[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]this is a joke, right? he has to be joking...

except, the only punchline right now is her. fucking hell.

"only?" her nose scrunches up at the thought, as if bile might travel up her throat within seconds. once she actually starts running, that really just might happen. for now, however, she holds steady. arms rise to cross haughtily over her chest, head tilting slightly to peer at him with a single eye. "do you have head trauma i don't know about? damage to the frontal lobe?" he has to, given that level of thinking.

and where he grins with amusement, she bares teeth in open aggression. it's half a smile, right?

"there's better cardio than this."

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","cian"]"the fuck's a frontal lobe?"

but it matters little; he shakes his head, dismissing it as nothing more than an excuse.

he sees teeth, knows exactly how to counter her aggression. he steps closer, invading her personal space as he peers into her eyes.

"we'll be doing that after."

winking, he smirks, then takes a step back, separating.

"just think of this this as your warm up."

[attr="class","noodles"]drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]it takes a moment for the question to process, as if she doesn't understand that he wouldn't know what that part of the brain is, let alone what it's called. and once it does process, her eyebrows fly up into her bangs, one hidden beneath an eyepatch.

"the thought process part of the brain? that's where your judgement and line of thinking originate," it sounds dull, bored, as if recited from a textbook on command. see, frontal lobe action.

he steps up to her, baited and frisky. there's no hesitation in the way she stares back. unblinking, unmoving, stoic. her lips stay spread, stay aggressive, stay baring teeth. where there's a bark, there's always a bite.

"sure about that?" she doesn't doubt it, really, but that's if the run doesn't kill her first. realistically, six miles just might. with a nonchalant air to her, she adjusts the eyepatch on her face and then glances down at her manicure. pristine, clean, short, just the way she likes it.

"if this is just a warm up then i'm the bloody queen of galar."

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","cian"]"quite sure."

they just have to make it through this six-mile run, which for one of them, seems almost impossible to do. maybe they'll have to pace themselves; but then again, he might not have the patience to wait that long.

cian lets out a breathy chuckle, then turns away from her.

"ready?"

he takes off into a light jog regardless of her answer, beckoning for her to follow with a wave of his hand.

"keep up, oddmund!"

[attr="class","noodles"]drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]indifference comes with the remark, as if it doesn't bother her either way. perhaps it could and perhaps it never would. a strange ground to tread, sure, but she's come to understand one thing about life: one is born waiting for death and it's always as uncertain as it is inevitable.

"no."

short, sweet, absolutely to the point. unfortunately, there's a lack of care in regards to her ability to run. he'll push her to her limits with a grin, that much she's acutely aware of. what a pain in the ass.

his pace is light, floaty, patient. surprising in a way that's irritating. the beckoning is met with the roll of a single eye and a sharp huff. begrudgingly, she follows suit in a jog, trailing a mere few steps behind him.

"bite me."

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","cian"]dirt and gravel shift under his weight, displacing as he jogs along the path. it's almost barren at first, boring, but it soon cuts into nature, vibrant colors quickly overpowering. it's beautiful, possibly romantic, and it serves a purpose.

"i'll bite you later."

tilting his head to look over his shoulder, he gives her a wink, then quickens his pace slightly.

"surely you can do better than that. come on!"

it's been a total of twenty seconds.

[attr="class","noodles"]drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]the sigh that escapes is exasperated, paired with a nice roll of the eye.

"i meant metaphorically but if you want to," she huffs, nose scrunching mildly as she works to keep pace with him. "who am i to stop you?"

at least the scenery is pretty. gorgeous, even, but it's difficult to enjoy nature when her lungs are working overtime to compensate for her lack of physical fitness. there's a reason why she stays in the lab instead of the field and this proves it. poor drea oddmund, done in by a damn run.

she meets his wink with the raise of a chin and the baring of teeth. classic aggression serves a purpose in this case: it motivates her to push past the current pace. her step quickens just to catch up to him.

"tell me to come on one more time and you'll lose your tongue."

is it a threat? perhaps. she does happen to be very handy with a scalpel, after all.

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","cian"]he slows just enough to allow her the satisfaction of passing him, holding it for a few seconds before speeding up to level her. they run side by side, light and breezy.

"keep that attitude up, drea. i'll need it for later."

speaking of,

"loser buys dinner?"

[attr="class","noodles"]drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]the snarl is primordial, vicious, out of place in such a situation. given her hangover, however, it's justified.

"no, you'll need medical help after i kill you," she huffs. cian is a prime example of one thing: men really are made of pure fucking audacity.

an eye roll ensues and part of her knows better than to play into the game he lays out.

"you're a runner, are you not?" her head turns slightly to glance his way, to level him with a look of irritation. "wouldn't that automatically make me the loser?"

like hell he'll easily get dinner out of her... over her dead body.

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","cian"]yes, he's a runner, but he shakes his head regardless.

"anyone who runs is a runner. like you!"

not wanting to exhaust her just yet, he slows his pace down just a little.

"not if you play nice."

[attr="class","noodles"]drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]her, a runner? the laugh escapes within seconds, as if it's the funniest thing she's heard today.

"definitely not," she retorts.

the pace slows and she's almost thankful for the lull. it gives her lungs time to catch up, time to ease back from the rushed pace they'd been working with.

"playing nice isn't gonna get me very far."

not if a 6 mile run is the price she pays. somehow, she'd almost prefer paying for dinner over this. bleh, exercise.

CIAN MAHER

[attr="class","cian"]yes, she's definitely not a runner. is she out of breath already? is that what he's hearing?

"no, but playing nice could bring six miles down to just one. but again, it depends on how nice you are!"

almost cruelly, the slow pace picks back up again, and he's looking over his shoulder fully expecting her to keep up.

[attr="class","noodles"]drea oddmund

[attr="class","drea"]

[attr="class","drea b"]

[attr="class","drea i"]"somehow," she huffs, trying to savor the slow pace as long as she can. if only he'd let her drag it out or stop all together. a girl could dream.

"i doubt that."

as if on cue, he picks up the pace and she's left behind. slow and steady wins the race, right? then what the fuck is this?

there's no other option besides jogging a little harder to catch up to him.

CIAN MAHER