[b]The Executive Branch
The Gym[/b]

'[i]Row! Row! Ro--[/i]'
'[b]...Row?[/b]' the other replied, snarkly.
'[i]Eye front, Mr Lewis. Keep up. Your ma and pa know they raised a slouch?[/i]'

Death has a strange way of changing things. Opinions. Perspectives. Sure. The values we hold dearest to us. As soon as death becomes a tangible threat, as we are confronted with out own mortality, people begin to plan for the afterlife. They say that only two things are absolute. Lewis and Clark were living proof to the contrary.

[i]'Back straight!'[/i]

A dying man might indeed dream of the afterlife. Their own little slice of heaven. They might even pray, might they? Be they god fearing like Clark, it comes with the territory. Some people don't. What can be certain is that Meriwether Lewis did not pray for this.

'[b]We're done here...[/b]' He starts, taking his hand away from the apparatus and forcing a scowl. '[b]I'm not wasting anymore of my afterlife on a machine.[/b]'

Easier said than done. As Lewis pulls one leg off the side sharply, the other remains planted on the rowing machine. for it was not his own. And it was stuck. Stuck, with no amount of force shaking it.

'[i]Sit your ass down,[/i]' Clark started, quietly. The taskmaster in his voice gone, now only contemplative judgement. '[i]We are not moving from this machine,[/i]' Clark states.

William Clark was a military man. Excuse the fact that he was drafted home on sick leave; he was brutal. He was assertive. He was not moving from that spot without good reason. It is for this reason that the two look at their watch so suddenly.

>>:"Attention. This is Mr. Roosevelt. There is to be a briefing in the conference room in ten minutes. Your presence is required.":<<

That could do it.