fandomhighdorms | Saturday morning, the gym

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Saturday morning, the gym

Dinah's clothes were back! Her clothes were back! Wooo! All of them!

... which meant she'd have to give Arthur back his shirt. Sometime soon.

Right. Time to go work out some frustration on a punching bag.

Dinah dialed up the Crystal Method, and let loose on the bag.

[ooc:open!]

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"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.

"What's to talk about? We are what we are. The Agency put us together, so they understand what we are. We understand what we are." She shrugged as if there were nothing wrong with any of it.

"You don't want to be anything else?"

You can't help someone who doesn't want help. And... if she was from another world, who did you even report this to? If she wasn't assigned a 'job' here on the Island, there was no proof, and if there was no proof... Dinah slowly unwrapped her fingers, watching Triela, trying to understand.

"I don't."

Triela's lip twitched just a bit. "I don't get to. I mean, you don't think someone builds a cybernetic killing machine without some sort of control mechanism in place, do you?"

Which made Dinah throw up in her mouth, a little. She swallowed, and looked hard at Triela. "That's wrong. You... you get that, right?"

"Intellectually? I suppose." Triela shrugged. "But there's no emotional force there. Besides, I'd be dead if it weren't for the Agency. Pretty horribly dead. I'm not sure how upset I'd be even if I weren't pumped full of drugs."

There was no way in any dimension or universe that Dinah was ever touching Triela without gloves or something else in the way. Not ever. She did not want to chance knowing what was going on inside her first-hand.

"Okay," Dinah whispered. "Just wanted to be sure." She cleared her throat, wishing Barbara were there, again. She took a minute to finish unwinding the wrappings on her fingers, then carefully put them away. Honesty seemed to be called for, but what was she supposed to say?

"Sometimes," Triela's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, "I forget how odd it is. It's all I know, you know?"

"I guess it's all pretty disturbing."

Dinah looked over at the other girl, and nodded, wishing she knew what to say. "Yeah. It is." She frowned, hand clenching on the bag. "It makes me angry, that they did that to you. And that they're asking you to..." She took a breath. "Tell me if I got this wrong, but: you're asked to kill people sometimes. Yes?"

"Most of the time," Triela confirmed. "You probably don't want details."

Because four years is plenty of time to rack up the bodies.

"Yeah. Probably not." Knowing all that wouldn't help Triela. Or change it. Dinah frowned, thinking again, and said, "And the other girls, the ones you try to look after? They all do this too. And... they're younger than you?"

"Yeah. And someone's gotta watch out for them."

She grinned. "And I'm the most responsible."

If she knew Triela better, this would make her cry. But she didn't. It just left Dinah with the sort of sick horror that Guy's death had.

"Yeah." Dinah managed a smile at that. "I'd do anything for my sisters too."

Change the subject. Say something. "So. What day was Girls With Guns club?"

"Tuesdays after classes. In the range." Triela grinned. "I've got some extra guns if you need to borrow one."

She had a lot of guns.

"Cool." Dinah took a deep breath. "Thanks. You'll probably see me there next week."

And maybe by Tuesday, she'd have a better idea of how to talk to Triela, without giving away how much she made Dinah afraid for her.

"I hope to." Triela grinned. "Good luck with the bag."

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Saturday morning, the gym

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