Pidge: What’s that smell?
Lance: Fresh air.
Pidge: … I don’t like it.
Shiro: Coran, if you wanted to be healthier, why not come to me? I’m ripped as hell.
Lance: Shiro, health is about flexibility, a piece of mind, and bone strength, not building vanity muscles.
Shiro: Vanity Muscles? I use all of these.
Coran: Really? Even the large neck ones?
Shiro: They help me sleep upright on airplanes!
Lance: Well, there’s no reason to be defensive just because you don’t have the bone strength of a yogi. We all have our thing, you’re a muscler, I’m a boner.
Shiro: Shiro can do yoga. Shiro is a yoga beast. Watch give me a yoga to do.
Lance: Uh well, we’re in warrior pose now, but I suppose for you we can start in child’s pose.
Shiro: Shiro is not a child! Shiro is a Warrior! Hrrgggg! *gets into pose*
Lance: Aand *stretches back*
Coran: That didn’t sound good. Are you okay Shiro?
Shiro: I’m fine, now if you excuse me, I am going to walk out of here normally using my trademark tiny steps.
Coran: Under my tutelage you will grow from boys into men, from men into paladins, and from paladins into Wimbleton Smythes. Behold!
*points pointer at chart*
The Wimbleton Smythe pyramid of greatness.
Shiro: And, I’ll have the number 8.
Server: That’s a party platter, it serves 12 people.
Shiro: I know what I’m about, son.