CB's Grim Frequencies IC -- COMPLETE

J.R follows Feral and T-Dawg into the weight room to take a look and seems surprised Marks isn't tearing the group a new one over the damage to the car.
 

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Death Otter loaded herself down with Best Buy bags and hauled them off to the dank den she'd picked out for herself. There was a round of swearing when she discovered the phone connections down there were a bit unreliable, and she wound up having to uproot and move to a new dank den. After that though, ominous silence. Like lambs.
 

J.R. helps unload the SHO, placing bags that don't belong to D0 at a central location for people to get to their stuff. He nabs his tablet and ear buds and lounges in his cot.
 

The weight room was equipped with a punching bag affixed to a reinforced ceiling. Four gym mats with Velcro fasteners on their sides lay stacked against one wall. Next to the gym mats were four rolled up yoga mats and four pilates balls. Two treadmills, a recombent bicycle, a bench press, and a squat machine occupied the center of the room. The wall opposite held racks of free weights and dumb bells.

Marks was nowhere to be seen.
 

Feral tries out the punching bag with a series of light punches and kicks, getting a feel for it.

"Not too shabby. I'll have to thank Marks when I see him. Where is he anyway?"
 


"Dunno. He wasn't here when I came in. But this home gym was." T-dawg cracked a lopsided smile. "Hey, we gotta eat. I'm hungry." He eyed Feral. "You hungry?"

Feral realized he'd done it again...gotten so caught up in the events of the day that he'd forgotten to eat and was suddenly ravenous.

"Yeah. Uh...we don't have any food here, do we? Let's order some pizza or something."
 

T-dawg shook his head no. "There's food. Kitchen's been stocked. An' I ain't eatin' no pizza." He drew himself up to his full height, and squared his shoulders. "Ain't puttin' that crap in this here temple, nossir." He eyed Feral. "You oughta eat right, Feral Li. You'll feel better, and be stronger." T-dawg grinned big, and cracked large meaty knuckles.
 

T-dawg shook his head no. "There's food. Kitchen's been stocked. An' I ain't eatin' no pizza." He drew himself up to his full height, and squared his shoulders. "Ain't puttin' that crap in this here temple, nossir." He eyed Feral. "You oughta eat right, Feral Li. You'll feel better, and be stronger." T-dawg grinned big, and cracked large meaty knuckles.

Feral grinned, "Strength is only part of the equation. Agility, speed, and cunning are what its all about. We'll spar sometime and I'll show you a thing or two." Feral's smile is, just for a moment, the one he used in the ring and how he earned his name. He then heads to the kitchen to see what's there.
 

T-dawg shuffled along into the kitchen, Feral (and whoever else was hungry) in tow. He got out a whisk, set out a pan to heat with olive oil, and cracked eggs into a bowl. He rummaged in the pantry to find black pepper, then in the fridge for mozzarella and spinach. Feral watched as T-dawg skillfully assembled spinach and cheese omelettes. After a few minutes, he set a plate down in front of Feral. "You can get your own fork. Who else wants one? It's halal, and it's good."

The big man was quiet a beat, waiting to see who else was hungry. "So where's Marks, do you think?"
 

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