7412/Old Men Flexing
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| Old Men Flexing | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 17 August 2021 |
| Location: | Athletics: Triskelion |
| Synopsis: | No description |
| Cast of Characters: | Michael Erickson, Clifford Secord
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- Michael Erickson has posed:
It has been a week or so since Michael Erickson came to the Triskelion - quiet, polite, usually stoic as he goes through...well, whatever purposes he's put to in its offices. Does anyone without higher clearance really know? Supposedly he's from space, but he certainly doesn't /look/ like it. Just this guy who stays out of peoples' way and seems to have a perennial stoneface issue. Obviously military in some way or another if you've got the eyes to see it, but who /isn't/ in this building?
Anyway. Spaceman is in the gym. Crunching. Lying on a mat, hands behind his head and dressed in SHIELD-issue athletic togs, Erickson lies on his back and pulls crunches like a machine, silent save for the soft hissing of exhalation as he comes up and makes his abs work. Always smooth, always steady, no hurrying. And, at least in the moment, no tiring. Perhaps he's just gotten started.
- Clifford Secord has posed:
Physical fitness is key in this line of work, and that's why good ol Clif Secord is here today. He's clad in the old school blue and white athletics uniform of shield and he's ready for a great new beautiful today. The look on his face is one of determination as he wanders over to the weight lifting bench right past Micael.
"Well hello there, working hard or hardly working?" He throws a brief smile the aliens way, a quick flash of pearly whites as he slaps his hands together readying for the grueling task he's set ahead of himself for the day. He's got his own military walk to him but that comes from thirty years in the service earned back in the day on the battlefields of earth more than space.
He slides himself onto the bench after checking how many weights have been left on the bench to make sure there's not too many for him to handle.
- Michael Erickson has posed:
"Hey." He doesn't look back, speaking through grunts of exertion as he keeps his gaze squarely at the distant gymnasium wall - his eyes are fixed, bright blue and hard. "You're Secord, right?" Not unfriendly, just...businesslike. Detached. "Mike Erickson. Nice to meet you."
- Clifford Secord has posed:
"That's what the nametag says, last time I checked anyways" He lets olut a lighthearted chuckle. "Clifford Seacord at your service." Clif offers another friendly smile before getting down to work lifting weights. It's not something he's particularly the best at but it's something you've got to do if you want to stay in shape. He's keeping in solid time with his pushes lifting the weights up high and pulling them back low towards his chest as he proceeds through the arduous motions.
"Be honest with you I'd rather be out flying right now then in here exercising but hard to do one without at least a bit of the other." He chuckles to himself as he hoists up keeping a mental count of his reps.
- Michael Erickson has posed:
"Flying is certainly a liberating experience." Michael goes through another couple of crunches before he stops - and, taking a moment to collect himself, gets to his feet to turn and watch as Secord begins his workout. "Sorry," he says then, walking over to stand by the weight bench. "I don't mean to seem unfriendly. I've had a lot on my mind - would you like me to spot you?"
- Clifford Secord has posed:
"Nothing to be sorry about." Clif goes through a few more silent repetitions lifting and lowering as he counts. "You've got a lot on your plate, we all do to be fair with recent events." He lets out a low grunting chuckle as he hoists those weights high into the air locking them into place.
He takes a few moments to catch his breath clearly not in the worst of shape but not exactly the peak of human conditioning by a long shot. "Penny for your thoughts?"
- Michael Erickson has posed:
He shrugs. "Nothing much to talk about, I'm afraid," he replies. "Closest thing I could think of is the Cold War - but we've both lived through that. My people are the ones in orbit, causing problems. Think of me as the cosmic version of a KGB agent turning to the West in protest. Very John LeCarre, just with lasers." Michael chuckles, then, offers his hand. "Cal'hatar of Chandilar, eldest and only son of the noble house of Atlex, Officer Third Magnitude of the Shi'ar Imperial Intelligence Cadre." A beat. "Formerly, of course. I'm persona non grata in the Empire now."
- Clifford Secord has posed:
"You'd be surprised how often I've heard the story." He offers a hand of his own extending for a firm grip handshake. He's not the most muscular man in the world but he's still got a bit of muscle on him as mandated by SHIELD physical fitness standards for their agents. He's middle of the road for most of the standards really.
"Admittedly usually they're from Moscow, China, Carbombya, Vietnam, or some other such place." He nods his head. "Space? Space is a bit of a new one I'll be honest."
- Michael Erickson has posed:
Michael, on the other hand, is clearly keeping his grip light as he returns it, even though it's just as firm as a man's should be. The way he holds his arm, that sort of thing. "I've been here since 'seventy-five," he explains, going to sit down on the bench next to Cliff. "So I see a lot of it. Spent most of my life on this planet, in fact. My people don't take 'no' for an answer. Best they learn."
He nods at Cliff then. "I hear you've been around a while yourself, if you were serious about immortality. What's that about?"
- Clifford Secord has posed:
"Not much to say about it." Cliff offers genuinely as he sets on the bench grabbing his towel to throw around his neck. "Just woke up one day and realized everyone around me was getting a lot older but I still looked the same old me." He chuckles to himself. "I'd say that I'm holding together pretty well for a hundred fourteen going on a hundred fifteen." A light pause. "After a while I stopped dying my hair grey when I realized people weren't buying it anymore."
- Michael Erickson has posed:
He nods, running a hand through his hair. "I just turned seventy-one. It's going to be rough, for both of us. But I believe that if we have a cause, living for that won't be the worst thing we could do. Plenty of those around us with long lifestyles that never /actually/ live, after all. Not for annyone but themselves."
- Clifford Secord has posed:
"You're not entirely wrong on that." Cliff grabs for his water bottle and kicks back the contents for a quick sip, rubbing his forehead with the towel to slick off some of the sweat. He's only been exercising for a little bit but it's clear that it's taken something out of him anyway. Maybe he's just a little out of shape. Or maybe he's just pushing himself a bit too hard. Either way a break is exactly what he needs.
"Retirement hasn't suited me the best anyway, time to get back out there and do something." He offers with a bit of a chuckle recapping his water bottle back shut. He tosses it onto its holster on his uniform dabbing more sweat from his brow.
- Michael Erickson has posed:
"Why retire when you can still fight?" A smirk lines his lips as he leans back against the bench rails. "If you need help getting back into practice, I'm sure we could spar. I'm skilled in hand-to-hand combat methods on this planet as well as from my own galaxy. I'd be glad to teach you whatever you'd like to learn."
- Clifford Secord has posed:
Cliff slowly pushes himself back to a stand tossing the towel back over towards his things once he's dried off. He looks towards the space KGB agent for a long and silent moment before just offering. "Why not, every day you learn something new is a day well spent." He starts to move his way over towards the sparring arena offering a friendly voice of "Just try not to break an old man alright? I'm still warming up to speed on things."
