fandomhighdorms | The Gym, Sunday afternoon

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The Gym, Sunday afternoon

All the chat and all the information at Cop Con had Dinah feeling the need to process. Time for some weights and work on the bag.

A little revolution, and Dinah was pounding on the bag like it, oh, say, told her about her alternate universe future self and freaked her out.

Just a little.

[ooc: open!]

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"Not very," Cal said with a grin, which wasn't entirely true, "but I am so becoming a Mafia accountant now. I like to live...dangerously."

And it was pretty much tradition for a Stephanides man to die in a Buick. Or a Chevy.

Oddly never a Ford.

"My grandfather was a booze smuggler in the twenties," he offered. "Maybe I'll take after him."

"Ooooo." Dinah should not have found that intriguing. Sadly, she was easily fascinated by plans for mayhem. Thwarting them or helping them.

"You could wear Armani and smuggle the funds out in a Gulfstream jet. And leave all the illegal accounts for the FBI." She grinned a little. "How did your grandfather smuggles booze? From Canada? Bootlegging it in a car?"

"Exactly," Cal said with a nod. "Driving it over from Cananda when the Detroit River froze."

There was a pause.

"I'd look damn good in Armani, too," he added, with no small amount of preening.

"Ha!" Dinah had a very amusing image of a slippy-sliding Model T full of bottles of rum now. "That took some nerve."

She grinned at him after the Armani comment, trying to imagine it. Okay, not fair. He really would look good as a Mafia accountant. "You should wear that for Halloween. Or the next costume party," she teased. "Try it on, see how it works for you. Gangsta money guy."

Some nerve, indeed. It also became Jimmy Zizmo's final grave.

"I've actually got a few nice jackets and ties and a three-piece," Cal admitted. "I like jackets and things. I know what works I guess."

Dinah... really didn't. Part of dressing so boringly was lack of nerve, and part was practicality, but she found herself envying him that.

"Then I definitely have to see you in those sometime," Dinah said. "Ooo. Maybe for the play?" She considered, then shook her head. "Naaah, he'll probably put us in all-military outfits or something. Unless Harper decides on pastry."

"...Did you just say pastry?"

Dinah flailed a moment, at a loss as to how to explain the that, then remembered meeting Harper later. "She was sewing kiwis to her jeans, the last time we talked. The fruit, not the bird. Dried kiwis. And she has a huge muffin headband. And I just... yeah."

"...And this is our costume director, isn't it?"

"Yup." Dinah gave him a rueful look, and started stripping off her gloves for the last time. "I am terrified she'll insist on something like a codpiece. Or maybe just a fruit costume. I don't know, do you think Geoffrey would go for that?"

Cal wondered if telling Dinah that she'd look good in a codpiece was way too weird.

He decided that it definitely was.

"I...wouldn't be too surprised, actually," Cal said. "I've been waiting for him to seem as crazy as everyone says he is. That would finally convince me."

"Great. I'll love being an image of insanity," Dinah said wryly. "But then, I guess some people will say that since he cast a girl, it's already partway there." She made a face. "As long as the pastry isn't real..."

"Edible costumes," Cal intoned thoughtfully. And then knew that he really shouldn't be thinking about edible costumes.

"Cross-casting really isn't all that crazy, either. They did it all the time in Shakespeare's time."

Great. Now Dinah had images again. Bad, bad... fun images.

"Um. No? No, that's true," she said, turning a little pink. "Amber said she'd help me practice kissing a girl, if it turns out Catherine's a girl. Although I hope it's a guy. I just don't think anyone's going to buy me as a guy if I'm standing next to a girl, kissing a girl, dressed up as a guy. I don't think I'm that good an actor, you know?"

"Believe me," Cal muttered, "it's probably not as hard as you think."

Personal experience in everything talking here. Cal sighed a little, shaking his head. "Tennant wouldn't have put you there if he didn't think you could do it. That much I do know. And...well...I mean it. We'll practice together. I'll teach you some tricks about how males carry themselves and things like that." He'd certainly studied them enough himself. "It'll be easy."

Dinah had the urge to hug Cal for that, but had no idea how he'd take it. She settled for looking down at her feet and rocking on her toes. "Thanks. I mean it." She forced herself to look up, and grinned brightly at him. "Still conquering your country, though."

"Psh," Cal scoffed. "Yeah, right. Bring it on. Vive la France, or whatever."

"For God, Harry, and Saint George!" Dinah caroled, punching the air.

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The Gym, Sunday afternoon

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