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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no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
She hasn't, after all, made it all the way through the course yet.
no subject
no subject
"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."
no subject
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.