#mason001

Not that he minds. He’d never been hugely physical prior to D-Day, but he’s in great shape now and feels undeniably better - no more pudgy belly composed of pizza and pork scratchings. Still, it wouldn’t kill them to shake things up a bit. It feels like it’s always 1v1, always focused in some way on combat or survival. It’s never fun, and Kip grows bored of the same thing quickly. After training, he flops down in the grass and takes a long drink of water. It’s cold out, but it feels good against his warm, sweaty skin.] 

Always with the punching. When do we get to start our basketball teams? Or soccer - football, whatever. Delma could kick Calyset’s asses. We all know that, but let’s prove it.

@mouse--quinley​​:

[Mouse’s jaw sets stubbornly, but other than that he stays relaxed and lets her press a towel to his hair. Objectively speaking, Cambie doesn’t deserve the harsh attitude he feels in response to the fussing—and the combination of that reaction and her genuine worry curdles in his stomach like milk and lemon, nauseating.] [He’s not her kid, though. He’s not even in her House, and she’s overstepping all of his mental and physical boundaries right now. His hope is that by standing here impassively, she’ll come to that realization on her own, and he can skip to the part where she treats him like an equal and not a witless incompetent.] I’ve been swimmin’ in the ocean since I could walk, Cambie. [He tells her, his tone firm but gentle.] Survived the apocalypse, too—might sound arrogant, I know, but I think I can handle ten minutes in wet clothes. 

[He pauses, and takes a half step back from her. At the very least he can give her some explanation, to help her see where he’s coming from. That he feels like he’s caged in here, day after day, and it’s only getting worse.] I just needed to do one thing that wasn’t… [He searches out the words.] Someone else’s idea of what I should, y’know? [He shrugs.] If I didn’t do this, I’d’ve done somethin’ proper idiotic, ‘stead of somethin’ I spent my whole life gettin’ practice at.

.

[She recognises his response, a reflection of dozens of Delmas over the years. Cambie knows she’s fussy, to the point of overbearing. It’s her response to everything, the mask she hides behind. It’s different to the way most of the people in her house are: it’s not Corbin’s swaggering cockiness or Elly’s dry sarcasm. But it is still unquestionably her stress response, and in the end it can be just as aggravating as anyone else’s.

It’s gotten worse lately, as things with the NWRF only seem to get worse. Cambie feels increasingly powerless, and she takes it out on feckless Delmas (and now even passing Torrens, apparently), fussing and mothering and gathering accusations of being patronising and meddling. Mouse doesn’t outright tell her off, but it’s written in his body language and the hard set of his tone. Suitably chastened, as she always is when she realises she’s crossed a boundary, Cambie lowers the towel and folds it first one way, then another. She never knows what to do with her hands when she’s inclined to fuss but deprived of an outlet, so the now-soggy towel becomes that outlet.

As Mouse explains, she completely understands why he’d been bothered by her. He needs some sort of freedom. She does still think it would have been prudent if he’d brought a friend with him, but has the sense to recognise now isn’t the time to push that particular point.]