Weekend day and that meant getting away from editors, people demanding things, and for two hours, her phone. The gym was not new but highly recommended based on variety, cleanliness, and lack of dirtbags that need to be put through a window for being rude. Gina brought her duffel bag with her and looked around. She was not the most remarkable specimin of Lost there was but sometimes that made one harder to find and she didn't seem to be suffering for this effect. "Morning everyone." Not that she knew anyone necessarily but there seemed to be an unshy non-committal greeting to the room.
She promised she would come and look at the gym, and look: here is Gisa, looking at the gym. She has her usual long black coat folded and set on top of her bag, which is leaned against one of the walls, and Gisa's wandering slowly around the gym itself, looking at things, as if she'd never seen workout equipment before, or perhaps, she is assessing this against some internal list. Gina's arrival has her pausing. "Shalom," she greets casually, and with that sort of diffident air she has, at one step remove from everyone around her. Still, she seems to recognize the reporter somewhat vaguely.
From the direction of the boxing gym emerges Damion. The tall dragon is wearing shorts and a tanktop, gloves hanging off of one shoulder. There's visible sweat on his scales (how?), and he's toweling it off as he walks. Glancing around the room, he takes note of an unfamiliar face and raises his hand towards Gina. "Morning to you too." His steps take him towards the gray woman, then a more familiar face is spotted and he smiles towards the golem. "Hey, Gisa." He stops near Gina. "Welcome to The Iron Church. I'm Damion King." He offers his hand to the woman. "It's nice to meet you."
Gina held out a hand in greeting with an easy smile. "Gina Garreau. I think we met briefly once. Retired boxer, You mentioned the place and I heard good things and thought I'd drop by." Her smile warmed as she looked to the construct woman with a grin "Gisa, I don't know we formally met. Kip said good things of you."
"Kip did?" Gisa doesn't seem puzzled by this, per se, just slightly confused. She'd met Gina for just as long as she'd met Kip, after all. Not, uh, that anyone else here knows that, and this bit of inner monologue is going on too long, don't you think? The golem blinks, slowly. Well, her eyeflames go off, and then they go on again. It's difficult to know exactly what that means if you don't know the golem's expressions. "Ah. Well. I am Gisa Cohen, this is true. Hello." And then to Damion, lastly: "I said I would come. I have come."
Shaking briefly with the reporter Damion says, "Ah, right. Good to see you again." He turns back to the golem. "I'm gald you did. What're you looking to do today?" He gestures around the room. "We have about every machine you might want to use here. Weights are over there. Pool is through that door, boxing gym is through that one if you do that sort of thing. I don't recommend using the bags unless you actually know what you're doing though."
A small amused spark and flash in the golem's eyeflames, as if the wick that they burn on - they must burn on a wick, no? - had just hit a bit of metal or someone dropped a bit of flour near the flame. It's an odd thing to see inside someone's eyesockets, for certain. "Do you expect that I would not?" she asks of the dragon, propping her clay hands on her hips. Her monotone voice means that question could mean anything, with differing inflection.
Damion shrugs one broad shoulder. "I don't like to make assumptions." He puts his towel over his shoulder. "Just because you look strong doesn't mean you neccissarily know how to fight with your fists." He smiles at the woman. "You never did answer on what it is you're hoping to do here today."
"This is true. But I would be a poor golem if I could not do so." And obviously she is not a poor golem. Gisa's eyes flicker again, and the corners of her mouth pull up slightly. Her shoulders roll, that particular slow motion of hers that's like a mountain range rising and falling, lifted up by tectonic movement and worn down by time. "I said that I would come here. I have come. I had no other agenda. I am made to be as I am. I do not know how to work at it."
Clearly not. Damion rubs at the back of his neck with one hand. "Ah...I see. Well. If you want, I could show you how to work the machines?" He gestures at them. "Or we could just talk, I suppose." He seems uncertain what to do here, since apparently the Golems only purpose for coming here was...to come here. Most people who come have at least SOME idea of what they want to do.
"I am pleased to do as is pleasant for my host," answers Gisa. Goylomim, man. They're terminally easy to get along with, until they're terminally not. Her hands remain propped on her hips, as if someone just posed her that way, and she's content to remain so until she has some reason to move. "If you are made more comfortable by showing me a machine, or by talking, or whatever, I am pleased."
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