You wouldn't even get the joke if I called her Janal-retentive.
Honestly
I don't get the joke here.
***
"Have I ever told you the definition of insanity?" Thorn asks from inside the full-length mirror. She's changed outfits once more, and the catsuit she's wearing now is most certainly not field issue. Too much cleavage, for one.
Rose frowns. The zipper of her own suit has gotten caught. Again. "Generally psychiatrists try to avoid using that term these days."
Thorn tuts at her. "You can't deflect me that easy - I'm in your head. It'll take more than an argument about how the Technocracy loses control of its own words to put me off."
"Is it when you talk to yourself, and yourself answers back?" The zipper finally slides down, and Rose pulls on the millimetre thick suit. It slides oddly over her skin, far too heavy for something as thin as it is.
Thorn grins. It's not particularly nice. "Interesting thought, but no. You need to work on your put-downs." She sighs, slumping over the edge of the bed. "Are you really going to try this again?"
Rose doesn't bother answering. Haemophage biology is highly morphic. Unusually so, given how it's basically dead. Her flesh can reshape itself in all sorts of ways, most of them unstable and rather gross. A rare few of them are useful and easy to handle.
The softsuit collapses, the matter that had been holding it up vanishing into near-dimensional space. Inside something small struggles for a moment, before escaping through the neck. It's a bat. A
vampire bat.
Unfortunately they are also very stereotypical.
In the mirror, Thorn pulls on an elaborate red-lined black cape. She smirks at the bat.
Thorn, Rose decides, is still a bitch. Some things never change. The air twists, and excess matter is pulled back into real-space. The combat construct stands up, scowling at her hallucination. The softsuit remains crumpled accusingly on the floor behind her. A moment passes. Thorn gives her a suggestive leer. Waggles her eyebrows.
"Not. One. Word." As far as hisses go, it's a good hiss. She has some snake genes in her fang structure, after all.
Thorn's leer simply gets more lascivious. "Oh Mr. Guo is that a stick up your ass or are you just happy to see me?"
Rose sighs. Nudity might not be much of a taboo among the Progenitors, but Serafina had at least
tried to give her daughter some modesty.
"Fine. We'll try your plan."
***
Donald's fingers tap a beat on the side of his laptop. His human ones, at least. The sound of his
other fingers drumming is something he'd rather avoid.
It's midday, but with all the blinds drawn the room certainly doesn't look like it. Henriette's still working away, he thinks, and Wufan's been doing...
something with his varigun. Rose's spent the past hour or so in her room. All of them should be getting some sleep sometime this afternoon. They'd need their focus for tonight's operation.
Donald, on the other hand, doesn't have much of anything to do. He cycles through the security cameras. Maybe he'll order in something nice for... breakfast? Dinner? Ugh.
Night jobs. Still, they'd perform better if they had a good meal. It's not much of a contribution, but it's something.
"Henriette doesn't like Indian food." The voice is right next to his ear.
Donald
jumps. A bit. He certainly doesn't flail, and Rose does not end up having to catch his chair. And his laptop. No sir.
"Feeling stressed?" she laughs.
He hadn't even heard her
enter. It wasn't surprising she could, but generally she was a bit more accommodating of people who weren't loaded with sensory packages stolen from across the animal kingdom. "Not really, just- Rose."
"Yes?" she replies, all innocence.
Donald swallows. "What are you wearing?" It's black. And glistening. Tight in ways that make a mockery of innocent intentions.
Rose frowns. "My personal shape-shifting capabilities don't extend to things as inorganic as Iteration X armour. So I made my own." She shrugs, setting off interesting shifts in the dark material. "It's not like making leather is hard - even the Masses can do it."
She's
teasing him. He... isn't sure how to respond to that.
Better move to safer ground. "So, you're good for the infiltration?"
"Henriette's delivering the rest by drone. I'll be fine."
Donald quirks an eyebrow at her. "More drones? She needs to get some sleep."
"You've been pulling the same hours she has with less excuse." Ouch. "Is something bothering you?"
Quite a lot of things are bothering Donald. Half of them involve Rose or the Spy's Demise, and are thus off-limits. But it would be hypocritical to brush her off entirely and then worry about how she pretends everything's fine. So - he sighs - honesty time.
"I'm not a jet-setting super-spy with a magical dick." Okay that's quite a bit more flippant than what he'd been aiming for.
Rose chuckles. "Very specific."
"Ugh, that came out wrong. It's just... this sort of field work. I'm not very good at it. Without my assets, my contacts... how am I supposed to tell you or Mr. Tight-ass how to run an infiltration? Or Henriette how to get into their systems?" His hand, his metal hand, balls into a fist strong enough to bend steel.
"You feel like you can't do anything?" she asks. He nods slowly. There's a statement that could be taken in many ways. "Donald. How do you think
I feel when you and Director Belltower are trying to figure out who you can trust in the Union?"
He's not really sure how she feels. That's part of the problem. "You're not bad at it yourself. You held them together in the Demise."
She flashes him a smile. "In a fight, maybe. The kind of favour trading you get up to? Even if I wasn't a construct, I'd be hard pressed to keep up."
He frowns. The glass ceiling isn't generally spoken about so frankly. "You learn fast enough. Basic hypereconomics in a week, wasn't it?"
"And you seem to have forgotten
comparative advantage." Rose leans forward and looks him dead in the eye. If Donald weren't as intent on the conversation as he is, he might have been flustered. Instead he's flustered because of the conversation. "You gave us a target. We'll get you your assets. Trust me."
She sashays out. The door closes with a quiet click. Donald stares after her for a moment, and then rubs his eyes.
"Damn it." She'd managed to avoid her own issues. Again.