#1 in MENTALIST
[Cho x OC]
[COMPLETED]
It's The Mentalist but slightly to the left; shifting the spotlight to Kimball Cho and original character Ronnie Masters. Starts from S1E1, includes all casted characters with the addition of one OC. SLOWWW BU...
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Ronnie leaned over the cracked countertop, waiting impatiently for her coffee maker to stop gurgling into the carafe. She'd awoken only fifteen minutes before and gotten dressed for the gym quickly. Even now she leaned away from the counter to examine herself in the full-length mirror nailed to the pantry door.
Her black and gray camo print leggings showed off the strong muscles of her quads and hamstrings, stopping halfway down her shins and drawing attention to her defined calves. She switched position, examining her shoulders and biceps in her black cap-sleeve t-shirt.
Ronnie Masters had been going to the gym religiously since she was twelve years old. It hadn't been voluntary at first, and she hadn't begun to enjoy it until well after her sixteenth birthday. Her mother had emphasized the importance of strength and power, and had been severely compelling, and thus Ronnie's nigh-obsessive gym habits had begun.
Her stature was by no means of typical feminine physique. Even without flexing, she bore a remarkably muscular frame, with thick arms and legs, a broad back and defined waist. She often earned herself rude, disparaging comments about her figure, looked down upon by beautiful women and scoffed at by men.
She smoothed back her Dutch braids, once more checking her clothes in the mirror. Wardrobe malfunctions had no place in the gym, and yet she could recount numerous times that she'd suffered the consequences of not taking the proper precautions beforehand.
Ronnie tied her flat black high tops and shrugged into her jacket, yanking her backpack out of the chair near the door.
Coffee at last done brewing, the CBI agent poured it into her thermos, tightened the lid, and left her apartment briskly.
California mornings hit like hot breath on the back of her neck, pulling at her hair and leaving her skin damp within seconds. She hated it. She hated California. Everything brown, hot, dusty; stretching on for miles and miles until she felt she'd never escape; she hated it.
Bypassing her motorcycle, Ronnie ducked into her car and immediately cranked the air conditioner. A punk rock song blasted through the speakers, drawing her attention away from the warm, moist smell that had taken over her car's interior since summer had begun.
At eight in the morning, when most people were at work, Sacramento Fitness welcomed her with a dozen empty workout stations. Only five or six people were in the weight room, and none of them paid her any mind.
Ronnie put her things into a locker and put one wireless earbud in, leaving the other in her jacket pocket. When her music sounded in her ears, she headed over to a branch and sat down, examining her numbers on her phone.
Footsteps approached, the familiar black adidas stopping right in front of her.
She glanced up, showing her phone to the newcomer. "I want to go up to 175 on bench press."
