the gym - sunday morning - 8/31

[new-to-liirness.livejournal.com]

As it was Sunday, Liir was found at the gym as per usual.

He wasn't waiting for anyone, however. He'd be glad if, say, they did show up, but he wasn't waiting. He came in early and warmed up, stretched, then went into his stances. Mostly he worked on the newest set of them as opposed to the others, but he mixed in the older knowledge; it was always good to be flexible and that had never been his strong point in anything. One does not need to be flexible to go where the wind blows them, only willing, and what is not there cannot be asked to bend; there was something within him now, though, and he was a long way from having it trained to curve instead of cracking.

And as he did, as he moved through the positions and postures, he let his body move on it's own as his mind delved into his memories, the thinner ones, the simple everydays of the soldiers both at Kiamo Ko and Munchkin Mousehole. He very well might have to teach himself today and spectral half-remembered teachers were better than none. He grabbed the broom and began working it in, using it to change his position or take his weight and he added Tevril's punch over the gooseberry foul and Balthemor's low kick from the fight when no one could remember who was on latrine duty and a few punches from his own hands when Codden had tried to show him to box, how had he let that fade in there?

Oddly enough, he was smiling.

[open for gymish needs and liirish needs]