Fitness World
Fitness World is filled with all kinds of fitness equipment. Mirrors make up the majority of the walls, so that people can ensure that they are doing their workout correctly, or merely to admire their bodies. Atop a black exercise mat is a free weight area with several dumbell racks, exercise balls and specialized weight machines for each muscle grouping.
Stationary bikes, treadmills, elliptical trainers, stair climbers, and rowing machines are along the outer edge of the workout area, but still about ten feet from any wall. Televisions hang from the ceiling above the equipment and are meant to provide some form of distraction for those busily training. Surrounding the entire area is a circular track, where people can run if they don't feel like using a treadmill.
A large section of wall is void of mirrors. In place of the mirrors is floor to ceiling glass, enclosing an aerobics room. A large raised platform sits in the far back of this room in front of another mirrored wall, devised for an instructor to call out to the class.
There are doors which lead from both the gym, and the locker rooms to a large, heated pool.
| Characters: |
  |
The gym is normal enough, not that Makea was much of an expert on the subject. She walks into the main area, encouraged by a woman that is likely half the art instructor's age and a quarter of her weight. A brightly colored envelope is clutched in her hand, though currently it's being used to fan at her face as she attempts to recover from the heat. While it isn't particularly hot outside, it's certainly sunny enough to coax a few beads of sweat from a person. Watching others exert themselves isn't helping, either. "Mm. So I jus' mosey along in here n' see what I wanna see?" Makea throws over her shoulder, only to find her tour guide missing. Ah well. The woman certainly doesn't look like she's ready to get physical with her light, flowing blouse, jean pants, and heeled sandals. Still, she hovers about, doing her best to peer at folks while not making them uncomfortable.
Speaking of people who get peered at, Steve happens to come in just about this time. He's dressed for exercise, despite the four-footed cane he's leaning on with every other step. And it looks like this isn't his first time here, either. He quickly dumps his bag in the locker room, then reappears with a towel over one shoulder, taking a moment to see which machines are free.
Makea stands near the middle of the room, hip thrust out to the side with her hand resting on it. So much for not staring, since she's rather enjoying watching a stranger lift. That envelope is used to fan herself long after she has recovered from the heat. After all, the gym is kept at a comfortable temperature, even with all of the bodies giving off warmth as they work out. Catching sight of Steve, the woman takes note of his cane but then just smiles, her attention elsewhere. It takes all kinds, after all. Even Makea doesn't have unlimited patience, and once the very 'interesting' man gets off of the machine, she lets out a breath of annoyance. "An' jus' what am I supposed to do in here all by myself?" The murmur is given as she looks over her shoulder, still waiting for bubbly, perky, underweight Cindy to appear and give a tour.
Steve stops when some woman he's never seen before asks her question. Since he doesn't see anyone in particular she's asking, Steve decides to field the question. "Maybe…work out?" he suggests. "First time?"
"Smartass." She shoots right back at Steve, but the verbal blow is softened to mush by that big, toothy smile. "It's that obvious, ain't it?" Makea chuckles under her breath, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her face. Those dark eyes bounce from torture device to torture device, and she shifts her her weight from one heel to the other. "Mmph. I gotta wonder what grade I must've given t'deserve a gift certificate here." There's a moment where her gaze dances back to Steve, and there's a bit of staring. Staring that he's likely quite familiar with, that little pinch in her brow coupled with a gnaw of her lower lip. Hm.
Steve smiles in return at Makea's insult. "Listen, do you want some help?" he offers, nodding to an open bench press machine. "It's not as complicated as you probably think. You choose your weight and then pretty much either push or pull something."
Makea gives an unsure sound in her throat, though her distrust of the machines isn't enough to make her seem too uneasy. Gyms were meant for working out, but to the woman, they're ideal for people-watching. Who knew? "I've never been the… working out type." Searching for the words, she states the obvious, has to laugh at it. Recovering, Steve would find a hand on his shoulder, "I suppose I could use a demonstration…" A pause. "You take any art classes, Sug?" Random.
"Art classes?" Steve echoes. "No, not me. I can't really draw. And they're probably expensive." He carefully lowers himself down onto the bench with the help of the cane, which he leaves standing there. But once he's seated, he reaches back and sets the weight, then lies down and starts pumping a little iron. He seems pretty comfortable with the motions. Somebody's been in a gym before!
"They're not that bad…" Makea defends with a playful wave of her hand, following the stranger to one of the death-devices. The envelope is clutched between two fingers, and she crosses her arms loosely, watching Steve. "I'm Makea, by the by." She offers, intellegent eyes taking in the motions. Of course she knows how to lift weights, not that she's ever done so. That's a bit of common knowledge… but she doesn't need to go and tell him this. "No art, hm? I know I've seen you in my class before. Any children?"
"I'm unemployed," Steve says flatly, pausing briefly between reps to add, "I'm Steve. Nice to meet you." He does a few more reps before he answers, "Nope, no kids. Not married, either."
Makea chooses to be careful with what she says, given the man's response. Her voice is softer after she speaks once more, smile unwavering, "My pleasure, Steve." Her eyes follow the weights, if for no reason than there's nothing better to do. It isn't as if she's really picking up any techniques. Likely, the man is just unlucky enough to catch her interest for the moment. "I know I'm old," She chuckles in a way that clearly tells that she thinks the exact opposite, "But I'm not much for forgettin' a face, or hallucinatin'." Leaning her head back against the wall, she closes her eyes. There's a few moments of silence, before she nearly launches herself off of the wall and does a little bouncedance. "Ooh! Ooh! You were a project!" Point point.
Steve lowers the weight, looking up at Makea. "Old?" he asks, looking puzzled. "What do you mean?" He sits up. "A project? What do you mean?" Not only does he look confused, he also looks slightly wary.
The little celebratory dance is complete with bouncing and little taptaptaps on those precarious heels. She pauses only when Steven interrupts his work out to look at her. Pausing, she holds out a finger, "First of all, not old. I was teasin'." Women are sensitive about their ages, right? Makea is especially so. "Second, I mean you were an art project." Settling back down, the woman seems smug. "Oh, jus' a painting project I had a class do sometime last semester. They had t'bring in a picture of an actor or famous person, and someone brought in a picture of you. That's where I know y'from." She taps his nose with a nail, before giving him a genuinely puzzled expression. "Why'd you stop?" Working out, that is.
Steve looks surprised to hear about being some sort of art project. "Oh," he says. "That's weird. I hope it was a publicity photo or something and not an older shot…" He looks over his shoulder at the machine. "Stop? I don't know. To talk to you," he says. "Anyway, I think you get the point of this one, don't you?" He frowns at the idea of moving, however. "Uh…maybe I'll do a couple more sets." He lies back again.
Makea is more than happy to expand on the subject, "Oh, it was jus' a headshot." The tips of her fingers are shoved at Steve's bicep, almost a reprimand. "Well don't stop on my account! Silly." Now that she doesn't have the mystery gnawing at the back of her head, the woman is even more vibrant than before. Lucky Steve. Once he lies back down, Makea walks along the machine, only to place her hands on the bar that he's wanting to lift. "So, Mr. Steve Big Actor Man. What is it that you've been in?" She seems genuinely unawares, grinning down and effectively getting in his way.
"I've been on a bunch of stuff," Steve says. "I mean…here and there. "But…I guess I used to be on this kids' show." As though he weren't certain about that. "I was just in one of those made-for-TV movies, but it hasn't aired, yet." He doesn't sound excited to be talking about it, but he's far from rude.
Those hands curl around the metal, though she doesn't seem the least bit interested in moving the weight. "Oooh. I might have'ta look you up, Sug. Never met a famous person before." She's not fawning or amazed, simply nosy. The fact that he used to be on a kids show amuses her to no end, and her brows lift, "Oh really? I love kids. Must've been real fulfillin' work." Crossing her arms down onto the bar, she leans her head even more, not seeming to realize that if she leans down anymore- Steve is likely to suffocate. Er, but what a way to go? Once Cindy returns, Makea straightens up. "Thanks for the demo, Steve. But I sincerely doubt this is my kinda place." She gives his stomach a hearty pat, the month of prepaid membership slipping from her grip and left on his tummy.
Steve looks up at Makea, then the ceiling instead. When she stands up straight, he looks back to her. "I'm not that famous," he murmurs. He can't help jumping when the stranger pats his stomach, but then he nods, sitting up. "See you. Good luck…"
