got a little motto always sees me through
Having no way of really getting rid of his excess energy, and despite having no reason to really stay in shape, Rodney's taken up running along the beach. (He stays well fed, here, after all. He's got to work it off somehow.)
He has no way of really telling how much he's run, but after half an hour or so (he thinks that ought to be about four miles), he slows it down, cooling off until he feels his heartbeat back to a point where he feels like he won't be doing anything detrimental in sitting down. Stretched out on the sand, he cuts a fairly unremarkable figure, dressed in a simple white tee and black shorts (that are, mercifully, a reasonable length) and trainers, face still a little red, clashing with the mop of hair on his head.
Somehow he's managed to keep himself from becoming restless. It's a difficult task, but he's staved off the itch that has always been under his skin by taking on whatever tasks he can, whether it be running or fiddling with some of the more modern technology up at the Compound. (None of it's as elegant as what Nemo had on board the Nautilus, but he supposes he can't expect that level of intricacy everywhere.)
At the sound of someone approaching, he looks up, offering his customary lopsided grin and a nod.
"Alright, mate?" he calls, keeping his palms planted behind him.
He has no way of really telling how much he's run, but after half an hour or so (he thinks that ought to be about four miles), he slows it down, cooling off until he feels his heartbeat back to a point where he feels like he won't be doing anything detrimental in sitting down. Stretched out on the sand, he cuts a fairly unremarkable figure, dressed in a simple white tee and black shorts (that are, mercifully, a reasonable length) and trainers, face still a little red, clashing with the mop of hair on his head.
Somehow he's managed to keep himself from becoming restless. It's a difficult task, but he's staved off the itch that has always been under his skin by taking on whatever tasks he can, whether it be running or fiddling with some of the more modern technology up at the Compound. (None of it's as elegant as what Nemo had on board the Nautilus, but he supposes he can't expect that level of intricacy everywhere.)
At the sound of someone approaching, he looks up, offering his customary lopsided grin and a nod.
"Alright, mate?" he calls, keeping his palms planted behind him.