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Deck | Friday After Lunch

Marshall had a sheaf of printouts with him, a collection of pages on proper exercise and stretching that he'd printed out from a link sent to him by Corrine after he'd emailed her to ask her to ask Vaughn to check his email, since he hadn't gotten a response from Vaughn and figured that he probably just wasn't, y'know, as obsessive about checking it as ~~Lucas~~ ~~Corrine~~ some people he knew.

So, y'know, stretching. Between Outdoor Fitness on Mondays and Zombies on Wednesday -- and the homework for Zombies, ugh -- Marshall figured he might as well do things right, so he was trying to follow along with the print-outs as he stretched in preparation for a run. 'Trying' should be stressed; it's not like he had all that much experience, after all.

Please, someone come and help him. Or point and laugh; that works, too.

[Open deck is open! Tautological sentence is tautological!]

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Marshall pointed at the papers. "Friend sent me a bunch of info," he explained, "if you want to join me. It'd be better than doing it alone, right?"

"Yeah, I might have to," Sam admitted, plucking up the sheaf of paper and giving it a look through. "How far are you planning on running? Starting small or going big? I wouldn't think zombies would be that quick on account of the, you know, dead thing."

David Davidson has been remarkably spry but Sam still thought Douglas had something to do with that.

"Probably starting small-ish," Marshall explained. "I dunno, I figured I'd go and then stop when I'm tired?

"And I guess the zombies depends on what kind you're dealing with," he added. "I mean, if you look at the movies, you've got all types, fast an slow, and not all of them are actually dead. I think the ones we were dealing with in class are technically just sick? Some kind of mutated mad cow disease."

"Sounds pleasant," Sam said, pulling a face. He'd seen a lot of people but they were mostly spirits and not fully reanimated. He didn't think he could count the dead panda bear because that had been Douglas controlled. Again.

"Zombies or not, it sounds like it's a class you won't fall asleep in, right?" Sam pointed out, glancing at Marshall again. "Running from zombies sounds pretty simplistic too. I had to put together a freaking Ikea bookcase in my class on not dying. Nightmare. And I couldn't understand how a bookcase would stop me from dying."

Marshall opened his mouth to reply. "Uh." Pause. "Yeah, I've got nothing. Maybe it's supposed to be some kind of zen thing? Like, the Kung Fu Kid or whatever?"

"Ah. Sort of like build the bookcase and then suddenly know how to be indestructible? I...could see it."

He really wouldn't but it wasn't like there was some other good explanation for the whole bookcase thing. "Maybe I shouldn't question the whole thing too much. The teacher was wearing a bathrobe."

And Sam would never repeat that around Professor Skywalker.

"... A bathrobe?"

Yeah, there really wasn't anything else Marshall could say to that.

"Yeah, it was all long and swooshy," he explained, not even trying to demonstrate because he'd look silly. "I wasn't about to start wondering if he was wearing anything underneath. It was either a bathrobe or a dress, man."

Marshall stared. "I'm almost glad for Mr. Fitness now. I don't think I'd be able to focus in class at all."

"Yeah, thinking about it now, I'm just glad that he was the one wearing the bathrobe and didn't try and make us," Sam said because, yeah, he wouldn't have been doing any of that stuff wearing some bathrobe. "I don't even own a bathrobe so no one needs to see me in one during class. That's one step above those pajamas with the built in feet."

Marshall shuddered.

"Well, at least it was a bathrobe and not, like, short shorts or whatever, right?"

Yeah, now Sam was shuddering. His legs weren't bad or anything but still. The thought of wearing short shorts in front of people was just...worthy of a shudder.

"So, I guess that means we can both be thankful that this place doesn't do uniforms." It meant they could wear what they want and avoid bathrobes being blown up by wind and shorts that gave you uncomfortable wedgies.

"Let's hope I just didn't jinx myself," Sam sighed and winced. "I've heard that can happen too. Say you don't want something but you get it anyway and now you've gotta deal with it."

"Uniforms aren't so bad," Marshall said. "My last school had them. I mean, we didn't have to wear short-shorts or anything..."

He shrugged. "I mean, it's nice to be able to wear what I want, but there are advantages to uniforms, too."

"What'd your uniforms look like?" Sam asked curiously. "I get all my info from TV and they always look uncomfortable and way too starched. And obviously, TV never lies..."

Sam knew TV lied all the time so he laughed to show he didn't really think TV was the be all end all of things.

"Well, I wouldn't call them the heights of comfort, but they were okay. Like, blue shirt, tartan tie, burgundy jacket (http://media.photobucket.com/image/recent/Ryder0/Strange.jpg)?" Marshall shrugged. "At least you never had to think about what to wear in the morning. And we didn't have to wear them all the time -- only during school hours."

"Okay, yeah, those are some benefits of uniforms I hadn't really thought about," he agreed, nodding. "Less laundry to do too and when you suck at laundry, like I do, that's a good thing. You bring the uniform with you to this place?"

"Nah. No point, really." Marshall shook his head.

"I mean, if there isn't a uniform, why bother wearing one?"

"I dunno," Sam said and snickered. "In case the laundry machines here eat all your clothes? Sort of an emergency outfit. I thought everyone had one of those."

No, he didn't. Sam didn't know why he was making stuff up on the fly but he was. It was fun to pretend he was normal.

"... There's a trick to that," Marshall pointed out. "Don't put all of your clothes in the washing machine at once."

"Yeah, but that's the easy way," Sam laughed and shook his head. "And who's to say you're gonna have money for that? Feeding quarters into a washing machine to do five loads of laundry can get expensive. I've lived that way before. Sometimes, it was a choice between food or laundry."

That wasn't entirely untrue though they'd always found a way to eat. "Or we'd just go over to my mom's house and mooch off of her."

Marshall blinked. "Oh. I've never... That's never really been an issue for me, I guess."

"Flush in the wallet, huh?" Sam guessed. He was still getting used to his newfound wealth. The urge to feed quarters into washing machines at the laundromat was still there.

"No, it's-" Marshall stammered. "Not really. Just... Lived at home, and then there was laundry at Blake Holsey."

When Marshall stammered, Sam wondered if he'd hit a sore spot but he wasn't gonna push especially on a first meeting.

"I dropped out of school so I had to fend for myself for awhile. And considering I thought that meant getting a job at a fast food joint, my clothes often smelled like grease which meant many late nights at the laundromat. I still think I smell like grease sometimes."

Not a sore spot, so much as that Marshall felt a little flustered over the fact that, if not rich, he was still well-off enough to not worry about things like whether he was spending his money on laundry or food. It felt a little awkward to be all, 'Yeah, I went to this private school with uniforms.'

Marshall took an exaggerated sniff. "No, no grease," he assured Sam, offering a smile. "Must have done enough laundry."

Deck | Friday After Lunch

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