Some time soon after orientation, in the school gymnasium
They told her that this was a place of freedom. Osore didn’t really understand what that word, freedom, was supposed to mean anyways, but she knew the dictionary definition of it. She knew that it was supposed to be a good thing, so she was feeling pretty pleased when she dragged Dartanian out to the ‘gym’ as soon as the orientation was over.
They were the two children from Baltimore and, well, they didn’t know anyone else (Osore, for her part, didn’t even particularly feel like she needed to talk to anyone but Dartanian in the school), so they decided to play a game of Lies. Rules were simple: say something, true or false. See if your friend gets it right.
It teaches you to see other people, her psych told her. It allowed her to reclaim some sense of subjectivity.
Osore sucked very much at it.
“Do you really think this… facility…” - Osore hesitated to use the word ‘school’ - “Is safe? I mean, I think I saw a janitor who got knocked out on the way to the orientation room.”
Tomyris lay on her back on the bleachers, staring up at the overhead lights. For a gymnasium it was nothing like back in Baltimore. Back there you’d expect a basketball court with some ugly, rusted old bleachers scooched off to one side, and a repurposed closet and washroom that they called a locker room. Here it was like an Olympic playground. There was a basketball court, sure, but it bore the same resemblance to the ones back home that a fish might bear to a dolphin.
“Are you saying you think you saw it,” Tomyris says, one leg dangling off the side of the bleachers, “or you think he got knocked out?”
“I dunnow, he was lying on the floor. Maybe he tried to confiscate contraband and got punched in the face,” Osore shrugs.
“Why would a janitor confiscate contraband?” Raising her head, Tomyris shoots Osore a smug glance. “Lie.”
“You are right,” Osore tosses Dartanian a bottlecap. Something to keep score. “They were too busy to be sleeping on the job, although they looked like they wished for someone to knock them out.”
Tomyris grabs the bottlecap out of the air and holds it up for half a moment like a victory chalice. She drops her arm into a swinging, half-moon position, the bottlecap dancing across the tips of her fingers. She sighs, still looking up at the ceiling. “Safe? Hell no, it’s not safe; this school is siccing spies on me.”
“Spies? Surely not,” Osore replies. “Unless you mean that tall boy who thinks he’s more sneaky than he is,” she says, slightly quieter. She doesn’t point at him. She does not even glance at him, nor acknowledge his presence in any other way. It’s a convention that they both abide by, in the presence of police and other such people.
“I don’t even know if he thinks he’s being sneaky,” says Tomyris, in that same slightly quieter tone. “It’s like he doesn’t even want to be, like, here in general. It’s a very lazy spying.”
Osore shrugged. There was no need to call out ‘truth’ specifically. “No teachers or classes are kinda nice though. Very....” Osore struggled to find the right words. “Laissez faire? Is that how that phrase is used? Not sure how this is supposed to make us into good people, though. Are we supposed to just punch each other until we figure out how?”
There is a little ring in the gym, laid with mats. Osore stares at that meaningfully. “Because it seems to me that’s what the expectation is.”
Tomyris doesn’t respond right away. “Maybe they’re trying to observe a Lord of the Flies-type situation,” she says, sitting upright and swinging her legs over the side of the bleachers. “Watch us destroy each other, then take the winners and brainwash them into being super-soldiers. Like a proving grounds.” She hops off the bleachers and paces around on the mats. “All right, students,” she says in a clipped, military voice, “drop and give me twenty, then kill the person to your right!” She mimes a few punches in the thin air.
“Heh, well,” Osore says, taking a step onto the mats. “I promise that if we have to kill or destroy one another, I won’t destroy you.” She makes what she thinks should be a warm smile. “Or at least, you know, leave you till last.”
Tomyris laughs, appreciating the macabre suggestion. This was why she hung out with Trudy. “Hey, with any luck, you won’t even have to make the decision.”
Osore hums. “Hey, hey, you don’t think I would actually l destroy anyone now, do you?” she puts up her most disarming smile. Shrugged shoulders. Pupils focused sideways. Lips slightly pursed. “It was a joke! If it was my turn to lie, I would’ve won,” she says in a half-truth. She doesn’t admit that her first instinct was to consider the logistics of it all--the feat of destroying everyone else in the school. Probably through poisoning the lunch.
She stretched out her arms. “But hey, in case I do go insane, you would be there to stop me, right?”
“Stop you? What gave you an idea like that?” Tomyris giggles. “Hey, come on, square up. Let’s give ourselves a practical reason not to kill anyone by letting off some steam now.” Tomyris holds up her fists like a boxer and hops side to side on the mats.
That is all the permission Trudine needs. She takes the opposite side, mimicking Tomyris’ posture. She’s nervous, of course, and intent on throwing the towel halfway through the match (despite the fact that she never did in the past dozen or so times she made that resolution). She takes a probing swing at Tomyris first--fast enough to hurt. Slow enough to be blocked. Trying to draw a response or an overextensio
She is angling for a grapple or an arm-lock--something she’s been trying to learn in lieu of just cracking skulls.
Tomyris goes for the block, repelling Trudy’s attack and returning with one of her own, which Trudy also promptly blocks. The two circle each other in this fashion for a few more swings, each attack becoming more probing. It’s almost rote; they’ve fought so many times that these probes reveal as much and more about the enemy’s stance.
Finally Tomyris takes a step back. “You’re trying to put me in an arm-lock, aren’t you?”
“Am I really that obvious?” Trudy says, carefully amused look on her face. Mouth open in mock shock. Goddamnit, am I really that obvious? She thought.
Well, cat was out of the bag anyways. Trudy takes a lower stance, ready to lunge in for a grapple. She was faster than Tomyris, as long as she could avoid the retaliatory punches, she could probably take her down regardless of whether she saw it coming or not. And then it clicks to her.
It was just like soccer, isn’t it? Pacing your strength. Waiting for the right moment to cut in and shoot.
Next time Tomyris blinks, Trudy is upon her, face frozen in a grimace (but smiling on the inside, Tomyris knew), hands reaching out to flip her onto the mat. Tomyris makes to form a fist, but falters; she thinks she has a clear shot, maybe not, but… she hesitates. The next moment, her arm is locked; the moment after that, her face is on the ground.
Half-heartedly, Tomyris reaches out a hand and slaps the mat. “Yield! Yield, sheesh.”
Trudy releases the pressure on her arms, although she still doesn’t get up on her feet. “Hey, you sneak! I’m calling bull, you could’ve stopped that easily.”
Tomyris produces the bottlecap, seemingly out of thin air, and holds it up for Trudy’s inspection. “Here, fair play.” Trudy takes it gingerly. “Thanks, though,” she says. “Not many people would put up with my nonsense.” She gets up on her feet. “Hey, do you… remember how we first met?” she giggles slightly. “I was really nervous, you know. They told me that you were supposed to help me learn how to deal with all this--” she waves around generally. “...All this crazy sh*t. And it turned out that you had your own crap to sort through. Do you remember?”
Osore honestly doesn’t quite remember the details. She remembers maybe her disappointment creeping into her voice, though. And things going bad. She can’t remember exactly how things went bad. A wrong question? A flirtatious breach of norms? Oafishly direct confrontation? She just remembers Dartanian going from bemused to disappointment quickly--probably thinking: “Great, the man is pressing his discipline cases together so that they kill each other.”
But no sign of this passes through Tomyris’ disposition, which turns distant and cloudy. “It’s the science of sociopathy,” she says in a hollow tone, pushing herself back to her feet. She shrugs. “Whatever.” She waves it off with a hand that tries to seem casual. “We’re all just trying our best, right?”
Osore blinks. Tomyris seemed distant, but also thoughtful. “Hey,” she says, pressing her luck. “How are you holding up with all this,” she asks. “With all of it. Not just the school. We both know that the school’s baloney. Just… all of it…” she says, struggling to find the right words. “Like, all those things we know are bull, blurring together into some amorphous creature.”
Amorphous. Ethereal. Cannot be touched. It’s the only way she knows how to describe it.
Tomyris scratches the back of her neck, and gives a half-hearted shrug. “One day at a time, right?” She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Hey, let’s go to the cafeteria and see what kind of ritzy stuff they’re dishing out here.” She slings her bag over her shoulder and starts off in the direction of the canteen.
Osore blinks again as Tomyris leaves, not sure what to make of the exchange. Not entirely sure what her companion was feeling at the moment (but then again, when was she, really?)
“You comin’?” Tomyris’ voice rings in Trudy’s ears. Osore decides, that she will think about it later. She’ll have time to think about it more. She runs after Tomyris, just a few steps behind her.