#shuffled:start

Honestly, Wash was so fucking grateful for having been hired on at the gym as a personal trainer. Literally so fucking grateful. Why? It meant near-continuous access, a useful and important thing for a guy whose...yeah, let’s not go into how...put simply, we saw a manifestation of the inside of Wash’s head one time and it wasn’t pretty. The point is, gym access meant he could do other things, when cats just wouldn’t cut it. And here he was. Being majestic and space-marine. In the gym.

The blows that he landed on the punching bag didn’t falter when footsteps neared. All he did was grunt out a, “-- You here to watch or join?”

He was alone, outside of a bar, leaning against---he threw a glance over his shoulder---someone’s car, debating his next move. A rather large cheer came from inside the building-whether it came from some sports team scoring or someone knocking back their fifth shot he had no idea. Drunk people would cheer for anything given enough motivation. 

No, he was far more interested in the person leaving the bar. “Sounds like you’re missing the fun.”

Max was Australian. This much was abundantly clear every time he opened his mouth. But how Australian? Right now, on this Good Day™? Very.

He cooed as the wild snake wriggled around his hand and arm. “-- Aw, you’re not dangerous at all...not even poisonous, are you...?”

Tim looked up, it suddenly dawning on him... “-- I’ve been legally an adult for twenty-four hours now and in those twenty-four hours all I’ve consumed is M&Ms and juice boxes.”