Dorm Gym, Tuesday Afternoon
Having legs again - and not the weird, unbendy pony kind - was a cause for celebration. Roscoe was a physical guy. He liked his body the way it was, and that meant bipedal and tail-free.
So he was readjusting to his human shape by running some shooting drills off the gym's basketball hoop, his phone blasting the first Spotify playlist he could find that wasn't all chirpy pop. It wasn't quite the same as playing one-on-one with his dad (a once-every-few-Sundays ritual he missed more than he was comfortable with, thank you), but it was enough to break a sweat and get back in the groove of running like a person.
[[i'm having a terrible morning! distract me!]]
So he was readjusting to his human shape by running some shooting drills off the gym's basketball hoop, his phone blasting the first Spotify playlist he could find that wasn't all chirpy pop. It wasn't quite the same as playing one-on-one with his dad (a once-every-few-Sundays ritual he missed more than he was comfortable with, thank you), but it was enough to break a sweat and get back in the groove of running like a person.
[[i'm having a terrible morning! distract me!]]