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The worst part of the weekend was that no one was in immediate reach to listen to a good conversation. About what, well that didn't really matter now did it. The sheer fact that no one was there was enough to turn a good mood from the weather sour. Even the jumprope clutched in his hand wasn't soothing Marx's mood as much as he'd hoped.

Where was everyone when he wanted to talk? Seriously. Oh well though, at least he didn't have to just sit somewhere and brood. That wasn't good for the complexion, he'd read that at least. It was probably a lie but, well he'd rather not risk it by brooding too much. And he did have those s'mores pastries for breakfast, so the jumprope would do good to burn some of that off. yes, a good plan all around.

Once a good open spot of grass is selected, the game is begun. Simple jumping first for a few steps, then just the left for, then the right. He cris-crosses the rope just twice before tripping up and having to start the count again after making it 30 jumps.

So focused on his second round of jumprope, and missing a step at only twelve this time, Marx doesn't bother to look anywhere but the blasted rope in his hands. There had to be something wrong with it, he never made mistakes that early into the game. Never! Well, okay sometimes but that was when it was cold out, or the pavement was wet. This was neither.

The funny tingling between his shoulder blades that one usually gets when they're being watched sets in lightly though, and he has to pause just before starting his third try at it, going with the "Third try's the charm" motto. There, just outside the gate. Some kid not in the Hillworth uniform, looking at him. Continue jumproping and ignore him, or have someone to talk to. Decisions, decisions.

Slinging said rope over his shoulder, Marx makes his way over towards the gate with a wave of his own in reply. This was an easy choice. "Who hangs around the gates of a school on the weekend?" Really, not that he was complaining though it was awfully silent out.

Marx stops just short of the gate to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Someone passing by. Last I checked not many people actually like to pass by this school Bad rep, you know?"

"Marlo? Never heard of him." Which must mean he wasn't worth his time. He did after all only hang out with people who could stand there and listen to him when he wanted to be heard. A shame that more weren't like that really. He very nearly scoffs after a moment's thought. "Of course I'm not him. I'm Marx." Not that it seemed the name would do much good in telling but hey.

His eyes follow Azzo's line of sight to his rope, and he lifts it off of his shoulder after a minute. "Do you jump or something? Or is there something on it." At this point, he checks the rope over, then the shoulder of his vest to make sure there's no loose blades of grass or bright green stain on it from any that could possibly ruin it.

The next 'first words' out of Azzo's mouth would have earned another scoff, but he didn't want to send the other boy off yet. Now that there was someone around other than the wind who could listen. There could be a point to that too, anyway. He sure seemed casual about being so close to the "reform" school to be like the rest of them. Don't you just love stereotyping? Wonderful thing really.

"You sure about the smart enough part? Some people in this school would love a new face around to mess up." At this he grimaces a little himself at the thought of having his own face messed up, before continuing. "But the outside of this place doesn't say all that much anyway. Grammar school, really? I never did get that bit." Probably never would, this wasn't a school for teaching how to use your grammar better or whatever; he'd thought that the first time he heard the name and had had quite the argument with his mother of why he didn't need any special teaching in grammar that would send him away from home. It didn't make sense. Now it did, but he still didn't need to be roomed out here, and not home.

A skeptical glance is spared for the hand before Marx shakes it. it looked clean enough, so he wouldn't be getting any grime on himself by a simple handshake. "I could say the same, but I'll hold off on that." He seems relieved though when the rope is indeed clean.

"Kickboxing?" Okay, looking at this Azzo he did not look the type to actually be into that, and he gives another look over just to make sure. "You don't seem that type. And of course I jump, that's the understatement of the week isn't it. It's a good game, and a lot better than just jogging or worse, walking. You can get creative with it." When your rhythm doesn't fail.

Alright so supposedly the answer made some sense. That 'judging a book by its cover' thing, so he could just ignore that side of the conversation. it didn't matter, it wasn't interesting.

"A shame? It should be a crime, is what it is. This stupid place is not a picnic." But he did get to always have someone around when he needed to vent his frustrations to an open ear. Unlike today, until Azzo showed up at least. He gives a light scoff at the mention of terrorist groups. "I haven't seen any of these groups myself, what makes you so certain they're really out there? It could just be some really badly planned cries for attention going on." He knew a few things about cries for attention, just not that extreme, for sure.

"The crime though, eh I guess. But most of those people use guns don't they? No kickboxing would save you from a bullet you know." He lightly snickers before holding the rope out. "So, you going to jump? I can tie an end to the flagpole and see what you got. But I'm sure I'm better than you."

Marx doesn't comment on the fact that Azzo supposedly saw some of the so-called terrorists. Fans, or just someone wanting to cash in on the whole deal and wanting to claim some of the little fame. Attention seekers... "Skirted terrorists, awesome? Not really. I think it's kind of lame. Why be a terrorist if you're going to wear a skirt doing it?"

He gives a rather bland look for the reasoning behind kickboxing. "I don't know, I sleep just fine at night knowing crimes and all that happen out there and I'm not involved with trying to get myself killed stopping them."

"Oh I know I'm better than you if you said yourself you don't jump much. And it's not a school day so they won't care. They'd only really have a cow about it if it were after curfew and you were here, even if you are close enough to wearing our uniform." He walks over to the pole to tie an end of the rope around it to free it up for some more intense jumping.

"I'd hope they were girls. If they were guys running around in skirts I'd have to invest in some eye treatment." Really, there better not be any guys running around in skirts causing any of the trouble. How much attention do you need?

He doesn't give a comment on the broken ribs, and instead opts for the other option. "Other things besides kickboxing to deal with it. But you better eat what she's making then. My mom doesn't cook but I'd never disappoint her by turning any down." Attached to his mother? Maybe, probably.

"Oh don't tell me you didn't notice. Our fashion is here is pretty limited and you walk up so similarly dressed yourself, you had to notice that we at least have a similar style on." He'd argue that his uniform is much better kept. "So, you want to flip a coin to see who jumps first, or do you just want the honors of christening this dirt with a face plant first?"