12982/Workout Time

Workout Time
Date of Scene:	08 April 2021
Location:	Gymnasium, The Triskelion
Synopsis:	Three meet in the gym and some light conversation ensues.
Cast of Characters:	Phobos, Liansong "Song" Qing, Yaozu Lin

---

Phobos has posed:
    Within the confines of one of the several Gymnasiums in the Triskelion, the 1st Tactical Response Team of Alpha Group has had a steady schedule of PT that's taken up several hours a day each of their shifts. Part of the usual rotation for the fighting arm of SHIELD, it often takes various forms. Sometimes it's some time spent on the gun range. Sometimes it's team activities in the sim center. Other times it's CQC in the gymnasium, though today it's more of a catch all with the squad standing around in sweats on the mats with a conversation going on that seems to have the squad focused on that tall one from the team. The one with the blond hair.
    "Ok, one more time. Seriously, you do it a few times it becomes second nature. Just think of it like..." Alexander's pale hazel eyes distance as he speaks to his squad, "Like reverse judo?"
    A statement that causes a snort from one of the other agents.
    "Seriously," Alex rests his hands on his hips. "Look, watch it again, dissect it. Kelso, man, do me a favor and go limp on the mats?"
    "Can do, bud." Kelso says, grinning as he walks a few steps out onto the mats and falls flat with a /whump!/, "There. I am an expert at lying still unmoving."
    Which causes some of the other teammates to smirk, while O'Hara lifts her voice. "Just try not to fall asleep, you slacker."
    But Alexander steps up. "Ok so watch. I step forward, and I'm going to do a break fall roll..." And as he speaks he takes a stride, two, and does as he says, rolling forward and down sideways with his back landing heavily on Kelso's chest, one arm snaking around the prone man's leg, the other arm guiding his head. He uses the momentum and continues on to /pull/ like the snap of a whip the other man onto his shoulders and suddenly...
    Kelso is on Alex's back being carried. "There, now you have the wounded man, you can run with him, get clear, but you need to be careful. Running like this empties your tank quick, you got mebbe a hundred yards, less even."
    Which has the rest of the agents nodding and watching even as Alex lets the other agent down. "Ok, break up into pairs, let's get this right."

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
The first thing that the now prone Kelso might see? Is a black wing stretch out and then hang down, half furled, from one of the overhead support beams. Further, if he looks, he would probably see that there's what appears to be a person up there. Leaned against one of the support beams that's at an angle from the horizontal beams to the ceiling.

Liansong doesn't seem to be paying any attention whatsoever to the activities that are going on down below his current lofty position. He holds a tablet on his lap and he's looking over whatever is on it. Occasionally, the light tap of a talontip against the screen can be heard as he works on it. And then the equally light flurry of talontips against what sounds like keyboard keys in the manner of someone typety typing away up there. The sounds are quiet, and in the gym's relative background noise, might well be missed. Until the quiet portions, at least.

Despite being so high up, Liansong looks to be entirely relaxed and at ease. For a change, he's not even wearing his labcoat. Instead, he wears a pair of loose silk shorts, and a tanktop sort of affair, making the black feathers stand out all the more. More of them can be seen. As well as the very pale pink skin of the one foot that's hanging over the edge of the support beam he's lounging on.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
A shadow darkens the doorway of the men's locker room as Yaozu steps up into it. He's not wearing a set of sweats as the others who are assembled for the exercise. But then, he's not been assigned to be a part of the exercise, so such is likely acceptable. Quietly, he steps into the gymnasium, his footsteps making little in the way of sound upon the floor. He's dressed differently today than what he had been in the meeting. Bare feet, not that they can be seen very well for the length of the black silk pants that he's wearing, and a traditional black Chinese robe similar to what a monk might wear. His black hair is neatly braided, the length of it whispering against the silk as he walks.

His expression holds nary a hint of emotion, and his hands are hidden away within the sleeves of the robe that he wears. He watches the exercise with a slight hint of curiosity that shows in his hazel eyes, and he tilts his head a touch to one side. His right hand slips to rest at the small of his back, the robe still keeping his hand hidden away from sight. His gaze flicks up at noticing the black wing from his vantage point, and there is the barest hint of a smile that tugs just at the corners of his lips, briefly.

Phobos has posed:
    The six other agents break up into those pairs, stepping clear and claiming their own piece of real estate on the mats. That leaves the seventh member of that squad, Alexander, without a partner but since he already knows the airborne rescue carry, he takes the time to stroll over towards one of the bench-seats against the wall. Where, as it just so happens, his backpack had been left behind.
    Once there he drops onto the seat and leeeeans over to grab his pack, pulling a bottle of water from it and then setting it back down with a fwumpf of leather and canvas. He takes a sip, gaze wandering to the agents training, then lifting up toward the birdly perched person high above. A small smile flirts with Alex's lips as he lifts that bottle and waves it as if offering greeting from afar.
    Yet having sighted someone so out of the way likely gives the young Olympian the inclination to sweep his gaze across the room. Over near the weight machines several older agents are going through their workout routine. Across the way near the heavy bag is agent Rodriguez getting her anger out again by punching it way into that heavy canvas sack. And there's...
    The new fellow. Agent Yaozu. A calm casual glance is given, and if eyes meet then he'll smile easily enough and lift up his bottle of water in way of greeting that way as well.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
From his vantage point, you wouldn't think that Liansong would be able to hear a certain whisper of silk, nor the familiar tread of a step. Not over all the other noise. And yet, the black feathered head turns from the tablet and and those glacial blue eyes look, unerringly, straight toward the emerging form of Yaozu.

Just in time to catch the waved greeting, with bottle in hand, from Agent Alexander. One hand lifts from where it's reseting apparently on his lap, and waves back. He considers the room, and rolls to sit upright. His wing comes back to tuck against his back and side. His feet to balance himself the support beam, toes wrapped partially over it. The toes aren't nearly long enough to go all the way around it.

Revealed with his change in position, a small waist pouch at his front. The small bluetooth keyboard and tablet are both tucked inside in their respective little cases, and the pouch is zipped firmly closed.

Only once his treasures are tucked away, safe and sound, does Liansong rise to his feet, crouched. The big wings spread, black feathers shiny with health in the ambient lighting. He falls from the beam and catches air, such as it is. The fans, greaty for creating thermals of a sort. He glides once around the room then backwings into a position about halfway between Alexander and Yaozu. Despite that, the wind from that backwinged landing can be felt by both men. Big wings means lots of turbulence created when coming in for a landing. Even when flying past people, the wind from those wings would have been felt.

"Mates. How're the both o' ya?" His voice seems to be as cheerful as it ever is.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There is a glance given towards the agents who separate themselves into pairs in order to practice the technique that they were shown. He step closer to where the group is assembled, but remains on the fringes so as to not be in the way of their practice. He watches the pairs, as they begin to practice. He chooses to remain quiet, at least for the time being.

There is, alas, no meeting of the eyes that happens, though that has to do with culture rather than anything else. Yaozu is aware of the other man's attention on him, and once he's come nearer, he slips his right hand away from his lower back in order to bring it to rest with the back of it to his left hand, thumbs touching at the tips. He extends his arms and half bows, his gaze downcast. The bandage on his left hand is unable to be seen for the position, though it may be glimpsed as he lowers his hands and parts them, his left hand moving to rest at the small of his back.

Once Song has descended, Yaozu bows to him as well, this one a touch deeper than the one that Alexander had earned. "Song," he offers in greeting, that hint o a smile finding the corners of his lips. "I am well, thank you. And for yourself?" he asks, his head tilting a touch to one side.

Phobos has posed:
    One hand lifts to fend off that brush of wind from the landing, still holding that bottle up a bit, Alexander smiles from his place there on the bench, "Hey. Doing alright." His attention wanders the small distance to the side as he watches from afar the other agents going through the motions. Fortunately they are a staggeringly competent group so they're able to pick up the technique after only being shown it a few times.
    Which leaves the youth the freedom to look back and feel comfortable in socializing as he murmurs, "Avoiding working for a living." The words are offered lightly and might carry a hint of levity, but he does have a fairly decent level tone in that voice.
    His eyes lower at the bow offered, acknowledgment and acceptance if not sharing the same cultural touchstones, the mental ones are there for some reason. He draws one leg up into his lap and turns so he can look at the pair evenly, "How are you both adapting to things?"

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
That a certain bandage is not obvious does not seem to mean anything to Liansong, for his head turns and his eyes rest on that left hand of Yaozu's for a brief moment none the less. "How's your hand?" he asks as he lifts his head, and eyes, to look to the man's face. "As for me, I'm doin' just fine, thanks! Had me a good bit of a flight last night. And sitting up top was quite nice. The background noise helps me think." Which, when you're in Liansong's line of work, might come in handy!

Liansong's beak gapes just a little bit at that hint of levity from Alexander. "Know what ya mean, mate," he says. His own tone is more on the cheerful end of things, yup. Seems to be an all around cheerful fellow. Perhaps a bit different than a lot of scientists, but it seems to suit him.

"I'm adapting well, I think. Not sure I'm ever going to get used to how cold it is here, though." He shivers dramatically, feathers fluffing out wherever they can be seen.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
As Alexander offers the answer to Song's question, Yaozu inclines his head slightly towards the fellow. He takes a brief moment to glance towards the practicing agents, and then he returns his attention to the pair that he stands near. One of his eyebrows quirks just a touch upwards, and he lifts his right hand to gesture slightly towards the agents on the mats. "If you are teaching them, then it would appear you have done the main part of that work," he says. He's quiet for a moment, considering the question that was aside, and he lifts one of his shoulders in a whisper of a shrug. "I am adjusting, and learning the layout of things," Yaozu says.

His hazel gaze turns to Song, his chin ducking just a touch at the question, his gaze flicking to Song's briefly before lowering once again. "It does not pain me," he says softly. Which is true, though it's more throbbing than painful, simply from the nature of it. There's a slight shifting of his left hand within the sleeve of his robe, withdrawing it a touch further. One of his eyebrows quirks up slightly, and he slants a brief look up at Song, the cornrs of his lips quirking a touch. "This is not that cold. Wait until winter comes around again," he says softly, a thread of amusement to his voice.

Phobos has posed:
    "Is it?" Alexander's gaze slips again to the side as if he could spot some evidence of how cold the gymnasium was, or perhaps Liansong meant more the great city of Manhattan. But thought of the temperature flies away quickly as Alex quickly gets to his feet. And /yells./
    "Nelson, the hell are you doing? You'll break his neck!" And the aforementioned Nelson looks up, scowling as he snaps back a few words hurtled towards Alex.
    "This way is faster!"
    "And more reckless, do it the way I showed you!"
    Which causes the other Agent to scowl. Both of them are the same rank, yet curiously enough Nelson alters his behaviour as bidden.
    Which causes poor Phobos to scowl slightly, features darkening if only for a moment before his attention flits back to Song and Yaozu. In time to catch the quiet words offered by Yaozu.
    "Oh..." He pauses after the man comments about his teaching, then he replies. "I'm not really an instructor. Just on Wednesdays we try to share what insight we can, what knowledge we can since we all come from a variety of backgrounds."
    Some more varied than others.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
When one has been in the scientific and medical fields as much as Liansong has been, and for the length of time he has been, they learn that there is but one truth when it comes to live patients. They lie. If not for the shifting of that hand to hide it further, Liansong may well have taken Yaozu at his word. But there's that subtle motion. While it might escape most people, Liansong is not most people. Not only does he see it, but the seeing it gives suspicion.

Those glacial blue eyes narrow ever so slightly and he holds out his right hand toward Yaozu. "Hand. Let me check it." Liansong does not appear that he's going to take no for an answer.

He is distracted only so far as to answer Alexander's question. "It is when you're from Oz," he says. That yell from such a close distance has Liansong wincing and ducking slightly away from the agent. There is no comment at what is seen with the other agent's scowl, nor Alexander's darkening expression, though he sees both. The yell had brought his attention, afterall.

Not fully away from Yaozu, however. Liansong's hand is still held out and now his eyes turn back to the man. "Sounds like a good way of teaching. Sorta round robin-ish."

Yaozu Lin has posed:
The Chinaman tilts his head a touch to one side as Alexander yells at the practicing agents. And his hazel gaze turns in that direction, watching them. One of his eyebrows quirks up slightly with what the agent retorts with, and he gives a faint shake of his head. "Faster is not always better," he says quietly. His gaze flicks from the agent practicing to the one who had taught the technique, considering each of them in turn, and he gives a small and single nod to the latter. "It is a useful thing, to share knowledge," Yaozu says, a thoughtful tone to his voice.

It's a universal sort of thing. People lie. And they do it for any number of reasons. In this situation, perhaps to prevent fuss from being made. As Liansong's gaze turns to him, and as there comes the request for his hand, Yaozu lightly flexes the fingers of his left hand where they rest out of sight. "Mm," he affirms, giving a faint nod. Then he moves his left hand, bringing it out from behind his back and not only offering it to Liansong, but placing his hand within the one that awaits his own. There is a bandage on the palm of his hand, across the meaty part of his palm where the thumb connects. There are slight signs that the bandage could stand to be changed, but that's not unexpected given the relatively freshness of the injury itself.

It's only after he's placed his hand in Song's hand that he turns his hazel gaze towards the avian, his head tilting a touch to one side. He didn't argue about allowing his hand to be examined, which could mean a number of things.

Phobos has posed:
    A wan smile is given back in Liansong's direction, perhaps not entirely at ease giving such a glimpse into the inner workings of his squad so easily, but then he shakes his head. "So far works alright." But then he folds his arms over his chest while he continues to watch... perhaps more intently than moments before.
    A moment passes in silence as the hand is extended and Song likely examines. The youth with those curious pale eyes watches, head tilted just so and to the side. For a moment Yaozu might feel the young man's gaze upon him. Just a subtle thing, that small sliver of a tendril of a connection felt when a martial artist sees another, what some might call chi but others likely consider naught more than insight into the way another fighter stands or holds themselves at ease. A curious thing to be found in such a place as the brusk and brash gymnasium and those within.
    Then his attention slips away and he murmurs curiously. "If it is not too forward, how did you injure yourself?"

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Liansong nods his agreement. "In my line of work, it's a balance between faster and slower. Faster is not generally better in science. In medicine, it can be. Generally though... not better except when there's a bleeder."

Liansong's hand remains held steadily, patiently, until the hand requested is laid on his own. With his other hand, Liansong carefully slips his talons beneath one end of the bandage and lifts it up to have a look at the wound beneath.

Though his eyes don't turn from the examination of the wound, Liansong answers the question asked of the wound. "A cup slipped and fell. He tried to catch it." At least the answer wasn't something out of the ordinary.

For his part, Liansong doesn't catch the connection between the two martial artists, not one little bit. Then again, he's not a martial artist himself, to be able to notice such things.

Yaozu Lin has posed:
There's a glance that flicks over Alexander, and then Yaozu turns his gaze to watch the agents who are practicing. And he is, for a long moment, quiet. His right hand softly moves to rest at the small of his back. "Mm," he says, in regards to the training working. Sometimes, he really doesn't say a lot.

Slowly, his gaze tracks back to Alexander, studying the man, and he tilts his head faintly to one side. There is a definite calmness to him, a quiet conservation that applies not just to words but also to his physical self. His feet shift, slightly, a mild adjustment of his balance. "It is not. It is as Song said," Yaozu says simply. A simple explanation, but sometimes things happen that way.

Yaozu turns his gaze to Liansong, watching him for a moment before he flicks a brief glance towards his hand. He doesn't ask after the wound that Liansong inspects, and simply waits for what will be revealed. The wound definitely looked better the night before, after it happened. It's red and a bit swollen, as well as being warm. His gaze slides back to Alexander. "Which art do you practice?"

Phobos has posed:
    There is a time as that pale youth tilts his head and watches Yaozu, saying nothing for a time as he spares a blink that is so at ease it might be unsettling to Liansong. It might trigger those ancient instincts that avians hold when confronted with the eyes of some cold-blooded creature emerging from the green of foliage. It's only a glimpse, only there for a moment.
    Then it's replaced with that easy practiced half-smile as the words come, summoned with the strength of conviction that only repetition can bring. "A few." As to which art.
    Then he seems embarrassed as he adds, "But not for a great length of time." Since who is to say what is a great length of time in certain frames of reference.
    Then that smile returns fully, "Guitar mostly of late." His lip twists then his attention is grabbed as he frowns sharply.
    "Nelson, what did I just say, man!?"
    And suddenly with that raised tone of voice the conversation comes to a close as he looks to Liansong and Yaozu, "Forgive me, needs must and all that." Is that how the phrase goes? Whatever the case he starts to walk back across the mats.
    Over his shoulder he says, "Thank you for the chat." And then he's advancing on the other squaddies with a scowl upon his features and a sternness to his stride.

Liansong "Song" Qing has posed:
Thankfully, Liansong's attention is all on the wound on Yaozu's hand. He makes a tsking sound and clicks his beak. "Start of an infection," he says. He recovers it with the bandage. "We'll get this sorted out in medical."

His head turns to regard Alexander now, finally. "Art. Drawing, painting, dying, that sort of thing. Mostly drawing and painting." Perhaps the art on his beak is some of his work? But, if it is, Liansong doesn't draw any spare attention to it. He waves a hand at Alexander as the man has to get back to his team. "Later. Good chat."

Then Liansong's attention is turning fully back to the, perhaps unlucky, Chinaman. "Come come. Let us go to medical. There is some topical cream there that I would try before turning to antibiotics." Those are for if lesser means don't work!

Yaozu Lin has posed:
"Mm," Yaozu offers in acknowledgement, inclining his head slightly towards the man when 'a few' are mentioned. And one of his eyebrows quirks up a touch at the clarification that's offered. There's a flicker of amusement that shows in his eyes at the mention of guitar, and the barest hint of a smile that finds the corners of his lips. "The art of music is a good one to pursue," Yaozu says softly. Then he inclines his head towards the man at the apology. "Of course," he offers, then bows slightly to him. "Thank you, as well,"

Yaozu turns his gaze to Liansong at the pronouncement, his brow furrowing a touch, and then he gives a nod. "Mm. As you say, Song," Yaozu says softly, lifting his gaze to meet Song's for a brief moment before bowing slightly towards him. He doesn't argue at all, interestingly. One of his eyebrows quirks up slightly at the various arts that Liansong mentions, his curiosity piqued though he says naught about them. He gestures slightly, with his left hand, then. "I will follow," he says, a hint of a smile touching at the corners of his lips.