2237-09-22 - Thumbs Make All The Difference

Kyle and Ines share history over an impromptu self defense lesson. Katja meets Ines for the first time.

Date: 2237-09-22

Location: Dauntless - Gym

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 542

Jump to End

Days from Caprica and the chaos emergent from friction between the diverse CF and Caprical locals, some members of the Wolves have yet to forget that there were not one but two barfights, one of which ended in brig time for an unlucky few, and a slap on the wrist for the rest. Adding insult to injury, some of these same Wolves can recall with embarrassing clarity how difficult they found it to contribute to those confrontations in any meaningful way.

...Okay. It's Ines. Just Ines, actually.

And so: this is why there's a viper pilot wearing unremarkable gym clothes -- cropped tights, a hip-length shirt neither loose nor tight, sneakers -- unloading an incredibly unimpressive volley of punches into a hanging bag that probably weighs three times what she does. It barely moves at all, though she's working hard: little tendrils of dark hair cling to perpiring skin at her crown, temples, and the nape of her neck, the rest wound into a bun.

She's trying very hard to ignore the very judgey looks from Marines in the room.

The hatch to the gym squeaks open and through it passes the body of a woman known for being so pro-Caprica that it's a shame she was mere days short of being free to participate in any of the bar fights. Brought back from the dead one day and forty-eight hours in medical for final checks placed her on base, yet hopelessly unable to attend. A shame it truly is, for if the accent is any indication, Costello's from the part of Caprica that loves bar fights and low crime rates.

Now, she's a number of FTL jumps away from Caprica, Caprican bars, and the only Caprican drama she's left with is the drama she's brought with her.

The light sheen in her brown hair, dangling in its ponytail, comes from the jog on the way to the gym. Limbered and wobbling her arms, she's wearing a simple CF-issue tank top that reads MARINES across her bustline, and a pair of her own black, cropped tight shorts that leave her legs bare down to a pair of black and violet sneakers so new that the box they came in probably hasn't been emptied out of the dumpster at the Caprican Air Base they'd just left.

"Eeeeee-nez." Kyle chirps as she approaches the packing sounds of Ines' fists on the bag. She cocks a curious eye to the marines as she passes behind the woman, reaching for a bar to hang from. "Who's winning right now? You or the other guy?"

The sound of her name produces a glancing strike on the bag, and even the mere fact of being recognized tilts Ines forward, her eyes closing, crown pressed against the indifferent canvas and nose smooshed. She holds onto the outsides of it with her hands -- wrapped well enough that someone else probably did it for her -- and heaves, through her elevated breathing, a long-suffering sigh that she punctuates by tilting her head back enough to look up at the fluorescents. The little Leonese word is probably not fit for polite conversation.

"Definitely the other guy. You know, in theory, I passed hand-to-hand in basic." Righting her head, she rolls it to the side and fixes Kyle with one muted green eye. "How? Did they think I would only ever be fighting -- ugh. Toddlers?" She punches the bag in petulance. It completely fails to notice.

Kyle wraps her fingers around the bar. It's as if somewhere under her skin a series of peaks and valleys in the shape of muscles are hiding, for when she lifts her knees to dangle from one hand like a monkey, her arm transforms into something gym-worthy. Her other hand joins its sister upon the bar, and the rise and fall of her body begins.

"I sometimes think the requirements for hand-to-hand are way different in the Navy." Kyle grins out of one side of her mouth, breathing slowly as she lowers her body back down, knees bending to hover over the floor like she's some kind of low-wage faerie. "Well you're never going to be fighting a bag hanging from the ceiling, so don't take your workout there to heart. Did you have brothers or sisters to kick at when you were a rugrat, Ines?"

Ines presses her lips together as though she wants, instinctively, to push back against that slyly amused remark on the Navy, but the resigned nod that follows says she knows it's true. The resignation isn't helped along by observation of Kyle at work; the woman isn't radically different from herself in height or even build, and yet --

Watching, resignation slowly tilts over into annoyance again, though not with the Marine. Ines' brows dip together, and she squares her gaze on the bag in front of her with renewed purpose, daubing her forehead with the fabric of her shirtsleeve. The silence after the question she's asked spools out long enough to throw her willingness to answer into question, but the answer does eventually come -- after she's started hitting the bag again. "I had a younger brother, but I wasn't much for kicking as a girl." Punch. "I wasn't very physical."

She slants another sidelong look at Kyle. "And you?"

Be it the angle of her head or a trick of the light, Kyle's eyes are sly. The old belief is that Marines are pushed in body and spirit, but the pilots are pushed in other ways. Still, the vein of physical dominance and the oppressive confidence it brings out in Kyle is very much a Marine air she's not immune to throwing. The way she pulls her body upwards until the cold bar presses the back of her neck seems effortless, but it isn't. All part of the show.

"An older brother who thought he was dad's favorite," Kyle breathes out, straining her eyes on Ines'. She catches the sidelong look through a few wisps of hair that loosen from her ponytail. "A younger brother who wanted to be the middle child; not that I'd advise that on anyone." Kyle narrows one eye in a near-wink to the woman. "Let's just say I know a thing or two about dealing with people bigger and heavier than me, which for us is what? Sixty-five percent of the population, give or take fast food sales?"

That quip gets a laugh, though it leaves Ines as a rush of air as her held breath is expelled, just after another pair of strikes on the bag. She's quick to smile. Was yesterday, is today, probably will be tomorrow. "At least." Pause. "I had ways of dealing with those people...Before." Her enunciation very clearly capitalizes the 'B.' "Those ways don't work for me now. Different circles, different..." The sentence trails for a moment, until she finds the appropriate way to finish it. "Nobody gives a shit about subtlety anymore. Hm? Social leverage and incentive and -- "

Through the serenity of her expression passes a shadow of impatience and distaste, the next connection of her knuckles with the bag less technique, more catharsis. "I just...have to relearn how to hit someone so that it hurts." Pause. "With my noodle arms." Pause. "The Caprican I punched in the bar did not even seem inconvenienced." She doesn't pout, but it's a near miss.

Kyle grits her teeth into the buildup of acid in her muscles. When her body reaches the apex, her biceps don't bulge in the traditional sense, but a hill forms there over skin kept free of tattoo ink. Or is it a smile of her own? The final grunt comes as Kyle lowers to dangle, watching Ines like the curious monkey she is. "On the bright side..." Kyle lets the words hang as she sets her feet to the form. "...at least you have to worry less about getting stabbed in the back and more in the front, now."

Kyle begins her trek over to the opposite side of the bag. She reappears before Ines with one arm hooked behind her head, stretching out the muscle. She casts a slightly upwards angle to the woman an inch taller than her, offering the weight of her free arm to hold the bag.

"I'm going to ask you a personal question. You can tell me to frak off if you want to, but I'm asking it for a reason, okay?" Kyle intones, widening her hazel eyes as the other arm drops to steady the bag's other side with splayed fingers. She lowers her voice to near-conspiratorial levels. "Is this...your first time? You know." A beat. "In the shit?"

"I suppose." The words paint, with their tone, a picture of just what kind of cold comfort that really is. She draws up short of hitting the bag as Kyle disappears behind it, and when she reappears there are already quiet green eyes waiting for her on the other side. They detour away to mark the steadying of the bag -- which gets another amused glitter of a look, though in the most self-deprecating of all possible ways -- but her attention can't stray long when that preface follows. A personal question. Ines arches one brow, just a little, but curiosity wins out. She shrugs, nods, waits with interest.

When the question comes, it shutters her expression. Not with displeasure; she keeps eye contact, though there's a sense in the way her gaze wanders a little that most of what she's seeing is happening inside of her own skull.

Eventually: "It depends on what you mean. I served two years with the Leonese Navy before my transfer two weeks ago, but..." Something knots her throat. After a long beat, she finally drops her gaze, plucking at the wrapping on one of her hands. "It won't compare with what we do here, I expect." When she glances up again, it comes with a smile disconnected from the look before it. "I'm ready for that, though. I feel better in the air. Better seeing 'kill' counts rise. Progress. Traction."

Silence, then curious, and careful: "Why?"

The tip of Kyle's tongue pokes out past her lips like a turtle's tail. The little tip hangs in the air, tasting the air for the right wording as the stare is matched with the woman from Leonis. The gears are turning, but the words aren't spitting free just yet.

"Because."

Kyle's fingers tighten on the heavy bag, but one slips free to tap-tap-tap on the sand-filled sadism tool. When she can no longer bear the quiet scrutiny, Kyle Costello looks away, watching over Ines' shoulder to the Marines who have long since gone from watching Ines' workout to spotting each other at a weight bench and cat-calling each other into feats of strength by not comparing themselves to female parts.

Kyle rolls her eyes back to Ines.

"Because if you're punching this bag to really, really be ready just in case, then I don't feel right just hanging back and contrasting and comparing Navy and Marines, huah, you know?" Kyle's cheek bunches up in a pained expression of sympathy. "I can't do what you do, but I can show you a thing or two from the jarhead playbook."

When Kyle looks over Ines' shoulder, the pilot can't help it; she looks, too. That's when Kyle chooses to pick up after because, and whatever Ines was expecting, that was apparently not it. There's surprise and assessment in equal measure in the look that returns to the marine holding the bag. And then, strangely enough, a little bit of guilt. "I didn't take it personally." Assuring. Buying time, too, because she looks unsure, like a person debating with themselves.

"If...you have time..." She opens her mouth, closes it. Awkwardness hangs on her, unexplained. It's not shyness, though. It's definitely not bashful, or coquettish, or afraid. "I wouldn't say no." Wince. "I mean...I'd be grateful." Better. After a beat, she brightens, manner once again easy. "And I'm sure you could do what I do, if you wanted to. I'm the world's least likely soldier, Kyle Costello."

"I've got plenty of time. I'm on hurry up and wait until the red light flashes." Kyle taps the side of her favorite skull against the heavy bag, lips cracking into a bright, alley-cat smile back to Ines when she does so. She bats the heel of her hand against the bag and leans away from it, jerking her head towards some of the mats. "I owe the universe a debt for surviving my MIA stint, so paying it forward'll be worth the reward." Kyle giggles and turns away. "It's not like they're going to actually send me to college to officer-up, too."

Kyle turns her racerback tanked shoulders to Ines for a short walk away. The spongy mats are well away from the rest of the workout equipment. As Kyle steps onto them, she bounces on her toes and turns, fingers flapping, coaxing Ines closer.

"So..." Kyle trails off, chewing at her lip. "...when you're in a fight, most people are going to try overpowering you. Least likely soldier, right? But you seem really smart so-" Kyle suddenly narrows her eyes, piercing them at Ines. "-what's the difference between primates and the rest of the mammal kingdom, Ines?"

Ines trails along behind, though she's eyeing the mats dubiously when the Marine turns around again and beckons. There's a definite air of 'oh, you meant now?' about the way Ines complies, but she seems game, nevertheless. Wipes her face with her sleeve again, puts on the kind of attentive look that says she was probably a Good Student.

"This question feels like a trap." Her half-smile is uncertain, suspicious. "But the obvious answer is brain size. Capacity for introspection?" Pause. Hands lifted, she splays and spreads them, a theatrical gesture to go with her perked brows and dramatically widened eyes. "Constant awareness of one's own mortality?"

Kyle plants her hands at the backs of her hips, elbows jutted out. Her lips suck in and flop back out with a little laugh that leaves her eyes crinkling. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do the typical Marine thing and put you in a sudden choke." Kyle waves her hand dismissively at Ines' hands. Tut. Tut. "I'm not going to hurt you, but bear with me, okay?"

Kyle holds out her own, untaped hands. She waggles her thumbs as she steps in and gently, slowly, reaches out towards Ines' throat. The atypical choke hold; the epic power move of the overpowering male in the movies.

"Primates have thumbs, and kittens can't lift coffee mugs." Kyle lowers her voice, dipping her chin towards Ines' throat. "So, you're right on all those things, but assholes and Cylons have thumbs, right, and they can't keep what they can't grab."

Kyle smiles lowly, hands overing around Ines' throat.

"So grab my thumbs and slowly twist, and see what happens to my arms."

Good Student. Trusting to some extent, too, because she doesn't move even when those hands start to close in, her gaze dropping to consider them before lifting to take in what she's told.

"Alright," she says, hands lifting just as slowly. They stop short. "Though -- " She can't help herself. "Not all primates have thumbs. I'm just -- getting that out there." Pause. "Sorry." Pause. "Right."

She grasps the incoming thumbs and hesitates, a shadow nicked between her brows as she tries to determine which way to twist, and chooses outward uncertainly, to roll Kyle's hands palm-upward. Her quirked brow solicits confirmation from her impromptu coach.

"Really?" Kyle blinks, lips fighting to wipe the smile off of her face. Substandard Caprican ghetto schooling rearing its ugly head. "I thought-" Kyle blinks and shakes her head, ponytail bobbling. "-nevermind. It's not important. But I thought?" Kyle's brows slant and her hazel eyes tip to their corners, searching the internal databanks. "-frak it."

Shaking it off, Kyle turns her attention back to Ines with a grin as her thumbs are taken. When her thumbs are twisted, her arms roll naturally, palms outwards, elbows pointing towards the center of her body. Kyle makes a little Mrrm? towards the way her arms turn into bars and an empty lane of space fills in between their bodies.

"See?" Kyle smiles. "I had you, now you have me." Her palm-outwards fingers twiddle in the air. "So if you ever, ever use this, Ines? Whatever happens, you kick where it will hurt, girl, and you kick hard. It'll give you all the time you need to get your gun out, run away, whatever saves you."

"No it's -- I mean, who cares about primate thumbs? I don't even know why I remember that."

She absorbs what she's told, smiles thinly at the instruction to kick hard. It's a small thing, but it seems to matter; there's empowerment in that smile. She nods, once. Sharp nod. Glances at the configuration of arms, as though that might somehow help her summon it again in a pressure situation.

When she lets go: "Why did your brother want to be the middle child?" Out of nowhere, just like that. Probably not related to thumbs. Probably.

Kyle keeps her arms held in place. Her own self defense mannequin, her hips twists a little, showing off dozens of places worthy of being kicked. Yet there's a smile of her own that enters the mix. There's value in the transfer of power, of sharing it, nonetheless in a part of Colonial History where it might actually keep Ines off of the KIA lists. Pride rears its ugly, confident head.

"What?" Kyle blinks, arms wobbling back down into place. The question comes out of left field and hits her in the side of the head. "Oh-" Kyle huffs and holds out her hand, curling thumb and forefinger together and pincers, showing the weak point in her grip. "I think he kind of hated that I was his older sister. My dad raised me like I was his middle son, hence Kyle, I guess it was close enough for a girl, too." Kyle cackles and steps in, reaching for Ines' wrist. "But, frak, Ines, he hated me being in charge of him on babysitting nights."

Perhaps unhelpfully, Ines lifts her wrist to be taken. Presumably this is not what she would be doing in the situation in which it would be relevant to whatever she's about to be taught. She's focused on the conversation again, though. "They can be very delicate, brothers," she reflects, with rueful humor. Doesn't linger long on that. "But even in the middle, he'd not have been the oldest. He'd have needed babysitting." Pause. Quirked brow: "Was it just because he was being babysat by a girl?"

Kyle holds up Ines' wrist, continuing her little demonstrations alongside the scant eye contact that comes with their conversation. Her pincer-fingers clamp around Ines' wrist, and with a guiding push of her arm away from the tiny gap in her fingers, she opens her hand to show how the arm slips free. A weak spot in the grip. "My dad is an old, cracky military enlisted type. He talked up a lot about how men are supposed to be, supposed to act. Mick had a lot to prove, since by the time he was in high school, our big brother was already in basic."

Kyle gently sets Ines' wrist free and takes a step back. Palms flatten the front of her tank top, smearing out the creases in the MARINES lettering on the front of her tank top. She takes the moment to reflect, lips pursing together until her eyes tilt back towards Ines.

"I don't mean to wax poetic, but maybe I had something to prove, too." Kyle hovers on the thought, clicking her tongue against her teeth. "He wanted to be bigger than his sister, and if I let that happen, then I would have bended? Does that makes sense, Ines?" Kyle rolls her eyes and shakes her head, turning her gaze away. "Whatever, it's kind of stupid, but the point is that dad wanted us strong and that's what he got."

Quick eyes. Ines is always listening, but she doesn't neglect the physicality of it all, tracking the movements, taking in the silent lesson. She flexes her arm like a lever, angled against the breakpoint. Testing. Trying.

She arcs a brow when her thoughts are solicited, watching the disconnection that happens after that, as contemplation in Kyle yields to dismissal, to 'whatever.' The corner of her mouth quirks, a sudden pulse of strangely nostalgic affection there. "Of course it makes sense. That's..." She lifts her hand, splayed and open, as though the words might fall out of the air into her palm. "That's human. Yes?"

A beat, and then she twists at the waist, angling that look at the clot of marines behind them, still grunting and sweating and pushing outrageous amounts of weight into the air. She sweeps her arm that way as though in summation of her point.

"I would have understood that even Before. Big human questions, writ very small." She brings her index finger and thumb together, showing smallness. There's humor in her accented voice. She hesitates visibly before asking the follow-up question. "What is he doing now?"

The sharing of family stories brings out odd body language in Kyle Costello. They're not secrets, per se, and her oblivious confidence doesn't shy from it, but the way her shoulder bends forwards in its socket into a sideways shrug is oddly naked in feeling. "Human, right, I guess it is, isn't it?" Kyle's laugh is scratchy, throaty. "Everyone does the holidays a little differently, but I don't even know what family's like on Leonis. So-" Kyle waves her hand in a flutter towards Ines' belly. "-different feathers."

Kyle follows Ines' direction, eyes snapping over her shoulder to the marines, then back again. When she returns, Kyle crooks a finger, beckoning in the beginning of her own turn towards the water fountain in the corner of the room. After the first step, she steps aside and lags, waiting for Ines.

"For the record, I like the way you use your words. I'll do my best to not come across as a cave dweller." Kyle muses and plants her palms against her lower back as she walks. "Mick? He's at my dad's shop. Costello One-Stop. That's where I was when I got recalled back into the war. Six days a week of grease and rebuilding engines. Cubits into the family coffers just to keep ahead a little bit." Kyle swings her chin to look sideways. "Unmarried, waiting to find out if he's going to get called back, too. My older brother, Vinze has spouses and kids, one husband, two wives; one of those group marriages," Kyle airquotes with a smirk.

Group Marriages, one of the many vestiges of Caprica's assumed progressive customs. A modern spin on ancient practices made trendy, declaring a household into a marriage with lines pointing in more than one direction.

"Spoilers?" Kyle suddenly speaks up, planting a hand on Ines' shoulder. "He's at the frakkin shop, too. So right now, as far as my dad sees it, I'm the all-star."

Ines falls into step readily, and if she notices the vulnerability in that little shrug, it doesn't show -- but then, she did claim subtle interactions with people were, at least once upon a time, her metier.

"Ah?" This is the sound she makes when she's surprised, a non-word. "My words?" Her eyes glitter, amused and pleased. "Thank you! I like languages." After that she quiets to listen, though a look of realization eventually blossoms as things connect for her: the One-Stop, the surname Costello, and the care package people were talking about.

She crinkles her nose over a sudden smile at that final spoiler. "I was wondering. Wondering if he would make different choices once you were grown, or feel he still has something to prove." Drawing up to the water fountain, she loosely folds her arms, tilts and slowly shakes her head. "Three spouses. I cannot imagine." What sounds like the overture of a politically incendiary remark turns out to be toothless, though, because she laughs: "One seems difficult enough."

Katja strolls in, already starting to stretch her arms, rolling her head from side to side. She moves over to the side of the room to start stretching her hamstrings, leaning up against the wall. She's wearing a simple affair, red shorts she often wears when she plays pyramid, some old sneakers, and a cobalt blue sleeveless tank that seems a little loose on her. Her gaze wanders as she goes through the simple stretching routine, but doesn't fall on anything in particular. Physical activity, no matter how small, seems to have that effect, taking away the active mind. She spots Ines at the fountain and Kyle, though her expression doesn't change. It's stuck in that neutral pout, resting bitch face that she seems to have.

"I got to spend a little time with all of them when we were at Caprica. Turning up alive meant family coming out of the woodwork, but I think he's going to try for college." Kyle flashes her teeth at Ines. "Since his big sister's saving the Colonies." Leaning on one foot, Kyle stretches out into the alcove of the water fountain and turns it on. Her voice echoes over the aluminum walls. "As for Vinze, he got married, enlisted, and when he came back he had two kids courtesy of the three he left behind. Difficult?" Kyle guffaws and buries her mouth into the flow of water for a drink.

When the fountain shuts off, Kyle leans up, waving her brows over her forearm that's busy wiping the excess water from her lips. Water fountains are messy. Always.

"He loves his sons, but until he gets one of his own it's going to be awk-" When Kyle rounds about to find Katja, her words humble to a stop. Mouth held temporarily agape, she lifts her arm at the elbow, cocking a wrist in a rather ladylike version of a Marine's wave to the pilot from her place next to Ines. "Katja Madsen, guess who's not MIA?" Kyle cringes at her wording and motions to herself like a gameshow host, then to Ines. "Have you met Ines, yet?"

That brash laugh from Kyle causes an echo of one in Ines, like humor by osmosis. And she seems genuinely interested in the intricacies of Kyle's family and their relationships to her, and one another; she's to intent not to be. Enough so that it's a surprise when Kyle addresses someone else, and she turns to look, already putting on an anticipatory smile before the introductions are even made.

She lifts her hand and waves. Not a marine wave. Not a marine either, to look at her build. "'Allo."

Seeing her effect on the marine, Katja's brow arch gently, but as soon as the waves start coming in, her expression eases and she mosies closer. "Brilliant." The Viper pilot mostly keeps to herself these days and spends a lot of time working out, reading in her bunk, sims, or playing pyramid. Social is not a word to describe her habits as of late. "I haven't. I don't think? I mean I'm sure I've seen you around," she offers to the woman with a small curve upwards at the edge of her lips. "It's nice to meet you." She flicks her blue eyes towards Kyle with a lift of her chin. "And how have you been Costello?" The pilot has a look about her, like her mind is constantly thinking on some deeper level, or perhaps no other level at all.

Sidestepping around Ines, Kyle places a hand at the center of her back and extends the other in invitation to Katja. She nudges gently and then resumes her own personal space, triangulating herself to the other two women to stew in her own, vague sense of sudden onset pensiveness. From the way she folds her arms beneath her breasts to the way she quickly reconfigures, reaching to her ear to secure a lock of her hair behind her ear, she's testing the waters through Katja's presence. "I'm better now. Since Picon, at least. That was a big, long mess and it's just good to be back with the extended family. Sooner we get this done the sooner things go back to normal. You?" Kyle grins to Katja, swiveling the look Ines' way. "Katja and I met briefly a few times before my accident, but we were mostly separated by department."

"I'm very new," Ines says, in a tone meant to be reassuring. "Like two weeks ago new, so..." She tilts her head and shrugs, her smile small and relaxed. "Nice to meet you, too, Katja." She tries the name on carefully, as with most. Her accent -- Leonese -- does not like all names equally, but Katja's she manages with a minimum of mangling.

For a moment she looks as though she's going to take the opportunity presented by the other two catching up to get a drink from the water fountain, but she's intercepted. "I see. Air wing, then." Bright eyes brighten that much further. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you up there." Nevermind they're in orbit and it's technically 'down there.'

"Been better. Trying to clear my mind." Ever illusive, Katja lifts her hands to tug at the tie at the nape of her neck. She uses her fingers to brush through her locks, trying to gather up some of the ones that tend to escape. "Good. I mean that you're better now." Her own accent is obviously Aquarian, melodic even when she's not trying to sound jolly or anything. "You're from Leonis?" She squints slightly and nods. "For sure. I'll be the one pulling stupid stunts when I get bored. Callsign's Deathwish..." Her eyes slide back to Kyle. "So, you're back in the field and everything? Back in the swing of things now?"

"And while you're both up there," Kyle points to the ceiling, then twist her wrist around to point her finger to her feet. "I'll be down there, looking up, vaguely jealous that I can't do actual backflips like your birds can." Kyle droops a shoulder upwards, blithely mouthing 'deathwish' with a frown. A dark callsign to have; a darker one to earn. So it's with a sigh that she plucks and fans the front of her tank top and looks up to the two, again. "I'm dropping the first time they give me the call, yeah. Medically cleared. So ready or not I'm going to have to be in the swing of things." Kyle pauses a beat, rocking on her heels. "I'm ready."

You're from Leonis? Ines nods, flashes a smile that has some very modest kernel of pride in it concerning her planet of origin.

Callsign's Deathwish. The smile stutters a little, as though uncertain whether or how she ought to react to that. Every callsign a story, of course, and some are more difficult to ask about than others. In the end, she lets her surprise and curiosity play out openly, but doesn't ask. "Kestrel," is the response. Chest-tap. That's me.

The subject of Kyle's recent absence remains another point of overt curiosity about which it's difficult to actually ask. One learns quickly enough which subjects are and aren't appropriate for new acquaintences in the rank and file. It's to escape the event horizon of that curiosity that Ines half-turns, glances at the clock, and finds herself genuinely late. "Ah. Speaking of ready? I am not. Patrol soon. But it was good to meet you, Katja, and, eh..." A flicker of a smile for Kyle, this time a little self-conscious. "Thanks for your time, and expertise." The smile widens. "For taking me seriously, I think."

One side of my family. I'm from Aquaria,// Katja provides with a little shrug. Her Leonese accent sounds native. She must have spent time there. "Kestrel? That's pretty." No fancy word, just a simple and honest observation accompanied by a small smile. Poor Kyle is ignored for a second. At least Katja has the decency to glance her way when the woman mentions their vipers. "Don't worry. Everyone's jealous," she teases. "I'll see you around Ines." She kicks at Kyles shoe gently enough with a smirk.

"Awwwshit, look at you, about to run circles around the Dauntless for hours." Kyle coos lowly, lips parting once again to the side in her toothy, alley-cat way. From beneath her breasts where her arms are folded, she lifts one hand to wave to Ines, chin jerking up shortly thereafter. "Good hunting, and yeah, you were taken seriously. If half of Bunk E's empty when you get back, we'll be planetside."

Kyle laughs softly and looks to her sneaker as it's kicked. It's a knee-jerk reaction, but she scuffs her toe back against Katja's footwear.

"In a movie theater on my block back home, what you did just there would be murder worthy." Kyle cackles, and nudges Katja with an elbow, then turns for the treadmills. "Come on, I'll race you to nowhere."


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