It was probably for the upwards of a thousand times now Erik wondered why he had been bestowed his particular set of abilities by the 'powers that be'. No it couldn't be something far easier to master like shooting laser beams out your eyes, bending electricity to your will, or even something simple like changing the color of ones skin. Instead it was his penance for kicking puppies in his last life or something equally as terrible that deigned he turned into a big fumbling brute of a man. As well as wondering if he hadn't had such a respectable amount of control in his normal form if this wouldn't seem as hard. Sure some other's who might have what some would deem as 'super' strength might concern themselves with trying to pulverize concrete blocks with their head or trying to crush cars in the bare hands, (which he was sure he would attempt out of sure principle to see if he could at some point). He himself was concerned with control. Namely the sort of control that would allow him to interact with others in both forms and not accidently crush or maim any innocents. Instead of partaking in whatever techno-wizardry the training area underneath Hadden's Haven no doubt had like invincible dummies or holographic targets he sat in the corner like a huge nearly 9' tall toddler stacking appropriately sized hollow ceramic cubes. His own self appointed task to stack them like a pyramid without shattering or cracking them. The fact he had only the bottom row attested to his current results. That and the pulverized remains of the last cube that dared cracked and the fine powder on his right hand for one that had dared to do so, obviously being the cube's fault.

His eyebrow perked as he heard someone enter. The large.. crab, lobster, seacreature? inspired person he had seen elsewhere as his smaller self. He raised a big meathook in a wave and attempted a hello that came out as a deep voiced "ell-oh" taking far more effort then he really wished it had. 

"Chief"

Jack suntered into the gym, dressed only in a pair of basketball shorts and a fitted tank-top. She worked-out at odd hours, so the last thing she expected was company. It took her a moment to register that someone else was there... an absolute behemoth, by the prawn's standards (which was an accomplishment unto itself)... playing with blocks. Anyone bigger than Jack warranted attention... but it wasn't their size that unnerved her. It was the fact that they were stacking boxes! Why?!

>> "ell-oh..."

She wasn't really sure what she was looking at. But it'd waved, so she waved back. Sounded like they had some difficults talking, too.

"Yo," the prawn grunted back, padding past the giant. It wasn't often that the prawn was made to feel small.

She went straight for the treadmill. She needed to warm-up, first. Maybe lift some weights... then she'd set about doing her own exercises in "control".

The prawn set her water bottle down on the bench, and her towel, stretching. Her lower back popped.

" 's yer nay-n?" the prawn asked, "Hasn't seen you 'round. 'n Jack."

She cut straight to the point. Who was he?

Brown eyes tracked the, lobster person? as they walked over to a treadmill. Giving a broad shouldered shrug before returning his attention back to his task. Almost painfully slow he picked up one of the cubes in his hand, a look of deep concentration in his eyes. Slowly as if it was some strange reverse crane game ever ever ever so gently he attempted to set it down on an adjoining to to make a little three cube pyramid. Then Jack spoke and his concentration slipped some, chipping the corner off and spider webbing one of the ones underneath. A sigh escaped him like the whoosh of a bellows and he turned to regard the fellow super gym goer.

"Ur-uck." Then a grumble like thunder sounded in his chest as he took his time and tried again. "Arrk, Arr-uhk. Air-uhk." The giant flopped back in frustration with a heavy thud a moment before sitting back up and getting his hand really grayed with dust and writing "ERIK" on his large red underarm and walking over, carefully, to show it to her. "`Ice `oo `ee oo." Before waving and smiling with the bottoms of his eyes but not his mouth which seemed to want to stay where it was. "`Ar` `o niss." Glancing back at his torture corner a moment before looking back to Jack hoping for the distraction.

An amused burble escaped the prawn as the other mutant tried to speak. Sure, it was rude to laugh, but she wasn't laughing at him. She was... sympathetic, for lack of a better way to put it.

"You has a hard tine talkin', too," she observed, smiling. She cast a glance the other mutant's way, to show that she didn't mean anything by the remark. Mutation-based speech impediments were hard. It wsa interesting, too, because his seemed... much worse than hers was. Jack had a hard time understanding him.

"It's a 'leasure, Erik," she clicked. Jack stepped onto the treadmill, fussing with the controls... inputting her age, her weight, the whole nine yards.

"D'you e'er use text-to-s'eech atts?" the prawn asked, waggling her phone distractedly at Erik, "Y'know, on your sone? Dey nake lice so nuch easier."

"I always liked it 'etter den writing, anyhow."

The treadmill gave a final beep, and the ground beneath the prawn began to whirr. It'd start slow, and then build to a jog. Two miles ought to be plenty. Heavy footfalls made contact with the scrolling surface, and the prawn began her stationary jog.

The huge guy shrugged in the closest manner he had to being sheepish without much facial expression before nodding in agreement. A very hard time talking indeed when ones mouth felt entirely out of place. Truth be told before he came stateside he hadn't had any reason to talk when he was large and in charge before.. Ever. He grunted in assent as she mentioned it was a pleasure and moved to one of the larger treadmills testing it with one foot before bringing his considerable weight to bear on the poor thing.

He swung his gaze back over to her before shaking his head at the phone instead of destroying the english language some more to say no. "Ar` `oo `ight?" Closing his hand so he had only two fingers and a thumb as if to mimic her with a pencil then shot her a questioning gaze before slothfully slow turning the treadmill to a slow walk and leaving it at that. Content to thud thump his way along so he wasn't standing there staring foolishly or disturbing her.

Wanting to ask her a question he licked his lips and did some facial exercises before attempting it. "`ow `ong `air?" Pointing above then around him to try and help discern his own terrible speech.

The prawn watched the guys pantomime, jogging along at a brisk pace on the treadmill. Erik walked along with her, and she smiled to herself. What, no more blocks? Fine...

>> "'ow 'ong 'air?"

It was a unique experience, talking with someone who also had challenges talking. She was beginning to understand how others felt when they tried talking to her. Her gaze flashed forward as the the speed of the treadmill beneath her mounted, her stride shifting to a more clipped pace.

"How long has I 'een here?" she reiterated, trying to be sure that she'd understood him correctly, "Al-nost a year... Known Hadden lots longer, doh. He's a good guy."

She inhaled with a flash of pain, but in a good way. There was something about running that made you feel so alive, yet subsequently also a little like dying. She was much more of a weight-training buff, but acknowledged the perks of cardio.

"I 'ork downstairs," she continued, "Is a really short con-yute."

A laugh barked out of her. A mile had passed. One more mile, and her warm-up would be done.

His big red mit tof a hand scratched under an equally large jaw as he gazed at the controls on the treadmill. It seeeemed to be handling his weight well enough. Truly the place was built for mutants of all shapes and sizes. He pushed a button and it went into a good speed for his size and he thudded along in an almost lazidascal manner before nodding back to Jack that she had understood him correctly. Responding with a simple "Mhm" As she mentioned Hadden. Not that he knew that much about the guy other then he was one of those really rare well to do philanthropist types.

The little joke made him grumble out a laugh and shrugged across his broad shoulders. "Oh?" Prodding his newfound companion for more information before responding to his own question, jerking a thumb to himself them reaching over his head with his hands in a triangle like formation to try an denote a house. " 'uest." Sniffing a bit as an acrid smell tingled his nose and looked around for the source ot discover it was his own treadmill. Quickly he punched the emergency stop button only to send his meaty hand through the poor console and shattering the plastic into several unrepairable pieces. But it had stopped at least. Thankfully his already red skin hid whatever blush that could have appeared as he clambered off to scoop the bits onto the treadmill with his hands. "Oop."

Around the time that the smell reached Erik's nose, the same stench wafted past Jack's antennae, sharp and stinging. The prawn's antennae twitched, and she squinted down at the source of the unpleasant smeal. Smoke! Jack hit her own emergency stop button, jumping off of her treadmill. She expected a fire. Erik punched a hole in the control panel.

If Jack had a human face, she would've been gaping at the scene. He just... punched a hole... in a treadmill.

Admittedly, the prawn probably could, too, if she tried, but...

And he was a guest here? And he was breaking sh**?

"At least... Hadden's rich?" she offered placatingly. And a humanitarian, to boot. It would be uncharacteristic for Devon to charge the poor galumph money for damaged machinery.

"Are you tra'eling?" she asked, in regards to guy's guest status.

The large red man looked over and shrugged, his face not really able to expand much by the way of emotional features quite yet. True enough it probably was for the best Hadden was rich. Oh well little incidents were to be expected for the growing pains of someone who found themselves so much stronger than they once had been or in his case a constant state of flux. The sigh that escaped him in a whoosh of air like a bellows was easy enough to emote.

Then she asked a true question and he had to take a moment to figure just how he was going to explain it in his present stant. "In'gran." Then did his best impression of the statue of liberty in the limited space then shrugging again as he wasn't sure if more explanation would help or make things confusing. That very thought causing him to bark out a laugh.

Instead he thudded over to a punching bag and held it with one hand before giving her a come over motion and giving the bag a feather light pat. "unch? 'igh'er? Hi'?" Willing to hold the bag for her as she banged out a few in some attempt at camaraderie.

Jack finished her stretches with a grunt, plodding after the young man. In'gran? She didn't get it, and the gesture skyward did little to clarify what he'd meant. Finally, it clicked. Immigrant. A belated nod.

"I cane here s'run Cali-sore-nia," the prawn said, trying to build some common ground, "I guess dat's diss-erent den... in-igrating, 'ut... New York's like its own world."

Jack had honestly come here for the weights, but Erik had beelined for the punching bag, patting it lightly. He was holding it steady, not taking a swing at it, and he tried to entice her over by asking a series of questions. Punch? Fighter? Hit?

"I an," Jack confirmed, though a trace of hesitance was in her tone. She didn't want to insult the guy, but... the last time she'd pointed a punch at a person, it'd killed them. And Erik seemed like a nice guy, she'd hate to obliterate him. Anxious lights flickered in the bioluminescent pores around her hands. Jack flexed her hands uncertainly. This time was different-- she didn't feel intimidated by Erik. She wasn't fighting for her life. What was the worst that could happen?

"You ready sore nee?" the prawn asked, sinking onto the appropriate stance. She bent at the knees, her back heel lifting ever so slightly, shoulders squared, and primary hands up. Given the cue, Jack moved decisively-- she'd do three sets of three. Jab, cross, uppercut-- jab, cross, upercut-- and again. To her relief, no explosions followed. She hit lightly during the first set, but after the gym wasn't blown into disarray after the first set, Jack relaxed, and no longer pulled her punches. This was fine. She was fine. There was some real power behind her punches.

"You wanna try?" she offered, hopping on the balls of her feet. Jack was perfectly content to whale on the bag some more, but she assumed that the guy hadn't just come there to assist other people on their workouts.

The eyebrows on the red faced man worked their way up his face as she mentioned she was from California. Truthfully his own frustration with his own inability to fully communicate was mounting within him. A bit like learning how to talk all over again and for someone who regarded himself as having a fine control over his own body nothing could be more tooth grindingly agonizing. Then he realized the problem was he was fighting himself and this new body and trying to force it to talk and move the way he thought it should instead of the way it did.

So with Jack as his audience he relaxed his face as much as the too strong face would allow and let the words for how they would. "Fuh-resh shtart fa me. wuh-ai Nuh-yuh-ork? Luhk it har?" The corner of his lip twitched as he wasn't sure that was much of an improvement. Far too much lisping and exaggerating for his semi-perfectionist tastes. Regarding his companion he wondered if she would think it an improvement.

Dark brown eyes watched the prawn like person curiously as he was pretty sure he noticed some sort of hesitation. Of course he thought it was him and he did his best to scrunch his considerable bulk behind the bag in some (probably futile) attempt to make himself appear less imposing somehow. Had he realized there was the potential for him to be turned into much smaller pieces or sent across the room he might have rethought his offer to help the woman out. He peered out over the bag to grunt and nod an affirmation for her to go ahead and start punching. To his credit he could have a future as a bag holder, the object not moving in the slightest to her punches as his big hands kept it steady. Watching her form he nodded a bit as she was definately a fighter of some kind.

"Eeh? Nuh I 'ould wuhreck it." he would respond as he peeked back over the top at her. To demonstrate his point he would flex his forearms and a little puff of sand would eek its way out the top and him giving his best impression of embarrassment as he was intent to keep his equipment destruction to one thing a day.

"Gud for'. Slaw ta get goin doh." He remarked in a helpful manner. Though he knew of some professional fighters that took their time getting warmed up.