Please adjust for Asgardian strength

[bornagoddess]

Sif could not be more thankful for Natasha's guidance through this place. She wasn't ungrateful for the others', each had their own sort-of specialty - Loki showed her entertainment (and nostalgia) while she had made Jemma promise she would let her know of any new findings about the place itself - but Natasha's guidance was all-encompassing. If not for her Sif would have gone hungry and not have stripped off her armour in two days.

If not for her it might also take her longer to discover a specific location to train one's physique. Despite her Asgardian qualities and extensive training Sif knew how important it was to keep in shape, reflexes keen, muscles hardened. As soon as possible she had decided to devote a few hours to this end, and if not for Natasha she would, once again, have had to do it in her armour. Which she loved, like a second skin, but it was not conducive to proper working of any muscle or bone in her body. It was supposed to make them move or shake as little as possible, after all.

The one issue with this idyllic scenario was that Natasha, strong fierce warrior that she was, was in stature a much smaller woman than Sif. While on the former these training garments were breathable and adequate, on the latter they were tight and small. Sif never exposed her midriff - it was a death sentence! - nor did her trousers reach only below the knee, but right now, here she was. A shirt with straps instead of sleeves that kept riding up her middle at the littlest movement, and pants that did not cover her calves. Not to mention that she had had to wear her boots all the same, for Natasha's shoes had given Sif no chance to even put her feet into them.

Slightly uncomfortable, Sif walked into the training room - the gym - and looked around. There were machines everywhere, each suited for a different area of focus on the body, as far as she could tell. Sif ignored them and zeroed in on the punching bags behind the first line of machines. Ah, yes. This would do nicely for a start.

She picked up the hand-wraps from nearby and equipped herself. Rotating her shoulders and neck, Sif gave a few hops of readiness before throwing the first punch. Immediately the bag went flying off of its hinges, hitting a few things and narrowly missing a person before crashing into the opposite wall. "Oh," Sif murmured.

Comments

[captain_rogers]

The long and torrid past of one Stephen Grant Rogers and the inside of a gymnasium was likely worthy of being made into a Hollywood movie, a novel, or at the very least of a comic book series. Actually, wait, it had. All of those, actually. With a Smithsonian museum exhibit on top, for the whole world to see and experience through the wonder of its interactive exhibits.

While he had traded in the rundown, dimly lit confines of his Brooklyn neighborhood gym for the brighter, sharper-lined walls and mats of the S.H.I.E.L.D. vetted gym of DC (and didn’t that give him pause now), Steve couldn’t say he hadn’t remembered the Nexus’ tiled walls or full array of equipment. Of course, he had thought for the better part of two years that the place had been a part of a dreamscape and was better forgotten than not, but there was something comforting in the walls of the place. Maybe it was that there was space enough to breathe. Maybe it was that he had spent half his time in the hotel before burning away the thoughts of all that had plagued him then on its equipment. And, maybe, it had to do with the assurance that no one inside it was likely to lean into his ear and whisper a ‘Hail Hydra’ for old time’s sake.

Needless to say, it was an enticing prospect.

Dressed in the worn gym clothes he’d pulled from the box he’d arrived with, Steve walked into the gym with his attention focused on wrapping his hands properly. If not for the jangle of metal and canvas, as well as reflexes he was never not grateful for, he might have become intimately familiar with the weight bag that sailed his way, whether it had been weaponized or freed finally from the confines of society’s expectations.

As it was? He stepped out of the way, leaving him staring after it and turning toward the direction it had come from with eyes that might have been a touch wider than could be called dignified.