Since he's taking regular bartending shifts again, Indy has stepped his fitness regime back up. This will be his third time in the gym in the last week.
"Woah! Go Vee," he comments as he strolls in, attired in an aging pair of sneakers, black sweat pants and a faded gray sleeveless T-shirt. He sounds impressed, but as always, it's hard to tell if he's being sincere.
"Five reps at two-fifteen. Ten bucks says I can do it. If I lose you get the added bonus of mocking me as I hobble around nursing a hernia for the next few weeks."
It may be noted that Indy hasn't done any warm up stretches so far. Maybe he did them in his suite?
Indy leans over to shake on it, as any good gentleman should, then positions himself on his back under the bar.
"One...
The strain is apparent as he starts, but he still manages to count each rep.
"Two... unggh...
"Two and a half....
The key to the bench press is weight distribution. Two hundred and fifteen pounds doesn't require an incredible feat of strength really.
"...Three. Four. Five."
After the fakeout, he breezes through the last reps, sits up and extends a hand in Veronica's direction. He's breathing heavily and a little red in the face, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
Fortunately, Veronica has the legs and ass to carry off such fashion without the merest hint of unsightliness. Or so Indy would decree if this came up in conversation.
As it is, he just shrugs.
"Fair enough. I'd like my steak rare, and hand-delivered to my suite by you."
"I've got a non-swooning totally unappreciative audience. I might as well just work my calves and do some fast walking on the treadmill if I'm not gonna make any money out of it."
"You're big on swooning, aren't'cha? Is that what it takes to be your ideal woman," she asks as she crosses back across the room, adjusting her gloves, "easily impressed and frequently unconscious?"
"Oh, it's not secret," Indy reveals between the grunts that accompany his current exercise. His left arm is a bit weaker, so curls take more effort on that side.
"I'm not ashamed. I've told everyone about it."
He finishes that set of fifteen and places the weight on the floor.
"Woah! Go Vee," he comments as he strolls in, attired in an aging pair of sneakers, black sweat pants and a faded gray sleeveless T-shirt. He sounds impressed, but as always, it's hard to tell if he's being sincere.
"Hope that's not me you're visualizing."
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"You should put your money where your mouth is."
"Five reps at two-fifteen. Ten bucks says I can do it. If I lose you get the added bonus of mocking me as I hobble around nursing a hernia for the next few weeks."
It may be noted that Indy hasn't done any warm up stretches so far. Maybe he did them in his suite?
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"It's a bet."
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Indy leans over to shake on it, as any good gentleman should, then positions himself on his back under the bar.
"One...
The strain is apparent as he starts, but he still manages to count each rep.
"Two... unggh...
"Two and a half....
The key to the bench press is weight distribution. Two hundred and fifteen pounds doesn't require an incredible feat of strength really.
"...Three. Four. Five."
After the fakeout, he breezes through the last reps, sits up and extends a hand in Veronica's direction. He's breathing heavily and a little red in the face, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
"Cough it up, Mars."
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"Such a ham."
Veronica pulls him up, shaking her head. "You'll have to take an IOU. I'm a little short on cash - or pockets, for that matter - right now."
It's easy enough to verify: her workout pants cling in such a way that, were she somehow carrying change, Indy could probably tell the exact amount.
Even in the future, fashion is cruel.
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As it is, he just shrugs.
"Fair enough. I'd like my steak rare, and hand-delivered to my suite by you."
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She looks away, a tough negotiator.
"I can get you ham sandwich."
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"Don't worry. By the time I've finished up here, you'll owe me about fifty by my reckoning."
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She gestures with her thumb over her shoulder.
"I'm going back to punching things."
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"I've got a non-swooning totally unappreciative audience. I might as well just work my calves and do some fast walking on the treadmill if I'm not gonna make any money out of it."
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"Not really," he confesses. "I like a challenge."
He seats himself on the nearby bench and starts a set of curls.
"There are challenges though, and then there's you and your heart of stone. I dunno why I still try."
He's kidding. Mostly.
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She squares her stance and stares down the bag.
"Ha. Ha. Ha," each word punctuated with a nice, solid punch.
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"It's alright, Vee. I know you care. You don't have to show it."
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Thud, thud-thud, go her fists.
"So hard to keep our love a secret otherwise."
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"I'm not ashamed. I've told everyone about it."
He finishes that set of fifteen and places the weight on the floor.
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