[Log: Gym-to-be, Marta and Holly]
So, the gym? Was gutted out. Equipment had been delivered, but it was all still in boxes and in a room off to the side of the main entrance. Everything was painted, rewired, and the floor had been put down new, but the place still needed a few good days of unpacking shit and getting ready to go. For now? Holly's current haunt was still just inside the main doors, where he'd spread out into the space. Today? The bedding was wadded up on the bed, and there was music playing on his laptop, which was at the end of the mattress.
He'd managed a shower that morning, and a show, and then another shower, and he was feeling pretty fucking spent by the time the door opened. And he hadn't forgotten Sunny was coming in the afternoon, so he was dressed chill, sans shoes and with both his slim and exo-brace on.
So, right, he was trying to walk around. Practicing, right? His own brand of physical therapy, since he'd stopped going to both his doctor and therapist in the Capital. Look, they wanted to make him some fucking guinea pig for overly rapid healing, and he'd just left one fucked up facility. He wasn't about to willingly become some test subject in another one. Anyway, he was feeling better? And he had enough painkillers for another few weeks. He'd worry about shit then. Right now? He was just pacing back and forth in the space, sweat collecting on his brow and overlong hair sweat-damp.
He looked up when the door opened, and his voice kinda echoed. "Hey." He hobbled over, and, okay... it was more of a lurch, and it was slow as fuck, but he wasn't using the crutches, so, win? There were circles under his eyes, and he was pale, but his smile was genuine, and he actually felt pretty good in that moment. "Hey. You look good," he added, coming into view and into the main room. "I'm also fucking starving, so I hope you brought something good."