17693/Jock Princess vs. Goth Princess - TRACK WARS

Jock Princess vs. Goth Princess - TRACK WARS
Date of Scene:	19 April 2024
Location:	Gymnasium - Titan's Tower
Synopsis:	America versus Raven in a race to the finish line! Who will win?! The answer is...!?
Cast of Characters:	Rachel Roth, America Chavez

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Rachel Roth has posed:
It is not every day that Rachel Roth can be caught in the Titan's Tower Gymnasium. Indeed, it's not most days. If the Titans didn't all lead such varied and unusual hours, she'd probably have worked out a schedule to never be caught. And yet despite vast sorcerous power, a sunny disposition, and a penchant for trying to sneak her workouts in when others aren't around, Rachel cannot maintain a perfect streak of clandestine workouts.

It might be downright unnerving in fact, to see the pale half-demon not cloaked in shadow and voluminous blue fabric. And she hasn't even gone for just wearing her leotard, she's dressed in a simple black sports bra and lycra shorts, clinging to her figure and displaying a surprising fact. Rachel Roth's legs are long, calves tight, thighs perhaps a little softer and thicker than one would expect for that tall and leggy build. But the steady rhythm of her feet striking the track show she must be working at that. Or perhaps spellcasting requires good cardio. Her purple hair gleams in the light, almost metallic, kept free, which does mean that now and then she has to lift a hand to flick her bangs back from obscuring her vision, but with such simple exercise, she's not worried. Despite the gleam of sweat on her brow, the thin trail running down the slender path of her throat, she's not flushed, she is in fact, the same shocking pale as ever.

And while most would have a podcast, or some real good workout jams blaring in earbuds, or even over the head headphones, Rachel's ears lack any such auditory enhancement, her impassive face fixed in an almost vacant stare.

Is she meditating while running a half-marathon in the gym? Of course not. She's only running five miles.

America Chavez has posed:
It's not every day America Chavez can be found in Titan's Tower Gymnasium. Or, indeed, at Titan's Tower in general. The Utopian Titan seems to come and go as she pleases, crashing at the Tower for weeks at a time before disappearing for sometimes months longer.

She's just someone torturously allergic to putting down roots; it's a fact that makes that 'varied and unusual hours' dilemma of Rachel's all the more complicated. How do you predict a person who doesn't seem to have any fixed schedule to speak of?

The answer, of course, is...

There's a little shimmer behind Raven that crackles to life somewhere around halfway through her workout. A glimmer of blue that shines at the back of pale, sweat-slicked skin before there is the punctuated sound of a shatter.

Little fragments of ceruleum like shards of glass or flakes of snow brush past the rare sight of a sporty goth.

And a second later, star-spangled sneakers strike the six feet-wide pavement right behind Rachel in a clipped jog.

America Chavez doesn't say anything at first, as she appears just at off to Rachel's back. Dressed in a blue, star-studded racerback sports bra and a pair of red, clingy track short shorts, white stripes riding up their hip-hugging sides. She's a fit contrast to Rachel's softer figure, but that's really not so surprising.

No -- what's more interesting to -her- is catching Raven in the middle of a workout, which is exactly why she had to portal in when she caught the shocking sight.

So, she jogs. And she says not a thing, at least until the point she catches up to Raven, whereupon she utters a perfectly flat,

"On your left,"

... leaving it a wonderfully open question whether she's being completely serious, or very much teasing Raven.

Maybe the slight arch of her brow is a clue.

Rachel Roth has posed:
Heavy lies the head that wears the crown, but also heavy lies the head that wears the... Raven's empathic powers. It means she rarely finds herself being snuck up on. It makes surprise parties even more painfully awkward. It's so difficult to keep up that impassive, artfully poised and perfected Resting Bitch Face, when she can feel her friends lurking and really wants to simply go straight to Okay Actually Actively Bitch Face.

Arcane senses and training, and no small amount of experience with dimensional travel herself, (Azerath is not in your local zipcode) means that the feel of America's unique arrival causes a small raise to the hair on the back of her neck, a rush of goosebumps as energy shifts and reality shudders.

The running goth does not unleash arcane torrents of energy, she doesn't squeal and shriek like a certain exuberant Tamaranean friend might. But it's the figure that arrives that draws those purple eyes more than the dimensional portal itself. And that arrest her eyes. Part of her wants to muster up some remark about America's workout attire and how it's so very /themed/. Except of course she's wearing all black herself.

And while she could argue that's because black is in fact a typical athletic wear hue, and not her choosing to express her goth urges, instead, one eyebrow perks up and those grey lips of hers quirk in a sly little smirk.

The smirk only grows as America catches up, paces so easily... and Raven's legs pump harder. Move faster. Her chest swells as she draws in a breath and then murmurs out deadpan. "Portals are cheating. This does not count as you having run from... wherever you just were."

Rachel's met America less than a handful of times. But the fiery Puncher of Things is certainly dedicated and driven. And while Raven might want to make a quip about truth, justice, and the America way, well... she's not actually that mean. At least not when it's one on one like this.

Another increase of speed as Raven's breath hitches slightly as she kicks up into what's surely impressive for mere mortals... but is a pace she knows America can certainly beat. But it's a more likely competition to win than... weight lifting. Or whatever else they might try as a contest in the gym.

America Chavez has posed:
... from... wherever you just were.

"The gym track dimension."

America Chavez says this. Her expression never falters. A smile never even so much as touches her lips as she utters each absurd syllable. Her tone never deviates from that powerful deadpan that exists like the perfect jock counterpart to Rachel Roth's own dry tones. Her eyebrow doesn't even -lift-. Not even to oh-so-tempting _The Rock_ degrees.

She just says it and leaves it, as if to let Rachel's imagination fill the blanks on what an entire dimension of gym tracks might look like or if she's just being completely bullshitted--

Before the right corner of America's lips twitch one wonderfully tiny fraction of a degree upward in the ghost of a smirk to match Raven's own.

Pale legs pump harder. Tanned counterparts match them. Curled ringlets of hair bound behind America in a ponytail bounce rhythmically to her every pavement-pounding step as she matches to Rachel's pace just as the gothic superhero catches up to her, keeping them neck-and-neck. America looks sidelong Rachel's way, taking her in with thoughtful, chocolate brown eyes before she fixes ahead.

Respect. It's something that Raven can feel too, in the otherwise tightly-confined vice that is America Chavez's emotional state before those emotive cards are pulled close to the vest once more.

"Okay. No cheating," America says between the practiced breathing cycles of someone all too used to running, nostrils flaring and chest rising with every inhale before it puffs past parting lips.

"Just you and me. Three laps. Whoever reaches the finish line first wins."

She keeps her gaze fixed forward, the little note of challenge in the offer much more felt in her emotional vibe and the tone of her voice than seen in her expression.

"What d'you say, princess?"

Rachel Roth has posed:
Rachel wants to dispute that the gym track dimension is real. Because that sounds foolish. That sounds more foolish than Garfield on April Fools day.

But America /is/ dressed for the gym, and clearly keeps in shape. Perhaps via judicious use of the gym track dimension.

And so Rachel's lips press in a thin line and her nostrils flare as she breathes harder and her feet pound the track faster. And one of those heavy breaths might be a little grumbled murmur of skepticism.

Fortunately, as the only empath currently pounding laps around the track, the flush of warmth that Rachel feels from that little thoughtful gaze, that brief wave of respect from Ms. Chavez that warms the half-demon's heart, making it grow three sizes without striking her dead mid-workout is only noted by Rachel herself. And she's very practiced at shutting down positive emotions, or at least maintaining a tight grip of control on them. Really, it's partly why she works out without music. People enjoy music because it keeps them motivated for the burn, to keep pushing. And Rachel doesn't need that, because her willpower, her self-control, focus her and drive her on.

Also pride and competition. Pride and competition also drive her on. And America just challenged her to a race. Her lips curl, a brief little /grimace/ of intense focus, a raspy, hoarse little nosie from low in her throat.

"Oh. You are on."

America Chavez has posed:
How does America keep in -such- good shape? She has the Titan's gym now, but what about -before-? There's only one logical answer:

Gym track dimension.

(???)

Whatever the source, America makes good use of those Utopian gains; powerful, corded thigh muscles flex, tense and relax with footfall, strong arms pumping in time to her quickening pace, providing brief glimpses of those little star tattoos on the insides of her wrist as her confident stride steadily transitions from brisk jog to a full run.

The tiniest, tiniest beads of sweat start to glisten on her brow and roll little beadlets of moisture all the way down to her chin as Raven takes her challenge. The goth gives a grimace.

The jock gives her first smile of the day.

"Knew I liked you. Bring it."

And with that, she takes off. Her run is a measured thing still, pacing herself properly as shoe soles clap pavement with every powerful pump of her legs. She is -fast-.

She is also, still, a cheater, because she is -much faster than this-. She's just keeping to a restrained pace for a normal human being of her height and build.

Mmmmaybe a little faster.

Don't judge her; in track and war, all's fair.