2019-10-05 - Barbie's Workout Gym

After the fire, Kelly's took a little while to get put back together. It's not like one could tell much of a difference as there was nothing fancy to replace. It's still as bare bones and cut throat a boxing gym as ever. And that appears to be what Cris is here for. With taped knuckles, he's currently working over a heavy bag, dressed in gear that appears professional instead of just the normal sweat pants and wife beater some others come to the gym in. The speakers are playing upbeat rock music, to keep the energy going and the blows coming.

Professional isn't quite the word, and neither is sweatpants and wifebeater. Charlie makes her way into the gym in black athletic shoes, plain, black yoga pants, a red sports bra under a dark gray racer-back tank top beneath a members only jacket. She's got a black duffle back over her shoulder, her hair in a ponytail, and the cord of her ear buds draped over her neck. She is, probably, not the usual sort that strolls in here.

It's not Charlie's arrival that draws Cris' attention, but rather someone else's glance at her that draws his own. He shoots a quick gaze over his shoulder and then does a quick double take, looking back to the bag as a grin splits his lips and becomes a bit toothy. There is a little disbelieving shake of his head before he sinks back into his stance and starts wailing on the bag again, mixing fists with kicks. "This goddamn town."

This one, in particular, didn't seek to enter the Gym right away, no. It was a good thing that it remained open and mostly able to denote a degree of the outside's radius and the front street, and that's where he'd come from; he'd encroach in from the general direction of Huckleberry's, dressed like he came straight out of a portal from a different timeline and right into the humble and not-so-great streets of Gray Harbour. A thick, jacketed coat with a flared neck - much like the one he wore the day before - with that canonical term 'Shithead' engraved on its rear, a sleeveless shirt logo'd with a gun firing blanks at a wall with a mock-up paint of an American flag, and the caption comically written; "It works!" right atop of it. His hair was a mess, yes, puffed and curly, but it was mostly hidden beneath a hard hat with a little light embedded into it, colored with flames at its edges to give out the most important message of them all, one that conveyed Nasir well enough; If everything seems under control, you're not going fast enough.

He had made a deal with Joey, and it was time to keep it. Cargo pants full of soot and black blotches, hands black with sulphuric cling of coal and oily excess, and black, knee-high sneakers colored a contrasting black and white gave him the look of a rebel with an ELECTRICIAN's cause, for just as he reached the Gym's lampost he looked up, and up indeed, to the enmeshing of black cables and messy, burnt remains after the shortcuiting.

"Fuck."

This goddamn town, indeed. Charlie doesn't approach anyone, she doesn't seem to pay much attention to anyone, in fact. Just moves towards the wall near the bags, tossing it down next to the wall before she tugs her phone from her pocket, then sheds her jacket before tossing it down next to the bag. Then she drops herself down next to everything, back against the wall as she unzips it, digging tape from it to begin taping her hands and wrists.

"You ever notice, Tony." Cris mentions to the man that first drew his gaze to Charlie, "That everyone in this fucking town looks like they stepped out of a magazine? Shit, even the electrician is bangable." He gives a short laugh to his 'friend' who merely flips Cris the bird as a wave off and heads to the locker room. "What's up, Boxing Gym Barbie? Come to break out a sexy sweat on the mats, cuz I hope you weren't looking for spin class."

Carefully, Nasir set his toolbox down on the ground and turned back to the wagoned truck he parked a nice half block away tied to the dingy end of a run-down ATV so incredibly dirty indeed it looked like he had recently unearthed it from a sandlot. To it was a white, massive rod that appeared collapsable - and it was, rightly then - he picked it up and laid it over shoulder, its now-malleable form letting it slide down his back and only but a few inches shy of the floor. A blue piece of tarp, non-rigid and waterproof, he made it fold into an eight by ten cut of its original size and pressed it to his stomach, bulky and multi-layered. A not-so-discreet system of buckles and pulleys followed, made specifically for the task of clambering in labored fashion up the pole.

And soon, there was Nasir, having returned to the base of the massive, incredibly taxed and cable-filled utility pole. One of the coordinates of the Gym came out with an upheaval- he looked distraught someone was about to make yet another fire, and one could only hear that loud, gruff voice of Nasir as he complained in a finale of a response while the Gym's door remained open; "Look man, I'm not going to burn your fucking Gym a second time, talk to Joey- call Joey, suck Joey's dick, I don't fucking know, he'll tell you what's up, this is arranged," and after a (shared) scowl, he tied the bindings and straps around the pole's bottom and used the now straightened pole to glide it aaall the way to the top, except for a string full of even more safety nets he'd use to later climb indeed to that messy, dangerous top full of cables.

The Gym's aidee never once re-entered, and so the door remained open, instead keeping a watchful eye over Nasir as he went about his business.

That voice. It isn't that Charlie recognizes the voice so much as she recognizes the type. That type is a dime a dozen some days, and she glances up towards Cristobal, finishing wrapping one of her hands. There is a once over him, then she looks after the man that left.

It's possible that there is a response that might happen, but it seems to be delayed a bit as she notices hubbub outside happening. There is a very brief look, and she then turns her attention back to Cristobal before she gets to her feet, giving her hands a squeeze, then bending her wrists, "That is Detective Boxing Gym Barbie, and the only thing I've come looking for is a lack of mouthy assholes. But I guess that's too much to ask, isn't it?"

Cris too has the decency to cast a glance outside, his shoulders rolling up as if expecting trouble. But trouble doesn't come, and so he can return that grin to Charlie without interruption of the nose punching variety. "Oooh, she comes with badge and handcuff accessories. If that were an option when I were a kid, my G.I. Joe would have gotten in way more trouble. Sorry, sweetheart. Mouthy assholes come with the territory. You should have read the fine print of your membership contract."

The fight for wits and total, absolute piece-of-shittery hadn't finished then. Words had been exchanged, yes, but it was the time for action now. After adjusting the climbing harness, Nasir returned back to his ATV while looking strictly over shoulder, at the man by the door. He twitched his lips, then- cracked with the cold as they were, the morning dew's humidity doing a number on them quite literally every day, baring the smallest hint of an incisor that only but enhanced the mischief. From a saddle on his four-wheeled trail-seeker, he manifested the oldest boombox ever recorded within Gray Harbour. Its speakers were morbidly dusty and caved inwards from abuse, its flappy, plastic lid bashed and crunched in cracks. Almost as if band-aids, the entirety of said plastic was covered in a warband of comical stickers that mostly took bashes at capitalism and modern society with derogatory slogans.

Fucked as it was, when he returned back to the utility pole's foundation he set it down by his feet and flipped it open, inflicting a cassette into it. Each button, pull and turn of the presented mechanisms he used while his eyes were, entirely, still on the Gym's custodian. Slowly, an index finger fell pointedly on that last, 'On' button, and a loud; a hard bass crash erupted from the boombox so hard it bounced from the floor and comically tittered back onto the cobbled sidewalk, blasting hard, vocal punk rock about some chippin' in meant to lobby and shape the workplace atmosphere, of course.

It was a matter of pride, for the custodian to remain stoic and unphased, which in truth ruined the real purpose of the music to begin with. Seeing their bout of wits concluded, Nasir latched himself to the harness and made use of the many feet holsters to make way to the top, where he'd begin the sterling process of re-arranging the cables and prying connectors aside, testing voltage and the sort.

"I'll be sure to complain to the owner about the fine print." Charlie doesn't look like she'll actually complain to anyone about anything, instead she moves towards one of the heavy bags. Only, she doesn't actually get anywhere as that music just starts, and her head thumps against the bag. It is a very 'why me' moment. The phone she'd pulled out earlier seems to be the last resort, and she starts back for it, picking it up before she glances towards the door, frowning a moment. It's possible she's trying to decide if annoying her is an arrestable offense.

Spoiler: It isn't.

Cris' fingers flip out in the Universally accepted signal for 'rock'n'roll' as the music sounds pounding in from Nasir's boombox, his tongue lulling out for an obligatory head bang or two as he moves over to hold Charlie's heavy bag, all neighborly like. "What's the matter, punkin? Prefer some Taylor Swift with your work out so you can shake it off?"

And the lights flicker. Once, twice, and on the third, the whole gym goes dark. The shadow looms for five seconds until the entirety of all the lights all suddenly snap back to life as a circuit breaker's pulled back in place. In artistical tandem, even the music does a wheezing, circuit cutting sound as the lights go off, and the Custodian's shock can only be matched in contrast by Nasir's sardonic glee which he toothed as a smile for the man, and as insults began to fly, the bass kicked again twice as hard.

"What?!" he'd call down from above, pressing an open, right palm beside his ear while the right worked a sooty, blotchy wrench of the Allen type into one of his harnesses' pockets.

Waving a dismissive hand, Nasir looked back at the panel, screaming yet another response in return beneath the music-muffled slurs and negative epithets; "Write it down!" and with that, he produced a set of plyers and snapped safety goggles on, taking two smaller cables pushing out the panel's burnt bottom to begin tying, fish-taping and re-arranging them back into order.

"I'd waste my breath offering a name, but you wouldn't use it, would you?" Charlie tucks her phone into the back waist of her pants after plugging the headphones into it. When the lights go off there is a very tense moment, but they aren't off long, and she actually glances at the door again, muttering under her breath, "Why me.."

"Guess that all depends on what you'd like to be called over breakfast." Tzztdz. And the lights go out. Charlie is treated to an animalistic sneer when they come back on from Cris, but it fades just as quick as it appeared. "My guess? Because you're the lucky one. C'mon, Detective Barbie. Show me what you've got."

Give or take the better half of five minutes and he's off the pole. His ties and leathery harnessing all wheezes hard on the careless way he slipped down, nearing rappelling until he hit the floor with the loud mulch of his sneaker's soles, wheezing like a clown's honker. Delta Force baby, or whatever.

"Got to check inside," Nasir instructed the man, to whom he afforded an artificial degree of respect and approached with no small amount of humility now that he was within punching distance. A sneer, a gruff grunt and a derisive wave of the hand, in went Nasir.

Sadly, right as he walked through the door and entered the remainder of the facilities looking like he had just stuck a fork into an outlet, the music stopped. "Oh mother fucker," he'd mumble in a complaint, looking over his shoulder briefly at the door while his feet took him towards the inner panel of circuit breakers within the gym, made public to all given how open and far from multi-layered the place was. He spared a glance for some of the people within, seeing some familiar faces, but had to actually do a double take of Cristobal and Charlie once the sourness prevailed. He blinked, feeling the hate, yet continued on while pulling off his hard hat and laying it against his chest.

"Does that really work for you?" Charlie doesn't actually look surprised by Cristobal, honestly. Resigned, maybe a little tired. Enough that she just rolls her eyes, and places a hand against the bag before she steps back. He asked for it, and he gets up. Probably much to her chagrin it's clear that if this is a hobby, it's a new enough one that she's only okay at it. It's not even particularly hard hits, or really perfect form.

Nevermind that she might just be silently hoping the lights go out again and she can 'miss' and hit someone in their smart mouth. That's probably not that obvious by her expression, right?

"Depends on who I'm trying to pick up. So now you have to ask yourself, is it you?" Cris' eyebrows push up over his blue eyes, as if not expecting her to answer, but at least contemplate the query. He does at least brace himself and the bag, offering a gruff, "Drop your right shoulder a little, keep your elbow in tighter." In response to her first couple of whacks to the bag, though his eyes are taken off her for a moment to trail after Nasir as if trying to track his positioning throughout the gym.

Nasir looked somewhat centered on the jalopy of a distribution board within the gym itself, finding the two metallic lids that kept it close perpetually ajar due to the broken state of their lock, half of it which hung down from the fire's melting heat. He laid a finger into it, testing its density, and found it bending under the pressure. A deep exhale ensued, and he caught himself looking over his right shoulder then left, finding Cris' looking, before he announced; "Who put this piece of shit together?" questioningly.

He, of course, wouldn't complain if someone wasn't there to acknowledge it, right? But it also served to let his machismo show in how Charlie squared up with Cristobal for supposed punching, forcing the 'electrician' to grimace. Clearly, he must've made the assumption she had no chance, or did he?

The actually helpful advice is somewhat surprising, and Charlie actually takes a split second to stare. But the advice is good, right? Assumed so at least. She drops her shoulder, and tucks her elbow in a little before she starts to take swings at the bag again. "You're not trying to pick me up, all you're doing is blowing smoke so everyone thinks you are." The words are spoken in between the punches, not winded sounding at the very least.

"Look at that. Barbie got her badge for something." Cris gives a little up-nod at the marginally improved form and the blows it produces, muttering a, "Good." To reinforce the habit.

"Lowest bidder, amigo!" He calls back Nasir, "That's always the answer. Glad Joey got someone in here to fix it right." Cristobal's hands slip away from the bag as he steps back, teeth pulling at the edge of his tape before he starts uncoiling the white banded adhesive from his knuckles. Appears his fun is done here, for now.

The whole inside was a jarring mess. Once he pushed the panel open he'd reveal the plastic, metal and copper inside melted together like one torn, multi-layered blob of brown and black plasticine from bottom to top, at different sections. Tumors upon tumors of liquified and later re-solidified mess, and that's fire damage for you. Out of all the tools he could've chosen for the job of working such horrible chinks, it was a knife he produced.

.... A thick-bladed thing built robustly and clearly made for rudimentary work in how the steel tapered to the top in broadening. Its bottom was hollow, and had the half-spooling of a multitool embedded into the carbon-fibered handle, all screaming 'military' by the sheer nature of the way it was made. He used the tip to scrape and rake away while engaging Cristobal's claim in return, his head half-turned to divide attention as was necessary. "Had to talk to him, looked pretty open about it- had I more time, I would've gone into detail about how public services suck here, but he had to bounce. And shit, so did I, so who are you man? And who's your friend?" he looked between the two yet again, yet lingered mostly on Cristobal.

When Cristobal releases the bag there is a pause, and Charlie reaches out to make sure that it isn't going to be swinging around and risk smacking anyone in the face. Mostly her. When asked who people are she provides a name, "Charlie Morgan." Because it is polite. But then she lifts her hands up to start punching at the bag once more, turning her focus inwards.

"Cruz." Cristobal lobs back, the introduction like one would give in the service or a sport's team, last name with no further embellishment. And even though Charlie gives an introduction of her own, his head tilts in that direction. "Detective Barbie." Just so Nasir is up to speed. As he continues unwinding his hands from their thin layer of protection against knuckles splitting, he walks backwards towards the locker room, asking of her, "So you gonna join me in the shower or what?"

Each of Nasir's eyes squinted at the pair. They were already the narrow type, baggy as they were, so it made them look as naught but two chinks of amber from below the eyelids. In being "up to speed," it was obvious the Arabic figure was trying to make up his mind about the pair, and the message they conveyed. He huffed briefly, mostly in amusement, and dragged an open palm across his hair to adjust the curly tilt to the right more than up, a fixation he often had to undertake to make sure it didn't look like the distended end of a smurf's caphat.

"Nasir Ibn Khairan," he eventually replied, pressing a flat palm across his chest, a mockery of humility, symbolic to Islam. Something he, too, mocked on the double. "Join you in the shower? Fuck no dude, you haven't even put out a monster drink or nothing, no reach arounds from me," he interceded for Charlie, baring a toothy, mocking smirk he shared with the pair while loosening some buckles on his harness.

"Not until you buy me dinner." Charlie responds promptly, pausing once more to catch the bag, glancing at Nasir, looking at least amused by his response. Anything she might have said stops when her phone makes a noise, and she pulls it out to answer it, "Detective Morgan." There is a moment, then a frown before she's heading towards her bag and jacket, "Shit..no..Sorry, I lost track of the time, yeah. Sorry, I know I said only a few hours, but I'll pay for the ...yeah. Just tell Georgie I'll be home soon, and that she needs to pick up the crayons before I get there."

"Shit, you think I'm polite enough to offer a reach around? Have you been paying attention, man?" Cris' smile melts down into something wry at their nearly matching responses. "This town's going to be hell on my wallet, if people keep expecting bribery first..." And then he's gone, pushing into the locker room.

"It's only courtesy," was all Nasir could manage, before he disappeared indeed into the locker room. And so he was forced to share an amused glance with Charlie as the only lingering face on the three's brief exchanges. "A kid, or something? Good luck with that can of apples, and all that, Detective," he gave a brief wave of the palm, more to the left than the right, and lazily turned to give her his back and that all-capped 'SHITHEAD' writing on the coat as farewell on his way back to the circuit board, where he'd most likely spend the rest of the morning, and early afternoon, scraping 'shitfire'.

"Yeah.." Charlie holds a hand up, it could be a wave, could be an age. Either way she swings her bag onto her shoulder and heads back out at the quick double-time of a parent that screwed up and will probably have hell to pay.