle playfulness in her tone -- a rarity from the Praetorian.

Squeak-Spin. The hatch to the Gym opens and Kyle comes through with her head down. Not the smartest idea for ship-based life, but she's just put her earbuds in and is looking over the song index on her personal phone, which has been network-gutted to the point of being no more than a barely functioning hard drive. At least she was afforded the port for her earbuds. She's in sneakers and black, Marine-issued sweatpants, a match for the racerback tank top she's wearing. PT? It's part of her job, and she's here to work. Or, in her case, she's here to make it five feet past the door before she hears voices and looks up from her playlist selection, hazel eyes wide in her introductory glance to Rothschild and Whittaker.

"Something I read in there about having to wear hosery and corsets?" Lanval asks with the flicker of a smile that touches his features. "I had.. nothing to bring. Everything was reissued." he offers to the Sergeant. "I will need gloves." he comments finally. "Are you suggesting.." And he can see that look in Rothschild's eyes, that small.. mischevious glint. And he knows it. He knows it all too well. "You know. You are going to kick my ass." he points out as he turns to head towards the lockers, pausing as he catches sight of the girl in black, and well.. she's looking really good at the moment. Roths might catch the hint of a blush at the tips of his ears as he ducks his head quickly instead of staring as he moves to grab a pair of gloves to slip them on and pull them down into place.

Rothschild actually laughs. "There was just that once I had to wear a corset. I told them never again." She then stretches her back and shoulders slightly. This is just in time for her to catch the look toward Kyle and the reactions. She starts to smile a bit, shaking her head. "Mmhmm." Then she looks up at her reunited squadmate. "I won't kick your ass. I figure we can just warm up a bit." Then she upnods to Kyle. "Costello."

"Hey Rothschild, whom I know in my head as P-Top." Kyle greets with a smile, hoisting her little hard drive in a wave to the woman. They've yet to really talk. Kyle has yet to actually be social with many, and thus...bunk assignments. "Did I just walk into two people from Leonis about to box?" Kyle straightens her back and plucks one earbud free, creeping closer to the lions who are about to duel. "Mind if I watch and learn something, or would you prefer I get on the treadmill and mind my own?"

"The only think you will learn is that she can kick my ass." Lanval offers dryly as he ducks his head a little. "I offered the bag. It will be better resistance." he murmurs as he starts to pull on his gloves. "Would you help?" he asks, holding out his gloved hands to Kyle so that she can tighten the strings if she wants. However, with Kyle's arrival, the younger Leonid has started to return to his usual silence and short sentences, tucking away his momentary exposure of the young man that used to exist.

"P-Top." It takes Rothschild a moment to piece that together, and then she laughs. "Yes. P-Top." Then she waits for Kyle to help otu Lanval if she so wishes, and she shrugs a shoulder. "I enjoy boxing. As a leisure. I'm not a big follower of it as a sport, of course." Because there is very little she actually follows as a sport. She then shakes her head at the question. "You can watch, but I assure you, it won't be a show for the ages." She then looks back to Lanval, tapping her gloves together once more.

Aleksander is definitely not a gym rat, not because he hates working out but because he doesn't exactly put the most effort into anything he does. As a Marine, he does do enough to maintain his endurance and physical strength, something he is use to doing back with the Foreign Legion, but he isn't what most would consider dedicated. When he steps into the gym, he was initially heading towards the lifting equipment but when he sees who is on the sparring mats, his interest is peaked and a detour is made. The outfit the ex-Legionnaire is waering is the standard issue off-duty uniform: sweats, double grey-brown tank top, a towel of his shoulders and a large water bottle.

"It's good to finally have a conversation with you. We all get so busy." Kyle flashes her teeth to Rothschild, then turns for Lanval. She stuffs the computer device in the waistband of her sweats and flaps her fingers, beckoning his gloves her way. "Course I'll help, c'mere." Kyle makes quick work of tying his boxing gloves on with bows, then palms her hands over the tops of his gloves and looks to his face. "Enjoy your recreational violence." Kyle says rather pointedly, then steps back, waving Rothschild his way. "He's one of my recon people, so don't break anything, arright?" Kyle smiles, then steps back, waving to Aleks in her backward stroll until her shoulders find the wall.

Lan's hazel eyes meet Kyle's for a moment and he barks a short laugh. "Try not to speak too ill of me when she lays me out." the recon soldier speaks before Lanval turns his attention to Rothschild and touches gloves with her. "You know they don't box, right?" Cylons, that is. Moving into position on the mat, he starts to warily move around, since she's always offered the strike. And that means he's probably going to go down a whole lot quicker as he notes the arrival of Aleksander, and his eyes move over the man for a moment, familiarity there - it will take a couple of moments for him to make the connection.

<FS3> Lanval rolls Melee (7 7 6 5 4 1) vs Rothschild's Melee (7 4 4 4 4 3 2)
<FS3> Victory for lanval.
<FS3> Aleksander rolls Wits+Wits: Success (6 3 2 2)
<FS3> Rothschild rolls Melee (7 6 6 4 4 3 2) vs Lanval's Melee (7 7 2 2 2 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for rothschild.

The comment from Kyle causes the Leonese woman to chuckle, but she nods all the same as she looks back to Lanval. "Yes, but we do," Rothschild points out at the touch of gloves. "And so we should not forget that we will still happily beat the crap out of each other now and then." Then she takes a step back, drawing her fists up to her cheek so she can keep up her defenses. She moves around with Lanval, falling into a familiar pace. She tries at a quick jab, but it opens her up for the connection to her shoulder, and she steps back slightly, ducking low, and then returning her own sharp jab.

The wave from Kyle is answered with a nod from Aleksander, choosing to move towards her so he can stand at her side since she appears to be a spectator on the match that is about to begin. "This should be interesting, are they wagering anything?" Rothschild is someone he recognizes easily but he does look at her opponent, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to recall the familiar face. He knows he has seen the other Marine before but for the moment, is unable to place a name to the face for now. Instead of interrupting the sparring match with a question, Aleksander stays silent and watches the first exchange between the two.

"Why would I make fun of you if she beats you up, Lanval Whittaker?" Simmering her grin, Kyle lifts one brow and folds her arms beneath her breasts with the toe-tap of a schoolmarm. "You had the heart to get in the ring to begin with and it's an honor to be punched out by a woman. Gods know you're probably better off going to her for help in a barfight; better than me, at least."

Cackling, Kyle scuffs her toe against the deck and looks Alek's way, shaking her head.

"I didn't hear anything about a bet, big guy," Kyle tsks and emphasizes her headshake. "I have cubits, though. Say, keep it friendly, I'll put ten on Recon?"

"There was one time she wanted us to train with foils." Fencing. Because it was elegant and made them focus. Lanval tries to hold his focus, stealing a glance on occassion towards Kyle and Aleksander, before he returns his attention to Rothschild, just in time for him to realize the punch is incoming, before realizing too late that he's going to be hit and manages to move so that he takes a glancing blow to the shoulder. Moving back from the buxom bomber, Lanval listens to the bets around him. "...a fool and her cubits are soon parted." he murmurs, before glancing up towards Rothschild.

There's a gesture towards Aleksander, a subtle jerk of his head as he gives a questioning glance to his Sergeant to try to figure out why he looks familiar, and not totally distracted by Kyle as he moves for a moment to try to jab at Rothschild - but she can tell - he's not aiming for the face, he's better than that. Body shots are the order of the day - and not the type you drink out of navels.

<FS3> Lanval rolls Melee (7 7 7 6 1 1) vs Rothschild's Melee (8 7 5 4 4 3 3)
<FS3> Victory for lanval.
<FS3> Rothschild rolls Melee (8 7 7 3 2 1 1) vs Lanval's Melee (8 8 5 5 4 2)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for rothschild.

"That wasn't entirely my idea. Skyling was trying to keep us from getting too complacent and I went along with it," Rothschild protests lightly, though she chuckles lightly at Lanval's words about the bet. She returns a murmur. "We could make money off this." But that's not what she focuses on as he goes for her stomach, and she can't quite twist and block it out of the way. It impacts, and she's sent several steps back, shaking her head slightly with a wry chuckle. "Mmm," is all she muses before she steps forward in order to take two quick jabs forward, hoping to instead land a hit near his ribs.

When the bet is offered from the Recon Marine, Aleksander shoots her a quick glance and a grin appears, "Sounds good, ten cuts on Dora then." With the wager officially agreed upon, he turns his gaze back to the sparring match, seeing the exchange and smirks. Instigator for sure, he calls out, his words more likely to distract Rothschild than Lanval, "Dora! Start fighting seriously, I have money riding on you and I'll be out of smokes for a week if I lose the bet!" Well, not exactly but she doesn't know. It looks like he is more than willing to part with ten cubits if it results in entertainment. "Do that uppercut thing you're good at!" Now, coaching advise from Aleksander.

<FS3> Lanval rolls Melee (8 8 7 6 2 1) vs Rothschild's Melee (8 6 5 4 3 2 2)
<FS3> Victory for lanval.
<FS3> Rothschild rolls Melee (8 6 6 6 3 1 1) vs Lanval's Melee (8 6 6 5 5 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for rothschild.
<FS3> Lanval rolls Melee (8 7 5 5 5 3) vs Rothschild's Melee (6 6 6 4 4 2 2)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Rothschild.

"Foils? Like the stuff you wrap food in?" Kyle blinks, eyes boggling at the idea of it all. There's a special part of charm school she was kicked out of for fighting with the other girls, apparently. Handflutter. "Oh well, whatever, I'm not a fool but I've got extra cubits and I'm not really saving them for anything. Punch her harder, I've got money riding on this, Whitt." Kyle cat-calls to the two fighters, sparing a glance to Aleks as he starts coaching Dora.

Oh. No. Kyle doesn't like that. "Whitt! Do everything Aleks says in reverse, and then do that do her, and I'll give you twenty percent cut." Kyle presses her fingers to her lips for a shrill whistle.

<FS3> Rothschild rolls Melee (8 5 5 4 3 2 1) vs Lanval's Melee (7 4 4 4 3 1)
<FS3> DRAW!
<FS3> Lanval rolls Melee (7 5 4 4 3 2) vs Rothschild's Melee (8 8 4 4 3 2 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Rothschild.
<FS3> Rothschild rolls Melee (8 6 6 3 3 1 1) vs Lanval's Melee (6 5 4 2 2 1)
<FS3> Victory for rothschild.
<FS3> Lanval rolls Melee (7 5 1 1 1 1) vs Rothschild's Melee (8 7 4 3 2 1 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Rothschild.
<FS3> Rothschild rolls Melee (7 6 5 3 2 2 1) vs Lanval's Melee (8 4 4 3 2 2)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for rothschild.
<FS3> Lanval rolls Melee (7 6 6 3 2 1) vs Rothschild's Melee (8 7 7 5 4 3 3)
<FS3> DRAW!

Dodging seems to be something that neither Lanval or Rothschild are good at, as the recon soldier manages to score another solid tag to Rothschild's side, but it seems that all of Lanval's effort came at the beginning of the fight, as Kyle's advice is doing.. really little to help him. "Foils. Thin swords for fencing." he explains, as he gets distracted at the whole idea of Kyle cheering for him, so of course, he's going to end up letting the woman down as Rothschild really has the better stamina for a longer engagement. If Lanval had pressed the advantage sooner, perhaps he had a chance, but it's the Praetorian's training and playing the long game that causes Lanval to start stumbling back as his defenses wear down and she gets a distinct, if small advantage.

Each jab and duck and punch shows that Rothschild has kept up with something while she was on pageant around the colonies. She does fairly well, even if it takes several hits from Lanval to prove it. The closing hit is a downright tussel between the two as Roths takes that momentary break in his defenses, and then she's stepping back with her gloves in the air and a show of it being over. She's a bit tired, worn down by his own resolve. She starts to laugh then, but it is a light expression. "Hmph. You were far too easy to best last time." Then she reaches out with her glove to give him a light pat against his shoulder. When she glances aside, she spots Aleksander, and she upnods to him with a wry grin.

Hearing the recon next to him trying to coach Rothschild's opponent, Aleksander can't help but let out a light laugh, obviously amused by both the match and Kyle. The way the two are dancing around each other on the sparring mat with neither side showing a clear advantage has the ex-Legionnaire egging them on more, "Dora, are you dancing with a prom date or are you fighting? Put your hips into it!" Though his voice is loud and his words may sound serious, one can hear the shit eating grin on the lips behind those words. As the close exchanges and near victories are tallied up, Aleksander is silent at the end as he isn't exactly sure which side won, which is why he poses the question to his spectating buddy, "Do you owe me cubits or do I owe you cubits?"

"Who the frak uses thin swords?!? Are you talking about those wiggly sticks they show on the sports news feeds from Leo-duh, frak." Kyle palms her forehead and ghosts her face into an over-exaggerated eye roll. Her cheeks flush red as she's led herself right into looking stupid. Cringe. Two rows of teeth growl past the heel of her hand. "DORA STOP LISTENING TO HIM shhh-" Kyle throws her hands over her head as Dora claims the win. "-it. I owe you cubits. They're back at the homeless shelter." Kyle holds up a finger to Aleks and claps her hands, walking towards Lanval.

<FS3> Lanval rolls Wits+Wits: Success (7 5 4 3 3 2)

Yeah, Rothschild won. Leaning over to put his gloves to his knees, Lanval draws in a few breaths to clear his pallet. "..I think you were going easy." he manages finally as he glances aside, not realizing that Kyle's approaching him as he lifts his gaze. "How long have you been here? Do you know.." there's a subtle nod of his head towards the recon girl, without explicitly saying her name as he looks thoughtful before he gives a little pant of breath.

He's not exactly trusting himself at the moment, before it clicks. "He was in the Leonese Legion.. the relief forces?" he asks finally as he lifts his gaze to the Sergeant to get her confirmation.

"Only a few weeks." The nod to the recon woman causes her lips to twitch a bit, and there's almost a hint of affection there for her young squadmate. "I don't. She bunks close to mine though." Rothschild looks toward Aleksander again, and nods dutifully to Lanval's question. "Mmhmm. He was. A good soldier." But don't let Aleksander hear that. She rolls her shoulders and starts to loosen her gloves. "Alright, darlings. I need to get to duty stations." She looks to Lanval, and presses her hand to his forearm. "Good to have you here, Whit." She smiles to him before she starts to move toward the exit, giving Aleksander a shoulder jab as she passes.

"Bunk.. still need to settle into one." Lanval admits, not sure of where he should be yet.

When Kyle confirms victory for Aleksander, he does a fist pump, "Victory, free smokes for me." With that, the Leonese Marine heads towards the two that just finished sparring, shooting a grin at Rothschild, "Really took your time there, toying with your food? Very unlady-like, you know." It's obvious he didn't hear the compliment from her with the poking jest he made. He then looks back over at Lanval and Kyle, offering introductions to the both of them, "Lance Corporal Aleksander Davion, use to be with the Leonese Foreign Legion."

"I might talk like it, but I'm still relatively new to the ship. I know a circle of five people, tops, the rest I just hang out with when I shoot at things, like the big guy over my shoulder." Kyle offers Lanval, sparing a glance to Aleksander. "Davion, that's right. D-Top. Don't forget to come by bunk 'zed' for your cubits. I lose fairly."

Kyle reaches out and grabs Lanval's wrist, lifting up one of the gloves to begin untying it. In the pros? The laces are cut. Laces are at a premium on a warship.

"Aquarians and Leonese; you guys are really multiplying." Kyle continues, commenting out loud with half of her lip chewed beneath her teeth. "Which is lucky for me, I was half worried I was gonna be bunked in with a bunch of people from Tauron. You Leonese?" Beat. "You're alright. Alright by me."

Giving Rothschild a good-evening wave and salute of a gloved hand touched to his temple. "Right. I remember. Was out of the loop for a bit." Lanval offers as he looks towards Aleksander. "Corporal Lanval Whittaker, Recon." comes the short introduction. "This is Corporal Kyle Costello, also Recon." With that out of the way, there's a small smirk as Kyle takes his wrists to start freeing him. "She's a good fighter. Used to challenge her squad before.." before the school. "..you should try sometime." he adds, using his free hand to dap Kyle's shoulder gently. "Thanks for the faith. Misplaced as it was."

Hearing the words about bunking with a bunch of people from Tauron has Aleksander smirking with amusement as he clarifies, "Leonese citizenship, born and grew up on Tauron. And I shall be by bunk Zed when I am free and you're there." He does wait for the foot in mouth moment from Kyle, more out of amusement than being offended since he does count his current life as more Leonese than anything else. He does look back to Lanval when he introduces himself, "Whittaker. So /that's/ who you are, I thought I remembered you. Yeah, we met at Athenas Academy if I recall correctly. You were in Dora's squad, tough motherfrakkers."

"Next time I'm betting fifteen. Twenty the next," Kyle jerks at the laces until one glove is loosened, then takes up the other. She smiles a rictus smile at the boxing gloves. "By the time I'm betting fifty per, you're gonna make me rich. Well. If you commit to it." Kyle grins and works at the laces of the other glove, peeling at one long cord from the loop to set it free.

Lanval, not Aleksander, gets a front row seat to the way half of Kyle's face presses to one side in pursed lips at being caught sprinkling a little hate on Tauron. Awkward, though the two colonies have been at each other's necks for nearly a century.

"Well," Windup. Kyle bends one knee and looks back to Aleks with a cringe wide enough to show her gums. "If it means anything, I think you made the right call getting out of there, Davion. Leonis has, well..." Kyle headbobs and turns back to her work. "...clean air."

There may have been a momentary wince as Kyle steps into the Tauron.. well, Lanval won't dwell on that too much, as he gets a look of confusion. "You know I lost, right?" he asks, as he watches the young woman's expression and bumps his forehead gently to hers. "Yeah. Though we were just carrying out our duties.." he offers quietly, unsure of it all before he moves his hand from the glove and offers the other hand to the Caprican sniper. "Are you offering to train me, Costello?"

Waving off Kyle's words, Aleksander shakes his head, "Don't worry about it, that was a past life. Once I joined the Foreign Legion, I started anew. New family, new brothers and sisters. I won't challenge you to a sparring match over something like this. And you are right, the air /is/ very clean on Leonis." He says with a grin before looking back to Lanval, "Money can be a good motivator, especially if you choose to share the wagers with her. Equal investment." Aleksander then looks over his shoulders to the benches, weights, and bars, "Well, since the sparring match is over, I'm going to start my workout. Was a close fight."

"If you don't want me to lose all of my cubits, then you're gonna have to start winning, yeah?" Kyle growls into the tap of forehead, then pries the laces free. Hands turning in a flourish, she casts a spell over the glove and presents Lanval's hands back to him. "I...might not be the right trainer. I had two brothers but I could use a little extra training, myself. We'll just have to find someone up to the task."

Kyle breathes in quietly and smooths down the front of her tanktop, turning with Aleksander's notice for the treadmills.

"I should be getting to that, too. After break time on VR, I don't want to get out of shape." Kyle announces to the two men, clamboring up onto a treadmill and reaching for her earbuds. "And thanks for being alright about it, Davion. Old habits die hard. The shit my dad says and the jokes he tells would get my ass shot on Tauron, and while I'm in the market for some new ink, I don't want to piss the wrong person off and get marked with something insulting."

Lanval looks like he wants to say something to Kyle for a moment, before offering a nod of his head. "Good night." he manages finally, before he moves to put away his gloves and heads to leave the gym to give the others space.


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