She doesn't expect to get it, but if she can get at least four, she should be able to steal enough snacks from the mess hall to replenish her stockpile and begin formulating a plan.
"Four," he says, as expected, and sweetens the deal with, "And I'll bring you a CD player and all the Nine Inch Nails CDs from the library so you can scream along with Trent Reznor during those four days."
Maybe that's half a joke. But he will do it. Give her some asset music to get more of the anger out with, maybe.
"Four," she finally agrees. "And leaving me alone means you do not come here, you do not message me, you do not speak to me if we cross paths on this stupid ship, you do not send anyone to check in on me to get around that."
"Deal, if you still come play with the puppies before bed." They're old enough that they don't need midnight feedings anymore, but they know her, and he thinks they'll miss her if she's gone. Also, it's a reason for her to leave her cabin for longer than it takes to walk her own dog. "I'll make sure I'm not there. But I'll know if you don't come."
She also has her custodial shifts, and unlike many inmates assigned to the work, she actually does them. Locking herself in her cabin for days on end is a rare occurrence.
But:
"Deal. But if you break our bargain, the clock starts over."
She makes a small skeptical noise - even if he keeps his distance, she doesn't trust him not to deploy some flying monkeys, promise or no.
The next sounds that come from inside the room are clearly that of a woman coaxing her young dog into her crate, against said dog's desire to greet the friend she can hear and smell on the other side of the door. And perhaps to get in a little extra playtime, in spite of only just having returned from the walk that is the entire reason Yelena'd actually been in her room to find in the first place, and not holed up in the one place on the ship a warden can't get to her.
Then silence. When she finally emerges, after a few minutes in total, it's dressed in workout clothes, with enough give to move but not enough to snag on anything, hair pinned up tight to her scalp.
He'd said he wasn't going to make her talk - and so she doesn't.
Poor Mila. B can only hope things will improve so she'll let him play with her dog again sometime soon.
He doesn't make her talk. He just settles in to walk beside her, tucking his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes front rather than on her. He goes with stairs rather than elevator, because moving in silence is easier than standing in place in silence, even if it's a longer trip.
At the Enclosure he tells it, "Kamino Mobility Training Course Four."
The doors then open to an indoor obstacle course, a series of moving platforms, hanging bars and pendulums, things to climb and jump over and hit out of the way. Underneath the course is saltwater, something safe to fall into if you lose your grip or miss a jump. Everything is automated, and randomized, so you can't necessarily predict what's going to move where. There's a timer that can be set manually at the start, if you want to time your run, but the obstacles keep moving even without it.
It's B's favorite obstacle course, and where he goes when he's feeling stressed.
She keeps as much distance between them as she can, given the limited space in both hallways and stairwells, expression a blank mask. It doesn't shift even as she takes in the course within the Enclosure's walls, noting the movement of the obstacles, and the potential impact of a misstep. Even water hurts, if you fall from a height and are only human.
Hurts a lot less than the ground. And for at least some of the time he used this room, he was only human, not taking his serum back until he was nearly graduated. The course is made for human-base soldiers, so it should be fine for her, especially at the speed he's left it at.
He steps back to let her through. "Want me to leave you do it?" he says. "Or stay and spot for you?"
"I do not want you having an excuse to say I broke our deal," she says as she steps through the door and to the side, toeing her shoes and socks of after a moment's thought. It will give her a better grip on the platforms, if they're as damp as they would be if this were real metal, real water.
He considers trying to argue with her about how he's not actually a rules lawyer, but he suspects she knows that perfectly well, and she's just using the excuse to pick at him some more. His feelings are safe in a box somewhere. So she can pick at him if she needs to.
He just nods, and settles inside the doorway once it slides shut again. He folds his arms lightly, leans back, and lets her run.
Many of the obstacles are plastic, rubber, and cement, as much as if not more than metal. Or something like plastic, rubber, and cement, but futuristic versions of the same. Sci fi. This comes from a Star Wars universe, after all.
He's wrong on that front. She doesn't trust him not to weasel out of the bargain, whether by finding some loophole or declaring her side invalid. She'd learned long ago that the Red Room's trainers can't be relied on.
Never mind that he'd never made any promises to be broken.
She rocks back on her heels, then up onto the balls of her feet, then takes off, with the sort of abandon that suggests while she's not exactly courting injury, neither does she especially care about it.
Good thing this is the Enclosure, then, and there are safety precautions. She might get bruises, or stinging red skin from slapping the water if she falls on it, or strained muscles, but nothing is getting broken in this course.
B stays where he is, watching without obviously watching, gaze just slightly unfocused rather than following her. It's an old Asset habit she might remember. He'll only stir if she looks like she has hurt herself badly enough to need to stop, or she falls into the water and doesn't come up within a few seconds.
She remembers that habit. It's enough, now, that she doesn't quite want him out of her view. And that's what causes her first misstep. The next platform isn't quite where she's expecting it to be. She stumbles, catching herself hard on the edge, most of her weight landing on her ribs. It probably wouldn't be enough to break anything even without the enclosure's safeguards. It still hurts, leaves her winded for a moment before she scrambles up and keeps moving.
The next fall, she hits the water, and has to start over.
There's another. And another.
Eventually, he might have to come to the realization that if he doesn't call a halt, she'll keep going either until she does do herself serious injury, or is too exhausted to surface.
It is, after all, what's expected of the Red Room's creations: perfection, or destruction.
He remembers doing that, himself. A bad night, Godric letting him in, just going and going and going until he couldn't anymore. Until Godric made him stop. At least here, no one is punishing either of them for not being perfect.
He gives her an hour and a half, waits until she hits the water again, before he goes to the control panel by the timer and shuts down all the motion, lets her swim back to the platform and register that it's been stopped. He has no idea if this helped her or not. He hopes it did.
She knifes through the water with ease, but there's a faint tremor in her arms as she hauls herself back onto the platform. Her jaw tightens a little as she notices the motion of the obstacles have stopped, and she shoots a sharply questioning look in B's direction.
She hasn't, after all, made it all the way through the course yet.
"The goal of this," he reminds her gently, "is to get some of your energy out. You did that." He certainly doesn't care if she completes it, so long as she feels a little better or, failing that, at least finds it easier to sleep tonight. "I thought we could get you something from the kitchen, to bring back to your cabin, then I'll let you be."
"That wasn't the deal," she says. "The deal was I jump through your hoops in the Enclosure, and you leave me alone for four days. No dinner, no following me back to my cell. 96 straight hours without you or any of your proxies inserting yourselves into my shitty little life."
"Technically, the deal was I bring you the Nine Inch Nails albums and a CD player, so I will have to visit you one more time, but I can just leave them outside so you don't have to see me," B reminds her, but he backs down, steps aside to give her a clear path to the door. He won't go with her. "Just try to drink something that isn't alcohol before bed?"
She bends to pick up her shoes and socks on her way past him out the door, not putting them on, but dangling them from her fingers.
"No," she says, over her shoulder and without looking. It's pure contrarian spite; she'd fully intended to rehydrate, and possibly slip out to find something to eat once she was sure he wasn't lurking. But while she might be too exhausted to vent her rage, right now anything he might want from her, she's inclined to do the opposite.
He shuts his eyes, doesn't move when she leaves, lets the door slide shut behind her.
Then he sets a two hour timer, turns the course up to full speed, and throws himself into it so he doesn't punch anything that might actually take damage.
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She doesn't expect to get it, but if she can get at least four, she should be able to steal enough snacks from the mess hall to replenish her stockpile and begin formulating a plan.
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Maybe that's half a joke. But he will do it. Give her some asset music to get more of the anger out with, maybe.
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"Four," she finally agrees. "And leaving me alone means you do not come here, you do not message me, you do not speak to me if we cross paths on this stupid ship, you do not send anyone to check in on me to get around that."
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But:
"Deal. But if you break our bargain, the clock starts over."
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The next sounds that come from inside the room are clearly that of a woman coaxing her young dog into her crate, against said dog's desire to greet the friend she can hear and smell on the other side of the door. And perhaps to get in a little extra playtime, in spite of only just having returned from the walk that is the entire reason Yelena'd actually been in her room to find in the first place, and not holed up in the one place on the ship a warden can't get to her.
Then silence. When she finally emerges, after a few minutes in total, it's dressed in workout clothes, with enough give to move but not enough to snag on anything, hair pinned up tight to her scalp.
He'd said he wasn't going to make her talk - and so she doesn't.
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He doesn't make her talk. He just settles in to walk beside her, tucking his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes front rather than on her. He goes with stairs rather than elevator, because moving in silence is easier than standing in place in silence, even if it's a longer trip.
At the Enclosure he tells it, "Kamino Mobility Training Course Four."
The doors then open to an indoor obstacle course, a series of moving platforms, hanging bars and pendulums, things to climb and jump over and hit out of the way. Underneath the course is saltwater, something safe to fall into if you lose your grip or miss a jump. Everything is automated, and randomized, so you can't necessarily predict what's going to move where. There's a timer that can be set manually at the start, if you want to time your run, but the obstacles keep moving even without it.
It's B's favorite obstacle course, and where he goes when he's feeling stressed.
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He steps back to let her through. "Want me to leave you do it?" he says. "Or stay and spot for you?"
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"So you can stay."
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He just nods, and settles inside the doorway once it slides shut again. He folds his arms lightly, leans back, and lets her run.
Many of the obstacles are plastic, rubber, and cement, as much as if not more than metal. Or something like plastic, rubber, and cement, but futuristic versions of the same. Sci fi. This comes from a Star Wars universe, after all.
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Never mind that he'd never made any promises to be broken.
She rocks back on her heels, then up onto the balls of her feet, then takes off, with the sort of abandon that suggests while she's not exactly courting injury, neither does she especially care about it.
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B stays where he is, watching without obviously watching, gaze just slightly unfocused rather than following her. It's an old Asset habit she might remember. He'll only stir if she looks like she has hurt herself badly enough to need to stop, or she falls into the water and doesn't come up within a few seconds.
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The next fall, she hits the water, and has to start over.
There's another. And another.
Eventually, he might have to come to the realization that if he doesn't call a halt, she'll keep going either until she does do herself serious injury, or is too exhausted to surface.
It is, after all, what's expected of the Red Room's creations: perfection, or destruction.
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He gives her an hour and a half, waits until she hits the water again, before he goes to the control panel by the timer and shuts down all the motion, lets her swim back to the platform and register that it's been stopped. He has no idea if this helped her or not. He hopes it did.
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She hasn't, after all, made it all the way through the course yet.
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"That wasn't the deal," she says. "The deal was I jump through your hoops in the Enclosure, and you leave me alone for four days. No dinner, no following me back to my cell. 96 straight hours without you or any of your proxies inserting yourselves into my shitty little life."
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"No," she says, over her shoulder and without looking. It's pure contrarian spite; she'd fully intended to rehydrate, and possibly slip out to find something to eat once she was sure he wasn't lurking. But while she might be too exhausted to vent her rage, right now anything he might want from her, she's inclined to do the opposite.
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Then he sets a two hour timer, turns the course up to full speed, and throws himself into it so he doesn't punch anything that might actually take damage.