circle7 | let's see you get yourself out of this one

There were certain things to be said about the advance of technology. Viana keyed a few specifications into the holographic touch screen and watched as the room past the glass window began to rearrange and shift itself. Platforms came out of and withdrew into walls. Stairs and surfaces grew out of the ground, obstacles grew in from the ceiling, and block by block, a randomly-generated city took shape in the training room.

The gears that powered the entire ever-changing structure rumbled underneath her feet as the massive pieces of the puzzle were jumbled about, but it was a familiar and almost welcoming feeling by now. She shifted her weight back and forth from the heel of her feet to the toes, stretching the tendons and the muscles. It would take a few minutes to assemble, but she had the time.

Still undergoing repairs and intelligence-gathering, the First Circle was largely in stasis. No new missions had been dealt out for days, and that was no good for restless people like Viana, who lived to move. She got antsy when she stayed in one place for so long. Her wanderlust always got the better of her. She had no idea how her brother could handle it - Evan spent a large portion of their rare days off curled up with some book or another, fingers drumming an inaudible tune in his head, always a few beats short, as he read.

Viana reached her arms high over her head, locking her fingers together and reaching towards the sky. That was the best thing about moving like this - sometimes, you could close your eyes and imagine you were flying, for that one split second in an arch where gravity had yet to get the better of you, that one instant before vertigo kicked in, that weightlessness, that weight. She jumped a little where she stood, impatient as always. "C'mon, c'mon, hurry up."

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Then, how about an unexpected sort of attack?

Viana withdrew, and threw her fist out at Bentley's face. Rather than punch, though, the hand stopped where it hit Bentley's expected block, and instead of hitting it, she wrapped her fingers around the wrist, pulling it to the side. Two fingers came up from her other hand and jabbed right at Bentley's eyes. Yeah. That's right, Viana. Paragon of maturity. That wasn't a standard-procedure hit, now was it? The difference between learning to fight in an organization and learning to fight in the streets was that there was absolutely no hesitation when it came to dirty tactics.

As a result, the doctor certainly gave out a yelp. Despite the words that wanted to escape him (curse words were a Bentley taboo, though), he kept silent, bearing through it, squinting up at her. He might be a clueless man, but he knows something about the rules of hitting girls, and how you're not supposed to, and how that rule was completely outdated when your life happened to be in danger - especially when you feel your foot fall off the edge for a second. That's pretty terrifying when your vision is blurred as it is.

"A-all right, you can stop now! Really! I'll go! Just," he paused, looking behind him, the tip of his boot barely on the platform. "Stop."

Viana stared for a few seconds, the line of her mouth quivering in anger.

And then she pushed him.

(There was a dumpster against the side of the building, right under where he was standing, but it was impossible to see at this height, and difficult to notice especially when jumping, considering usually, one's attention was focused on other things in mid-flight (like getting your hands on something solid). Rather than actual trash, though, the program had simply built an elastic mass to fill the inside of the container, and surprisingly enough, this did act just like a trampoline upon impact.)

It must've been a funny display, right before he fell, flailing for balance before his sole slipped on the faux-concrete with a mocking screech.

It may be elastic that breaks his fall, but that doesn't make it painless. Nope, he bounces right out, onto the hard floor, face-down. That made three too many blows to the chest that Bentley was comfortable with. Exhausted, he decided not to move from this spot, just letting out a low groan as he ran a hand over his face. So much for that, he thought, wondering how he ever thought this was a good idea.

"Are you dead?" she called out from above. Admittedly, there wasn't really much concern in it, probably because she knew it was impossible to die from a faceplant.

"Yes," he lied. Getting to his feet, Bentley winced with a sigh, looking for the exit. It seemed much farther when you were injured, but it wasn't actually a long walk. Climbing all those stairs was certainly going to be fun task, too.

A few thumps sounded behind him, and the next thing he knew, Viana fell into step with the doctor, giving him a short inspection by means of an impassive glance (trying too hard to be nonchalant, judging from the exaggerated tilt of her nose into the air). She had taken the fall herself, better prepared in that she hadn't been knocked into it, and well-accustomed to landings enough to come out of it without a scratch. Hands folded in front of her, the first few steps were silent, punctuated only with the occasional sniff, 'hmph', and 'You deserved it.'

Then, as if losing patience all of a sudden (patience with what was hard to say, considering Bentley hadn't done a thing but agree to leave), she threw a hand up in exasperation. She used the other hand to yank on the man's nearest wrist (not to open him up for a hit this time), tugging him toward her. Like a weasel, she wedged herself underneath the arm, propping him up as a sturdy, if not talkative, crutch. She supposed (in some deep, dark part of her conscience) that maybe she had to take some responsibility, if only to get the man out of her hair faster so she could get some proper training in.

"You're limping too slow."

Color Bentley surprised. He didn't quite forgive Viana enough to thank her for it yet - in fact, it was met with resistance, until he realized she's not in fact about to flip him over her head onto his back and beat him up more.

He doesn't complain, though. The doctor is oddly quiet instead, perhaps embarrassed that the very person who used him as a means of releasing anger was suddenly helping him. (Or too busy trying to figure out why she bothered. Maybe she fell and hit her head somewhere.) In fact, he decided to ask if she did.

Viana gave him an accusing look as he resisted, as if faulting him for not going along with it (expected a little too much of the world there, this one). "I need to get you out of my hair," she responded easily. "I can't train with you prancing around below my feet all the time, now can I? What if I drop right onto you? Boss'll have my head for damaging their-" She dug an incriminating finger into his chest with every word. (Again, the chest?!) "Precious doctor. The faster you get out, the better."

"Ugh." Bentley winced again. "Should've thought about that before using me as a personal punching bag, you know."

Having reached the stairs, Bentley untangled himself from Viana's hold. She couldn't even walk ten feet without inflicting more injuries - best to take the stairs alone.

Hand on the rail, he turned long enough to say with a meaningless smile, "Well, this is my stop. Have fun with your jumping around. I'll be out of your way from now on."

Her expression tightened for a second, as if Viana was trying to say something, but the words just wouldn't come out. After a few seconds passed with a similar fruitless silence, she shook her head, shrugging it off. Perhaps it wasn't important.

Meeting his smile with a flat look, she waved him off, flapping her hand on her wrist in a 'shoo, fly' motion. "Make sure you go see a doctor about those, okay?"

If Bentley noticed, he figured it wasn't important to ask - or maybe he just feared another punch to the face for digging into her business. (Both.) He scoffed, only half-amused, shrugging one shoulder as he went up the stairs.

"Sure. Right on it."

let's see you get yourself out of this one

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