Jogging. [OPEN]
who ; Shepard and Eliot, other people can feel free to interrupt.
what ; Shepard is jogging. So is Eliot. Shenanigans.
where ; Zone 2? Idek.
when ; Mid-morning.
warning(s) ; Shenanigans. Swearing. Probably violence.
Shepard was used to combat rations. She didn't like them, they tasted like refried cardboard, but she was used to them. Coffee and combat rations. It was good enough, and she was alright with that. Then Sagan had reappeared and moved in with them. The guy was enthusiastic, chatty in a way Shepard had never had to deal with, a very good cook, and trustworthy.
It was almost obscene just how much improved the food and general nutrition around the base was.
Shepard was not used to being able to eat good food three times a day. She was especially not used to doing this without being interrupted by missions on a regular basis. Without a few solid hours of combat and infiltration every few days, and given all the good food she could eat, Shepard had actually managed to put on some weight. Fat, even. Wasn't much, but it was enough to properly offend her pride.
She was a well honed fighting machine. She vaulted blockades and charged headlong into merc-groups like she was strolling in the park. She did not have a tummy pooch. Even thinking those asinine words was enough to get her blood up. Naturally, upon discovery of this issue, Shepard instantly started a compensation routine.
More exercise, more training drills, and a good solid run when she woke up.
So, today, she was jogging. Civvies, kevlar under-suit, and her pistol concealed at the small of her back, she took to the streets and started running. That she'd even been here long enough to get out of shape was an affront--.
what ; Shepard is jogging. So is Eliot. Shenanigans.
where ; Zone 2? Idek.
when ; Mid-morning.
warning(s) ; Shenanigans. Swearing. Probably violence.
Shepard was used to combat rations. She didn't like them, they tasted like refried cardboard, but she was used to them. Coffee and combat rations. It was good enough, and she was alright with that. Then Sagan had reappeared and moved in with them. The guy was enthusiastic, chatty in a way Shepard had never had to deal with, a very good cook, and trustworthy.
It was almost obscene just how much improved the food and general nutrition around the base was.
Shepard was not used to being able to eat good food three times a day. She was especially not used to doing this without being interrupted by missions on a regular basis. Without a few solid hours of combat and infiltration every few days, and given all the good food she could eat, Shepard had actually managed to put on some weight. Fat, even. Wasn't much, but it was enough to properly offend her pride.
She was a well honed fighting machine. She vaulted blockades and charged headlong into merc-groups like she was strolling in the park. She did not have a tummy pooch. Even thinking those asinine words was enough to get her blood up. Naturally, upon discovery of this issue, Shepard instantly started a compensation routine.
More exercise, more training drills, and a good solid run when she woke up.
So, today, she was jogging. Civvies, kevlar under-suit, and her pistol concealed at the small of her back, she took to the streets and started running. That she'd even been here long enough to get out of shape was an affront--.