“Hey, uh... quick question.” Rory had approached them struggling with each breath, his hands on his hips as he tried to work up the air in his lungs enough to talk to the other without being forced to cut off and inhale. As he did, he reached up, pushing damp hair back off his forehead and attempted to return to it’s original - and very meticulously placed home that he had forced it into that morning with far too much dedication. When he looked in a mirror later, he might cry at how it was all destroyed, but for now he just sent the over a slight grin. “Do I look good like this? You know, a lot of guys can pull off the sweaty, rough and tough look, but I’ve never really tried it out before. I’d like to think I can pull off anything if I do it with confidence. That seems to really be the solution to a lot of things, though it never really did fix... my dancing, from what I’ve heard. Which is just rude to say to a person, but I can appreciate the honesty if it keeps me from being laughed at by large groups of people.” Maybe he was trying a little hard to avoid questions about why he was running in the first place, but he kept talking rather than giving them any genuine time to cut in and ask. “Speaking of dancing, that’s a really good way to find out how old you are, isn’t it? I mean, gee, I can barely keep up and if I tried to do any of those... hip new dance moves, it’d be cringe galore, and I like pushing limits, don’t get me wrong, but I’d rather be a cool grandpa than one that the grandkids never wanna visit because they end up in tears while gramps just can’t stop dabbing, or... whatever cool dance move there is now. There’s just... there’s so many of them.”
