Lynn smirked. Small class? "Yeah, it'll get smaller," she muttered.

Lynn didn't know if that would wind up applying to herself or somebody else, but it just seemed unavoidable to her-this many hormonally-addled, superpowered fuckups running aroudn? Somebody was punching their ticket sooner or later.

Then Grandpa Asshole had to come along. Lynn, inherently, had a violent reflex towards authority. She was not born this way, but it set in pretty quickly after that-whether it was nursing ruler bruises on the back of hands from the Sisters or staring murder at whoever was in charge of detention that day or questioning the sexual fidelity of a police officer's mother as she got shoved face-first onto the hood of a cruiser, the instances of Lynn bowing her head and going with the flow were few and far between. It was a learned practice-authority had not been nice to Lynn (whether this treatment was deserved is, perhaps, debatable, but Lynn certainly hadn't thought of it like that), and in turn it had earned no quarter from herself. She didn't try and hide the judgment in her eyes as she watched Dick Eatsmen shamble on over. [i]You hit your glory days a good three decades ago, didn't you?[/i] She thought she heard a military tone in his voice-he was standing up too straight, too much iron in his voice to just be a gym teacher. Barked like a drill sergeant. Coupled with the politically incorrect slurs....eh, it made sense to Lynn. She noticed little things like that. Who had bulges in their pockets. Who wore Rolexes. Who looked like they might be able to snap your thumb off if they found it checking out the insides of their pockets. She looked at his hands to see if there were any rings-because, Jesus, who would marry that-but couldn't get a good look.

Lynn snarled quietly as they took off running. She was fond of an old story she'd heard about the Native Americans. No idea if it was true, but it made sense to her. When they trained their dogs for hunting, they'd kill off the ones who fell behind. They'd do the same to the ones who ran ahead. Lynn had no intention of sticking her neck out or lagging behind-she'd cluster down in the middle until she got the feel for this school. Much as she wanted to cup check Mr. My-Daddy-Didn't-Hug-Me-Enough, it wasn't gonna do her any good. She'd glare at the prison guards, but she wasn't gonna give them a reason to whip those batons out.

Lynn took off running, a steady, well-maintained pace. She was more of a sprinter-and in that endeavor, Lynn excelled. Scrambling up fences and fire escapes, darting in and out of alleys? She could accelerate fast and haul ass. She hadn't had much practice when it came to the marathon, though-but a few laps? She'd be damned if she got her ass handed to her in the first few laps. While her nutrition may not have been the best, Lynn's body was used to taking a beating, and she gritted her teeth and kept pace towards the front.

Just not too far to the front.

Mason fell behind, and Lynn refrained from asking if he could go faster if he goose-stepped instead of walking. Lips sealed. She grunted and turned a corner, wincing as Mason replied to Rick. Don't give them ammunition. Another good rule. And don't give some pansy-ass "I'm doing my best". Just do better. Lynn's options in the past had been "Run faster" or "put on this orange jumpsuit and smile for the camera". She generally preferred the former. 

Push-ups. Lynn let out a particularly violent curse, quiet enough to escape the notice of the gym teacher. Yeah, this guy had to have been military. Dividing everybody up against Mason, that was smart. Dick move, but smart. If he'd kept on cracking the whip, everybody would turn on Rick. Instead he threw a sheep to the wolves, made it look like Mason's smart ass was to blame for doing pushups. Dick Wheatmen might've been an ass, but he was a somewhat intelligent kind. Those were Lynn's least favorite brand of assholes. And fifty pushups? Lynn glanced at her arms, which likely contained more tattoo ink than muscle mass. She could throw a decent suckerpunch, but her only saving grace for pushups was that there wasn't much weight to pushup. She dropped down, feeling a trace of warmth running down her skin. Jackass had said no powers. Eh.

Lynn's arms crunched as she did the pushups, feeling the burn after the first few. Upper body strength and Cordelia Lynn Holmes weren't on speaking terms. She threw punches with her shoulders and abs, pulled herself up over fences with her core and her legs. Still, she wasn't about to ask for a handicap. Lynn grunted, forcing her body down and backup. She didn't touch her nose to the grass, figuring she'd need to save what power she had. She folded her arms, dropped low enough to avoid scolding from Coach, and hammered on. Casper crossed her mind-and while Lynn normally tried to stay pretty focused mentally, keep her eyes open and her thoughts clear, she entertained it, figuring anything that took her mind off the searing in her biceps was welcome. Wondered how his pansy ass was going to hold up against Rick, given that Mason had crumpled after about thirty seconds. Lynn, busy cursing with each inhalation and exhalation, figured this was a set-up. Granted, Lynn firmly believed most things were a set-up, and could entertain even the most delusion of conspiracy theorists, provided the government and the prison-industrial complex had a hand in it. But this seemed....pointless. Surely there was some fucker whose power let him do pushups really well or whatever. Or maybe somebody whose heart could beat more oxygen through or whatever, Lynn didn't know biology. They'd blow this out the water, maybe using their powers without even knowing. So Lynn figured her earlier hunch-and, generally, for her lack of formal education, Lynn's instincts can be trusted-this was just a test. They didn't care about pushups, no, they wanted to see who was gonna try and run ahead, who was gonna fall behind, and who was gonna keep their head down and do as they were told. Lynn would play along-for now. Her pride didn't like it (she almost felt a sense of nausea at having to comply with orders), and she couldn't even attempt to hide the fury on her face, but she played along. This was just another juvy guard, another nun. As Lynn kept pushing, her body started to slow down-the involuntary trembling that comes with exhaustion. Grunting harder, she poured everything she had into it, biting back the urge to start tapping into her powers. That being said, she wasn't sure if she was gonna hit fifty.

Nothing to do but look busy and hope Wheatmen was as bad at counting as he was at making good first impressions.