Nice Glutes, Bro [Ludwig Beilschmidt]

[Alfred Jones]

Alfred might seem like a very spontaneous person, but when it comes to some facets of his life, he follows a strict schedule. One of those instances would be exercising. Alfred isn't specially inclined towards a career in baseball, but he is a very competitive player and shirking his schedule too often would only sabotage himself. The boy had gone so far as to schedule his class schedule around his work-out regimen. Some people might call him crazy--even a few teammates tease Alfred for his extra exercising outside of baseball practice--but Alfred would like to avoid an injury, thank you very much. Plus, he can't be the hero if he's flabby! Natasha Romanova and Helena Wayne don't have super-powers, same as Alfred, so they have to work extra-hard so they don't fall behind their peers. Just because Alfred looks up to the awesome heroes with powers doesn't mean the others are any less awesome!

Baseball practice ended over an hour ago, but Alfred is still out on the track. Wednesdays are "rest days", so the blonde is only working on small endurance and speed exercises. The only reason he was still out here is the fact that it's so nice out, he can't help but take slightly longer breaks than necessary. At least he's smart enough to turn those breaks into more stretching sessions, so his muscles don't cool down so much that they cramp. With it such a nice day out, almost no one else is in the area, letting the American practice in peace. With a quiet hum, he finally releases his toes and relaxes, allowing his gaze to wander. He prefers to work out on his own; he tends to get distracted when people are around. Not many people he meets up with care to exercise the way he does. They tend to take a more leisurely pace, and Alfred always gets distracted. Either he slows down himself, or he ignores his own regimen to try urging them on and wastes all his time. It's frustrating when that happens, so Alfred prefers to just keep this time for himself.

Today, there's someone else on the track with him. Blue eyes watch curiously as another blonde passes by, unhurried in his trek along the track. Alfred's never seen the other down here before, but that silhouette looks familiar, so the American knows he's seen the other before, somewhere. Do they share a class together? Maybe they just go to the same coffee place, or cross each other a lot in the halls, who knows? Alfred can't be sure one way or another, but even from this distance it's easy that the other man focuses a good chunk of his time on exercise, same as Alfred. The blonde had shown up shortly after Alfred had ditched his bag near the edge of the track. Alfred only has two more sets of jumping jacks to finish his regimen for the day, and he couldn't help but wonder how much longer the blonde would spend out here, running in circles.

The boy can't help but be curious, though. With a physique like that, he's got to have a decent regimen. Maybe they can trade notes? Alfred grins, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off his clothes. Then he takes off from the middle of the field, hurrying to catch up with the blonde. "Oi, dude, wait up!" he calls after the other. He's still wearing cleats, but they won't damage the track, right? Track runners wear their own cleats, don't they? They can't be that different.

[Ludwig Beilschmidt]

Ludwig’s jaw was already clenched the second he set foot on the track. Draping his towel over the fence and moving to stretch decently to loosen up his muscles, he tried to get his mind off of why he was there in the first place.

“Verdammte roommates”

He silently fumed over the little spat that had occurred back at the dorms as he stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned forward to touch the tips of his toes.

It had all went to hell in a hand basket over tomatoes of all things. Tomatoes. Why Lovino had to get so defensive over a relatively easy fruit to acquire, Ludwig would never know, but he did. Regardless, it hadn’t actually been any fault on the German’s end. The actual argument was more or less between Hamish and Lovino and whatever had happened to the precious red gem of a fruit. Lud had merely intervened as mediator and to try to talk sense into them or come to some sort of compromise. Though, with the two other stubborn personalities, it was nigh impossible and some aggression had been turned to Ludwig as a result. Naturally, Ludwig held himself back save for a few shouts before exiting the 3-man suite to clear his head and work out his irritation. That’s why he was here and that’s why his focus was solely on calming down rather than any of the other people that occupied the field.

At the very least, he was relieved to find that the track was relatively empty since everyone was either in class or enjoying themselves elsewhere. Besides, most of the practices were over for the day and that meant that the chances of him running into someone during a drill were extremely unlikely. Standing up, Ludwig exhaled deeply and put on his headphones before starting on his laps around the track. The exercise and the music would undoubtedly get his mind off of things before too long. (Especially since it was a minor issue and Ludwig had come to escape it before it became a bigger headache.)

He was making his third lap around when he heard a faint shout over Rammstein’s Sonne. Furrowing his brows, he looked over to the other blond that was trying to flag him down. He slowed his gait to a more comfortable (and easy to catch up to/keep up with) pace and plucked the ear buds from his ears. Ludwig couldn’t say that he truly recognized the other student, but he did have some familiarity about him. Regardless, he was curious as to what the other could want with him and he turned his head to regard the other blond as he continued on the track. “Ja? What is it?”

[Alfred Jones]

It didn't take long to catch up to the taller blonde, but the closer he get, the more impressed he becomes. Alfred's not scrawny, definitely not. He's got guns, very nice guns. They help him deadlift 240 pounds and counting. Damn does this guy have him beat, though. Were it not so awesome, Alfred might be disheartened by the sight. Instead, the blonde feels the strong desire to work harder.

When he finally stop staring at the other blonde's biceps and actually turns his attention to his face, that sense of familiarity strikes Alfred once again. The freshman knows he's seen the other before. Alfred desperately wants to know why he knows that, though. Campus is too big, and filled with too many people, for him to figure it out on the fly like this, though. So, a bit anxiously, the teenager ignores that niggling sensation and hurries to fall into step with the other.

"Like, sorry to interrupt your workout like this," he starts, wanting to tuck his hands into his pockets but not having pockets to do so, "But I was just wondering what your routine was. Seriously, you're totally ripped, y'know that?" There is a little voice telling him "of course he knows that you aren't just born with muscles like that" but Alfred's pretty good at ignoring voices like that. The blonde grins, shrugging dismissively at the older(?) student. "Sorry if that's a bit weird t'ask, but I've been trying to build up some more muscle--my coach says not to since it'll slow me down on the field but whatever--but I ain't gettin' results like yours, man. I'm like, dyin' of curiosity."

Honestly, he's surprised that somebody with the blonde's physique was even running at the track in the first place. Most of the guys the American knows who weight-lift aren't that big on running. Like the blonde just said, having lots of dense muscles slows a guy down; at least when those muscles aren't the ones propelling you around the field or, in this case, the track. Alfred can only be even more impressed with the other. Not only having a physique like that but working to strengthen his legs, or at least keep his cardio up? How does a guy find the time?

After a moment's pause, Alfred laughs, shaking his head. "Wooow, man, like, I probably should've started out with my name and a "how are ya", shouldn't I? Whoops!" Blue eyes glance forward to make sure they aren't near a turn before he twists enough to hold out his hand to the other without slowing down or stopping. "My name's Alfred, and even if ya really haven't said anything yet, it's totally awesome t'meetcha, dude!"

[Ludwig Beilschmidt]

Ludwig slowed his gait a bit more as the other fell in step with him. At the very least, it was nearly slowed to a casual walk so the two could talk properly without having to stop – not that Ludwig would have minded too terrible, but considering he still had a bit of irritation to burn out, he wasn’t terribly keen on fully stopping either. Besides, the other blond didn’t seem to be bothered or have any objections… especially since the man immediately start speaking and asking questions.

"Like, sorry to interrupt your workout like this. But I was just wondering what your routine was. Seriously, you're totally ripped, y'know that?"

“This guy is extremely upbeat…” Ludwig’s cheeks were already a bit pink from his workout, but as the other continued, the color soon spread to his ears. He shook his head dismissing the compliments as they were offered, but as a hand was extended to him, he took it, giving a firm shake.

“Ludwig—and nice to meet you as well,” In truth, he wasn’t exactly familiar with the man’s unconventional introduction and confrontation (or rather, he wasn’t entirely used to being randomly approached and having his physique complimented and asked about his regimen by strangers). It was foreign to him. It was odd and mildly uncomfortable. For a moment, he faltered and couldn’t think of a reply, but once he found his thoughts again, he nodded, looking to the other. “It’s nothing special, to be honest. You just have to start out with a normal muscle building routine and then depending on the areas you want to focus on, go from there. And of course you have to stick with it, but I think that goes without saying.”

The reply was generic, but the German felt it would be odd to just lay out his entire routine right off the bat. Besides, what works for him, might not work for the other man. It had to be tailored to each individual. “If you’re really that curious, I’ll write out my regimen for you after I’m done here.” His curiosity was peaked, however, by Alfred’s mention of a coach. After a second’s pause, Ludwig continued, “What is it that you play?” As terrible as it may have been, the blond’s thoughts immediately shifted toward American Football. It was stereotypical to assume such, yes, but he could see the other as a runner or a quarterback or something—especially since he had mentioned not wanting to be slowed down on the field.

---

Alfred Jones

[Alfred Jones]

Despite what may have been an unwanted intrusion of his time, the taller blonde, Ludwig, as he introduced himself, once again slows his pace so Alfred could keep up. Not that he's falling behind, honestly, but the thought's what counts! He even shakes his's offered hand;  Alfred has to resist the urge to start up a game of Mercy by tightening his own firm grip to painful levels. Ludwig is a new acquaintance, not a buddy-pal-friend he can goof off with (yet). Instead, the freshman keeps the greeting civil. No need to scare the guy off. Plus, Alfred isn't sure he'd win this round, and he needs his fingers in good shape for practice.

A bit of disappointment shrinks his grin to something less face-splitting at the other's words, though. "It's nothing special," Ludwig says, but with results like that, Alfred is sure the blonde is lying to him. Unless it's just in his blood--heritage and metabolism and muscle type all playing the all-important role in making this larger student swole as hell. If that's the case, Alfred can kiss his dreams of massive biceps goodbye. "You just have to start out with a normal muscle-building routine, and then depending on the areas you want to focus on, go from there. And of course you have to stick with it, but I think that goes without saying."

So, basically, yes; the blonde's success lays just as much with his natural body type as his dedication. That's the only way one could get such impressive results with something so simple. That is such a lame reply, too. Alfred isn't expecting something as dedicated as what meals he eats for which work-out days, or something weird like what kind of shoes he wears on leg day. But saying "normal building routine", man, this guy must either be doing nothing and looking as ripped as Dwayne fuckin' Johnson, or he's got secrets he wants to keep. Alfred can't help but pipe up himself. "Damn it, you got all that just from standard workouts?" The blonde works very hard to keep from whining, when that little part of him wants to curl up and cry and never lift a dumbbell again. "That's so not fair! I've been working out for years and I'm like, only halfway to your level!" Okay, so he's whining a little. A guy's entitled to a little disappointment! NOT, to say, of course, that Alfred's physique is anything to scoff at. He's got the guns and the abs and more than enough height and bulk to impress and intimidate. The blonde simply has to remind himself of this before he could fully sink into a sulk and go pig out for the rest of the week.

Ludwig seems to realize that his inadequate answer did more harm than good, because he's quick to amend his earlier words after a few moments of awkward silence. "If you're really that curious, I'll write out my regimen for you when I'm done here."

Haha! Success! Not quite what he'd been looking for, but Alfred will gladly take that offer up--and perhaps share his own regimen if Ludwig is interested. Before he could accept that proposal, though, Ludwig speaks up again; asking his own questions this time. "What is it you play?"

Alfred snorts a bit at that; not so much at the question itself, but the way it's phrased. "The teachs' must love ya in the English department, dude," he teases, just a little. "I play baseball! I'm usually the pitcher, but I play short-stop too, when I'm not throwin' the best or my arm needs a break, y'know?" The blonde grins, careful not to walk into the other as the track begins its curve. "I wanna make sure I can keep my BA where it is, and I'm not gonna do that by focusin' only on pitchin'." Alfred's grin is friendly, and he cheerfully claps Ludwig's shoulder. "So like, thanks for indulgin' my curiosity, bro. I'd really appreciate seein' how I can improve my workout!"

Not even missing a beat, the blonde jumps back into his own line of questions. "So, Ludwig, do ya mind me askin' how long you're gonna be out here? I don't wanna keep ya out here too long--Actually, what're ya doin' out here?" His grin softens with genuine curiosity; only a few moments before he laughs at his own thoughts. To clarify his amusement, Alfred says, "I mean, I know what you're doin', but like, why're you out here? Do ya wanna just enjoy the weather while it lasts, or do ya hate the treadmills at the school just as much as I do? Or are ya like, a track dude? There's no way you do sprints, but those dudes in the Olympics are just as ripped as you, maybe a bit less dependin' on the peeps, so I could believe that!"

If Ludwig doesn't interrupt him soon, Alfred could continue chatting enough for three people at once. Hopefully, that doesn't put the blonde off or anything. He really can't help it once he gets going.

Ludwig Beilschmidt

[Ludwig Beilschmidt]

"That's so not fair! I've been working out for years and I'm like, only halfway to your level!"

Ludwig couldn’t help but quirk his eyebrow up a bit at that little whine. He knew for certain some things weren’t fair and for some people, like himself, it was way easier to lose weight or build muscle than others. Genetics, he supposed, played a huge part. However, rather than expressing these inner thoughts to Alfred, the blond shook his head. “It’s different for everyone—if you haven’t found a good regime for your own body type and what have you, I could try to help with that as well. Different people require different methods for different results; what works for me, might not work for you.” He offered a small shrug and decided he may as well tack on, “…I know for the longest time, I was a bit clueless until I spoke with an actual trainer.”

How long ago that had been, however, Ludwig wouldn’t say. The mere thought of his younger years had him wrinkle up his nose. He’d surely come a long way. But the last thing he wanted to give the other was the impression that his physique had developed overnight.

"The teachs' must love ya in the English department, dude” Alfred snorted, causing the German to frown a little, brows furrowing in mild confusion. Had he said something entirely stupid? “What is that supposed to mean?” He asked plainly, looking to Alfred for an explanation. If the phrasing or the like was too formal, well, he’d gladly take being told so to heart. He was still learning the little nuances of his new home anyway, and what help he could get, he would accept…usually.

“Ah.” He nodded, thinking that it rather fit the other a bit better than American Football anyway. He looked much more like a baseball player anyway. Ludwig shifted a bit to accommodate Alfred as they moved around the curve and quickly checked his watch when there was a pause in the conversation. However, a small “OOMPH” escaped Ludwig’s lips as he was clapped on the back. He wasn’t expecting it at all and merely looked over to Alfred. “Ja, no problem—Glad I could help.” He wouldn’t chastise the other terribly for the action. It was just a small gesture and he wasn’t entirely bothered by it.

But before he could speak again, Alfred’s interrogation continued—not that he minded the questions. At least not at the moment.

Naturally, he didn’t want to lay out his roommate woes to this new acquaintance, not quite yet. But when he was offered another opening to explain his business on the track, he took it.

“Yes, I’m actually on the track and field team,” Ludwig nodded, looking to Alfred. “But the weather is also nice and it’s better than going nowhere on the treadmill—I avoid those when I can.” They were certainly less dynamic than taking an actual walk and familiarizing oneself with the campus grounds. “I’m not much of a sprinter,” he clarified, returning his gaze to the track ahead, “I prefer the middle-distance and the field events--especially the throwing events. However, with a pentathlon coming up, the coaches want to ensure everyone is decent in most, if not all, of the categories.” Ludwig paused vocally before offering a question of his own. “Do you have any big games coming up?”


Alfred Jones

[Alfred Jones]

"Yeah yeah yeah," Alfred waves a hand almost dismissively to Ludwig's offer. "What works for you might not work for me, I totally get that. You don't have to help me with a new regimen, I'll--" Ludwig's little comment at the end literally made Alfred snort in amusement. He nudges the other athlete in side with his elbow. "Yeah, I'll just call my trainer when I get back to the apartment, see of she can email me any suggestions." Then Alfred brightens further, and he grins. "But I like, won't tell her somebody might've been suggesting I change trainers, or she'll fly all the way here just to make a new routine for you and prove she's better."

Then, Alfred just grins even more, shrugging innocently. If he might have exacerbated his own, more casual way of speaking, well, it's for Alfred's own amusement and nothing more. "Nothin'! It doesn't mean anythin' 'cept the teachers in the English Department must love ya, yeah? Speakin' all proper like that."

It's just a bit of light teasing, but Alfred still tries to soothe the sting of it with a cheerful shrug. "It's not a big deal--my pa would probably prefer it if I talked like you, t'be honest. I just thought it was amusing, because it was just super noticeable to me compared to everybody else I talk to around here. Kinda reminds me of home."

And if that is a bit of oversharing, at least Alfred's trying? As Ludwig explains the reason for being outside, several very good ones if Alfred says so himself, as well as explain his links to the track team, he can't help but raise an eyebrow. "Your coach is makin' y'all perform in a pentathlon? Even though you run, what, 400s and throw stuff? That... that sounds wild, dude." Alfred frowns, pulling out his phone. "Like, don't they do fencing and stuff in pentathlons? I know they involve swimming, like triathlons. What kind of track team are you on?"

Halfway through trying to pull up "pentathlons" up on google on his phone, Alfred realizes that Ludwig had asked him a question. "Oh, oh no, dude, no games until next semester!" Alfred replies mindlessly, focusing more of his attention on his phone than anything else. Even more than walking straight along the track. "But our coach says we practice almost year-round, other than some of the longer breaks, so we don't start slacking."