Second New Story | Video

[hellofist]

I need the CTS. Need a Warden... to let me in. Whoever is closest.

[She knows she could ask anyone specifically, but she doesn't want to. She doesn't want to ask for anything at all, but for some reason doing it like this seems less... intrusive? She isn't sure.]

And if someone can, every morning? Would be... helpful.

That's all.

[And she clicks off, abrupt, no thank yous. Whoever shows up she'll thank, but what's the point of saying it into the ether?]

[Private to Zane]

Cassel said to... talk to you. So... hi.

[Who is the best at meeting new people? This gal right here.]


(ooc: come at me with your alternate timelines, anyone who wants to let her in can do so!!)

Comments

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[Dean is not a warden; he can't let her in. When he sees the message originally, he dismisses it out of hand for this reason. He's more aware of her now, after her introduction post, after their meeting in the dining hall, but he can't help her and he doesn't like asking things on his own behalf, either, so there's fuckall he could do about it even if he was inclined.

But the problem is... the problem is he still has trouble sleeping, his mind still won't stop, and he still has nothing but drinking and tearing apart, putting his room back together with whatever he can find without asking anyone else in it, and that's not enough. He can't drink right now, not without making it worse instead of better, and that forces him to think what else he can do.

CTS. Closed Training Simulator. He likes the sound of that, and it's when he's trying to figure out how to get himself inside that he remembers this particular message; he remembers she asked for someone to let her in every morning. Someone will. If the way they reacted to him is any indicator, there'll be people tripping over themselves to let her in.

Which is how he finds himself, tired but full of a dangerous, restless energy, lingering on the deck near the door he's identified as the CTS without ever having been inside. He left his gun behind but has one of the thin, round metal rungs he pulled off the ladder in his cabin up one of his jacket sleeves just in case, just in case Scorpius comes near him again, he'll make it stick this time, he swears to god. Dean has no idea when "morning" is for Cass, if someone's already let her in, if she's already gone, if she's still in there, what there even is, if he should even follow through on this - but at least there's space to breathe, up here, and that'll be enough until the dangerous energy eats him alive and he has to do something else with it. If nothing else, there's space to breathe.]

[ Spam ]

[hellofist]

[When she was a child, morning was sunrise. Morning stayed sunrise until she became Batgirl, and then morning was typically around noon. She was out all night, falling into bed as the sun was coming up and only waking up after sleeping like a log. Now, she doesn't have that excuse. Now morning is morning and early and she's in there already, has been for an hour now, which means she's only halfway done.

Halfway also means a break, so when the door opens she's covered in a thin layer of sweat, she's breathing hard, and her knuckles are a little red. She didn't bother to wrap them or wear gloves for this and she didn't expect anyone to be standing in the hallway when she opened the door up to grab her towel and water bottle from the floor.

She expected to be alone, and that's why she's in just a black sports bra and yoga pants and there's absolutely nothing to cover the scars that litter up and down her back, over her shoulders, curling around biceps. She doesn't look directly at Dean as she reaches for her water bottle, but she does keep him in her peripheral vision. He's here on purpose, he expected her to be here. He has a weapon stuffed up his sleeve, but he isn't here to hit her with it.

Standing just inside the doorway, she watches him and drinks her water. When she's downed about half of it, she screws the cap back on and says,]

Don't get caught, with that. [She nods at his arm, but doesn't elaborate.] Not supposed to have it.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[Dean isn't here to hit her with it, unless she makes him; that's the trick. People are always surprised by what Dean is willing to do if he has to, if it becomes necessary, but that's all there is to it. He does what's necessary. Always has, always will, even when it leaves him standing alone in a ruined world. He doesn't know what else to do.

And he doesn't really know what else to do now, leaning against the wall, as obvious in his intention as it's possible to be. There's no other reason to be up here but oh well: subtle never was his style. It's not his style now when she walks out and he opens his mouth and then stops, can't help but react.

Dean's skin doesn't look like that, but it's only by the grace of something more powerful than himself; wiped clean at age thirty, the majority of the lasting marks embedded in his soul - literally - he still has more than his fair share of reminders to be faster, stronger, better, accumulated over the past five years, but he knows that's not normal. He thinks briefly of the people he tore apart in Hell, with its sick, intensely sweet thrill of self disgust; wonders briefly if he would look similar if it had been his physical body on the meathooks, with its deep, bloody twist of fear; and paves it all over with the kind of grim respect he hands out sparingly, these days, but no less sincerely once someone's earned it. There's no pity. When he looks back up at her, when she speaks to him, he pushes it all aside anyway and shrugs; part of him is surprised she knows. It's the same part that doesn't have the energy to pretend like he doesn't. It's not, after all, the first time someone else has known something about him seemingly out of the blue, even before coming here.]

That's why I'm not just carrying it around. [Even though he's already used it once, and he was allowed to keep it after that. Seems the wardens around here don't mind a little violence as long as they think the target deserved it.] Does this count as getting caught with it?

[hellofist]

No. [There's a pause right after that, though.] Maybe. Depends on... who you hit with it.

[But even then, she isn't likely to tell anyone. If he goes after someone she cares about she'll take her revenge on her own, but she isn't sure he would. She isn't honestly that worried about him hurting someone like Anya or Cassel, she doesn't think they'd give him a reason to.

Taking a step back into the CTS, she jerks her head at him.]

I'm not done. You can wait, or come in.

[surfaceshine]

Whoever makes me.

[He shrugs, an oversimplified truth, because Dean isn't afraid to start fights but that doesn't mean he's interested in doing so at the drop of a hat. He will finish them every time, though, and despite his abysmal track record overall, well. He's still standing, more or less.

For whatever that's worth.

He isn't afraid of her telling anyone, so he doesn't try to bargain for that, only tilts his head to see through the door. He frowns with concentration, glancing over at her decree - less of an invitation, really, but enough of one.

He's too restless to wait. There's not enough for him to do here, not as much as he's accustomed to having to do in a day, and it was nice at first but now it's maddening. The CTS is an unknown. He's not afraid of the unknown.

He steps to meet it, following her in.]

I don't know what this is.

[hellofist]

[So maybe she'll do something about it, but her pool of people here is a small one. He's more likely to hit someone she doesn't care about, so it isn't something she worries over now. She's too distracted to care too much right now.]

It's for fighting. It doesn't break, no matter... how hard you fight. You've seen the CES?

[surfaceshine]

So that's why you wanted in.

[The hunter steps through after her and everything about him changes, a decided but still subtle shift ever so slightly to one side of himself: wary in a confident way now, ready for a fight he knows is coming rather than one that may or may not; accepting of being at the bottom of the food chain, ready to use that to his advantage however he can; dangerous.

He nods.] I've seen the CES.