Starring:
Summary: In between attempts to plot Felix's murder, Vasili attempts to kill himself on a treadmill.
Date It Happened: August 23rd, 2007
Treadmills Are Fantastic Beasts
Hartsdale, NY - Primatech - Gymnasium
Huff, huff, huff. Apparently cracked ribs and a gunshot wound aren't enough damage for Vasili to decide that he needs to cease his daily cardio workout. He's slipped from the hospital wing to the adjoining gymnasium bright and early in the morning, and can currently be found jogging away atop a treadmill at a swift pace. Judging by the measure of sweat currently dampening his shirt, he's already been there for a while. He has a small remote monitor clipped to the upper edge of his shirt, a smaller device still attached to his ear to record his heart rate. For other men, it would be time to think - but Vasili doesn't much enjoy that activity, so he's distracted himself with this one.
Fanatical as Giselle is about keeping in form, her idea of a workout generally doesn’t consist of overworking a chest that’s already injured - nor getting up first thing to do it. The fresh towel draped around her neck and the heavy, orange-plastic water bottle swinging from a loop in one hand both indicate that she just got here. She is outfitted in black, close-cut capris and a sports bra, her hair yanked back into a secure ponytail; the earbuds of an iPod are fitted into her ears as she slinks towards Vasili’s treadmill. Her voice has to be raised slightly above the machine-incduced din, and she halts behind one corner. “Is this /really/ a good idea?”
Vasili lifts a hand to punch at the treadmill's console, hitting a few buttons until the belt slows down and he can awkwardly adjust his pace back down to an easier walk, his hands soon returning to his sides while he lets out a heavy breath. Huff huff. It's a near-miracle that he's been able to make the machine do what he intended in the first place, but since he's having such luck he's not about to spoil it by getting off of the thing. "It's a better idea than sitting around on my ass watching Ivanov being unconscious."
“If you’re going to beat someone up, it might as well not be you,” Giselle answers in slightly concerned response, briefly stepping onto the adjacent treadmill to pluck a bottle of spray-wipe from its sunken holder. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to go over to the machines, but I don’t think you’re really up to it. Have you been here long?”
"But where would the fun in that be?" Giselle's concern only gets a grin from Vasili, who reaches over with the hand of his bad arm to offer it to the woman for a hello-squeeze. "I've been here since around seven. I hate sitting in a hospital bed, doing nothing and counting the damn ceiling cracks and how often Ivanov manages to breathe. What do you think we're going to do with him?"
Psst. Psst. Though it is nearly empty, the bottle of sloshing amberish fluid does its job efficiently in conjunction with Giselle’s rag. A look is given to Vasili when the hand is offered, and she pauses to return the motion with a tiny smile. “As long as you’re intent on staying here, I guess. Aaand I’m not sure. Work it out with Candice, presumably.”
Vasili chuckles under his breath at that, releasing Giselle's hand and then leaning forward to support himself on the front of the treadmill while he keeps walking, his head bowing down on top of his forearms. "I don't see why we don't just kill him. He's not that important a man. He's dangerous, though. Uncooperative. Who knows what he could do?"
Giselle hadn’t planned on starting with treadmills, but the difference is a minimal one – she would’ve gotten to them anyway. It doesn’t take her long to finish her task, putting the two distinct bottles and her towel in their places before hopping on the stationary thing herself. “He’s FBI. Much as I know you hate him, I don’t think it’d be good for either of us if we killed him.”
Starting with treadmills or starting with weight lifting, it doesn't matter at all to Vasili, as long as he gets some exercise that'll take his mind off of whatever troubles him. He turns his head ever so slightly to the side so one blue eye can peek out over his shoulder at Giselle, eying her up and down for a few moments. "Maybe. But if an accident happened - if he tried to escape again…"
With the deft touching of a few buttons as she straddles the belt, Giselle is soon off at a light, experimental-jog pace. Pity they got here at such disconnected times like they did. “/That/ I wouldn’t have qualms about.” She sounds vaguely amused.
"We could make it happen. Untie him, leave a few doors open, drop a security card near his bed." At this point, a look of boyish hope is crossing the Russian's face. Please please please can we huh huh?
Though Giselle’s gazes stay focused more or less straight ahead, it doesn’t take much for the amusement on her face to visibly seep into an expression of greater hilarity. Birds of a feather. “…As long as you put it /that/ way. Do you think it’d be possible to get into Felix’s cell without being seen?”
If Vasili's body matched the look of puppy-eyed pleasure that suddenly glows at Giselle, his imaginary tail would be wagging nonstop. "He's not /in/ his celll. He sleeps in the hospital wing."
As if Vasili needs Giselle’s permission to commit acts of senseless violence. “Hospital room. Whatever. Anyway, he can’t be in there forever. Were you serious about this?”
Vasili doesn't /need/ permission, but it's always better to have a partner in crime. It makes the 'crime' part more fun. He beams a grin at Giselle, lifting an eyebrow. "What do you think, G?"
Pushpush. The dial at the console is smoothly flicked over to the severe right, upped to the beginnings of a run in earnest. From her look of deeper concentration, Giselle still finds it fit to shoot a smirk of mixed pleasure in Vasili’s direction. “What do I think? I think I love you.” Hint: yes. Little Miss Wilmer can’t have all the fun.
Well, Vasili loves Giselle too - and moments like this only make him that much more certain that he's made the Right Choice of a partner in her. "We'll have to get on it, then. It'd be a shame to let him get in and out so easily. This Company is freak-control; we should control the freaks."
“If we kill him now, we won’t be able to film it and let the internet have it,” Giselle says almost regretfully, her words jarred by her repetitive footfalls. “We’ll do it, but I kind of want to have some fun with him later—”
Vasili smirks, standing upright again. He grips the side-handles of the treadmill and lets out a heavy grunt before once again jabbing at the control panel, speeding up the belt until he's running along at around the same speed as Giselle. "We can wait."
/See/. You can do this. Treadmills are not such fantastic beasts, you know? At any rate, this time around Giselle does not give an immediate verbal reply, but simply returns a lopsided twinge of a smile and resumes concentration on her machine. She’s settled into a sort of even, muscular lope, ponytail jerking back and forth right along with. Oho.
And suddenly - /ohshit/. Cramp. Vasili's right hand slips from the bar and clutches at his chest as he gives an abrupt wheeze, his other arm buckling slightly thanks to the wound in its shoulder. His pace becomes an unsteady lope instead of his normal methodical run, and he reaches forward to hammer at the console until the belt stops. He stumbles a little, then leans against the front of the treadmill. Ugh.
The unexpectedness of the move startles Giselle into looking over, pausing with her feet astride a still swiftly-moving belt. “Vasili?” she says in alarm, making a motion to shift her right foot across to her left so she’ll be instantly closer to the stumbling man. /Told/ you this might not’ve been a good idea.
Vasili's breathing is still heavy when he turns around to lean against the far rail of his treadmill, knees bent forward and shoulders slumped. "I'm fine. Just a little tired." Maybe the prospect of killing Felix messed with his heart-rate or something; it'll be checked up on later.
Giselle presses the soft surface of the ‘pause’ button, finally dismounting completely off her own to appear beside Vasili on his. “You’ve been wounded, idiot. C’mon, let’s get off so you can change and whatever.” Coming from Giselle, of course, this is much less an insult than an illustration of genuine concern. She hovers somewhat by the Russian’s side in case he should decide he wants some kind of support, though she doubts it.
In that last assumption Giselle would be correct. Accepting help while he can still move under his own power is completely unacceptable, and so Vasili waves her off and steps down to the floor, taking several deep breaths. He reaches up to smooth his hair back, wiping some sweat from his brow with a quiet chuckle. "Can we kill Felix on the way?"
Looord. “Only if the hospital wing is on the way to the locker room,” Giselle replies with both an involuntary giggle and a sardonic dulling of her eyes, retreating a fair distance but still keeping a good eye on Vasili. “I’ll be here the rest of the morning, but I am not expecting to see you back here.” D’you hear.