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(Apologes for being MIA yesterday. It would have been timed runs and drills designed to assess fitness levels.)

The class today focuses on aerobics drills that bear no little resemblance to combat forms. More kick boxing than dance.

A table outside the gym holds a sign up sheet for gymnastics practice once a week, as well as another for track, and tai chi.

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Worse. He's Scottish.

Oh, my. *giggles*

Whaddya you mean, "worse"? *loud snort* Like it's that much better to be British.

Was that directed at me? Given that I've been around longer than there has beein a "Britian", it's a bit difficult to pin an "ish" on me. Pangea-ish?

You can't get a name much more Brit than Adam Pierson.

Ah, but that which we call a rose would still draw a lot of blood.

~~You couldn't pronounce my original name, Woad-Boy. Even if I could remember it.~~

*Weighs the idea of bribing Janet to slip limes into Methos' inbox.*

*decides it would be too bloody much with the smacking*

*is easily bribeable*

*is also easily bribeable*

*thinks that we should certainly confer later with the cute ~~gay~~ gym teacher about future bribe possibilities*

*telepathically agrees*

It's amazing how people seem to understand each other without words here, don't you think? ~~Like there was subtext or something.~~

It really is. ~~Huh. Fancy that.~~

Wonder if that has something to do with the school or the people? ~~Or the constant concentration of rampaging teenage hormones.~~

~~Or all of the above, even.~~

*is very much not listening to this conversation AT ALL right now and is, in fact, LOOKING RIGHT AT THE SIGN UP SHEETS with a very intent expression while NOT AT ALL pretending to read the activity descriptions*

Hey! My da's English!

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