fandomhighdorms | Saturday morning, the gym

Dinah was punching and kicking in equal measure, her hands wrapped up in gloves, sometimes to the beat of the music coming through her iPod earphones, sometimes just pummeling it. It was nice. Relaxing. Comparatively speaking.

On one go-round, she saw Triela out of the corner of her eye, and nodded; then, when she'd reached a good rest point, pulled down the earphones and said, "Hey. I'm Dinah. Did you need the bag?" She didn't look dressed for it yet, but who knew around here.

"I'm Triela." She definitely wasn't dressed for it.

"And, no, but thanks. The bag's a bit light for me."

Dinah looked from the bag-- which had been nicely solid throughout her workout -- to Triela. Younger, shorter, and lighter than Dinah. But hey, Helena didn't look like she could pick up guys and pitch them over cars either. Not safe to make assumptions. "Oh." She nodded. "Not enough of a work-out for you? Do you use the weights?"

She bounced on her toes to the music coming out of her earphones, and swung her arms to get the circulation back in them.

"Hand to hand's not really my style," Triela grinned a bit. "But you seem to be decent at it."

For better or for worse, Triela didn't know much at all about hand to hand combat.

"Thanks!" Dinah settled onto her feet again, smiling big. "I've only been in training a year. But I do it a lot." She noticed the grin, and tilted her head, curious. "So, what are you into?"

"My training is primarily in firearms. I specialize in close quarters work." Her dry cleaning bills were horrendous, what with all the blood.

Dinah nodded, taking that in, then said, "I know the basics of firearms, but not a lot. I should probably practice here, since they have a gun range." The words 'close quarters work' plus guns came together in her head, and Dinah stilled, watching the other girl. Naaah. She was ... really young, for the kind of image that provoked. "How long have you been doing it?" she asked, going back to a slow series of punches and strikes, slow enough to still hold a conversation over.

"About four years now." Which, considering how old Triela looked, would have meant starting at the age of ten.

"Wow. That's ..." Hard-core. "Impressive." Dinah kicked the bag, elbow-strike, punch. Kick-strike-punch. She was all kinds of curious about this girl. But the mis-steps she'd made dealing with Arthur reminded her again that this place wasn't home, and wasn't like home for some people. "And not really common around here. Does everybody start young, back where you're from?"

"Just the girls at the Agency. The rest of the world is... pretty much like this one."

"And if you want to get into guns, there's a club. If you're interested."

Dinah slowed a bit, thinking that over, then addressed the second part as she did a series of crescent and side-kicks to the bag. "Thanks. I might show up for that. I don't have any clubs, I'm just hoping to get a part in the play they've got in town."

Girls at the Agency. Ten-year-olds with guns. Not typical.

The Barbara in her head was sounding very, very worried. "Do you like being part of the Agency?"

"Tuesdays after classes. You're welcome to drop by whenever."

She fell silent at the question. Not worried, just thoughtful. "It's not bad. I watch out for the other girls, try to keep them out of trouble."

"I even manage not to fight with Hilshire all that often."

Dinah's concentration on the conversation eased for a moment, as she went through one of the harder sequences Helena had her practice, then she stopped to catch her breath, dragging one boxing glove over her forehead. "Who's Hilshire? One of the other girls?" She smiled a little, trying to picture it.

"Hilshire's the other half of my team. My handler. My big brother. My..." she frowned. "It's complicated. Which was probably why they fought all the time.

Dinah nodded shrugging out her shoulders, thinking. "I have two older sisters." And Barbara is Helena's 'handler', probably. "I fight with them sometimes. It usually works out." She started another slow series, just elbow strikes and reverse-blocks, and asked, "So he plans your work?"

Don't say mission. Don't say assignment. Keep it light.

"Most of the time, yeah. I'm good enough that we get a lot of one fratello assignments." She used the Agency's term for team without really thinking about it. "Every so often we do bigger operations. Jean usually plans those."

Jean, Triela's voice may have suggested, was a bastard.

"What's fratello?" Dinah asked, speeding up, then slowing down, and starting to get tired. She chanced a look over her shoulder at Triela, and said, "Not a fan of Jean, hunh."

"Oh, sorry," Triela shook her head. "It's Italian. It translates as... 'siblings' is pretty close, I guess. The Agency thinks it has a sense of humor sometimes."

Her lips turned down. "And Jean? I don't like him. He says we're not human. Sometimes I even think he believes it."

"Oh." Dinah stopped punching, working on getting her breath to even out. Then turned around, and started working her gloves off her fingers. "That sucks." She considered for a second, then offered, "I've heard people say that before, about people back home. Metas. Like me."

"Metas?" Triela cocked her head. "What does that involve?"

Dinah turned, taking several steps back, and concentrated hard, making the bag swing on its chain without touching it. Back, and forth, hard. "Meta-human. Additional abilities. Like telekinesis. Or, well. I know someone who has the really weird ability to remember everything. Every scent, every sound, every thing he's ever seen. He says he remembers being in his mother's womb, but I'm not sure I even want to believe that one."

She turned back to Triela. "People back home are kind of afraid of us. Which is ridiculous, when you're talking about powers like Gibson's." She bit her lip. "But it's not fun. And it doesn't sound fair to me, that you'd have to work for someone like that."

"To never forget..." Triela smiled a bit wistfully. "That'd be nice."

"That sounds rough. At least no one knows about us. And... it's not the same thing, I suspect. The Agency built us, for the most part, so when Jean says we're not human..." She shrugged, "He's not completely off-base. I mean, I'm over 50% carbon-fiber, super-dense ceramics, and artificial muscle."

"So what?"

Dinah took a breath after that immediate reaction, and then more slowly said, "No, really. So what? Having extras doesn't make you less... or more... a basic human being. Just different. Jean's an jackass." Dinah was beginning to simmer a little on this subject, and started stripping off her gloves, flexing her fingers in their wrappings to keep herself from punching the bag again. "Why doesn't someone tell him to kiss off?"

And there was that tiny part of her going, And why is not forgetting so important?

"Oh, most of us know what he is." Triela just couldn't say the words.

"And, unfortunately, Jean's pretty senior, and he gets results." The Agency was pretty big on results. "I mostly feel bad for Rico. She's the one who has to deal with him all the time."

"There's no one you can talk to about this? You and the others?" Dinah asked, wishing Barbara were here. She'd know better questions to ask. Or have an idea of how to react.

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