The past couple of months had not been kind to the Scotsman. He'd already been having a pretty poor time of it before the fiasco at Halloween had left him with a slew of fresh bruises, physical and mental. Drowning on dry land, twice, did tend to mess a person up but the fact that it also happened to also be his most crippling fear had made the whole situation just a little too much.

So he did what any true Scottish person did in such circumstances, he drank. A lot. Too much if he was being truthful and far too often than was healthy. He'd spent more time in Inferno than he had at home and it was starting to show. His studies had taken a hit, his training had come to a grinding halt and more than one doctor appointment had been skipped. Which was stupid yes, remarkably so in fact given his condition, but reliving your own hell did tend to give a person an excuse to put off dealing with the world for a while.

Only a while he thought, as he sat in a booth nursing the worst hangover yet. He knew it was time to stop. That or the spiral would get worse and he'd have no escape. After more than one cup of coffee strong enough to strip paint and some of the greasiest food he'd been able to find scrounge up he was alive enough to consider options. Studying was a giving, but he was in no condition to even attempt and it would talk a few days before he'd be able to see his doctor. All that was left then, was training and while some weapons practice would be cathartic, he did really want to keep his food down.

Having spied a hulking, all too familiar figure, the plan was formed. Dragging himself out of his comfortable seat and approaching, he called to be heard over the soft morning music playing. "Jack, feel free to say no but I've got an idea. You're probably the only person who's been here more than I have recently and frankly, we could both do with some fresh air. Fancy a short run, to clear the cobwebs?"

The company would probably be a decent change too. Most people tended to avoid the guy drinking like he had something to forget and he'd be lying if he said he had the most, welcoming, face most of the time.

Though neither mutant was privy to the experiences of the other, the sentiment of a "challenging past few months" was shared between the two. Jack was struggling to reintegrate into society. Though Jack had made great strides through Tempest's rehabilitation program-- she was working a regular schedule, she was paying rent, she was learning to control the shockwave punches and deal-out blows that were only portions of her full capacity-- there were other areas where she was still struggling. Namely, venturing out into public without feeling like the buildings were closing-in around her. She had no social life, no love life, and only ventured beyond the confines of the building to run errands. Even woodworking had fallen somewhat by the wayside.

Rather than confront her issues (or drown them in alcohol, as Jack's companion had resorted to), the prawn instead brushed her issues under a rug, and refused to look too closely at them. She'd take baby steps, the prawn told herself. One of the first baby steps had been getting a new phone, which the prawn was currently tapping distractedly at. It had a bigger screen, which meant that it was slightly easier to operate. It also had a drop-proof, water-proof case. Necessary, in Jack's day-to-day life.

Today was her day off. She sat curled-up on a loveseat, sporting a tanktop and sweats. Artair was there, minding his own business, and Jack was minding hers.

>> "Jack, feel free to say no but I've got an idea. You're probably the only person who's been here more than I have recently and frankly, we could both do with some fresh air. Fancy a short run, to clear the cobwebs?"

"I lizz here," the prawn reminded him, as if that meant she was supposed to be there. She lived there, and she worked there. Jack fixed him with a stare. She knew exactly what he meant, and she also knew that he was right. Though Artair was considered a friend, she wouldn't dignify him with admitting that.

"You sure dat runnin' is such a good idea?" the prawn said mildly, turning her attention back to her phone. She wasn't saying "no"... in fact, Artair's response determining, they could leave rather shortly. It was just... well... Jack managed the bar downstairs. She had an inkling as to what kind of shape her friend would be in, after their... previous night... it was her way of voicing her concern, okay?

She finished tapping away at her phone, powered the screen down, and slid the device into her pocket. A steady, lavender gaze affixed itself in the Scot's own, cerulean gaze. God, Artair had nice eyes, even when each eye was toting its own bags and had seen too much alcohol the night prior.

Grinning at the short response, he knew she hadn't been leaving Inferno enough. Friendly concern, and self interest, aside his doctor sense were urging him to make sure people were taking care of themselves. Which was laughably hypocritical but hey, he could be a damn hypocrite if he wanted to be!

"I'm Scottish lass, drinking is a cultural institution. If a hangover could stop me I'd be kicked out of the whole nationality." He'd gone to lectures more hungover, probably more drunk too, and been fine. A little jog wouldn't make him lose what remained of his breakfast. Christ it would probably make him feel better if anything and if not, well then there be nothing left for the hangover to punish him with later in the day.

From the fixed, silent gaze and the phone being put down he guessed she was in. Surprisingly. "Well if you do want to join me and laugh as I struggle along I just need to get changed," he added with a sardonic grin. "Jeans might be comfortable but not the best running gear." Quickly popping down into Havens training rooms to shuck out of his day to day clothes and into some long, loose black shorts and black vest he took the chance to splash some water over his face. Shame he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and got a bit of a shock at how bad he actually looked. The messy hair was normal, the couple weeks worth of beard actually looked good but his eyes. Jesus Christ did he have a thousand yard stare going on, the dark bags and bloodshot pupils adding to the whole picture. He might need some help. Later.

Drying off and wandering back into the bar he nodded at his multicoloured running mate. "Anywhere in particular you want to go or just go a few blocks and see from there?" Artair tended to figure out a quiet running route and just stick to that. Not easy around the Haven main building but it did have the upside of being in a pretty safe area. Not much chance of them being bothered by a particularly brave mugger or the stock standard thugs.