[Gaia was confused when Johnny got up and headed for the door, especially without telling her first. She frowned as she watched him, but once he started to stack crates around the opening, she thought she understood. Anyone who came stumbling in here thoughtlessly would make quite a bit of noise by hitting the crates first.] That's rather smart. I should have thought of that.
If there is more people like us than they are probably doing the same thing we are. [She didn't want to admit that they seemed to be hiding. Since she didn't feel fear, she didn't hide. She faced her problems and threats against her welling-being head on. But normally her threats weren't half-dressed or naked engaging in intimate acts right in the open for everyone to see. Normally, they just were waving guns or had martial arts backgrounds that served as their weapons which she could easily disarm and take down.
She rolled her eyes when he said that her father was smart to train her. Was it smart? She never could quite figure it out for herself. It was just something she had accepted and dealt with whether she liked it or not.] Everyone should be able to defend themselves. Even people who I know could defend themselves didn't stand a fucking chance in some situations and those who can't... well, they just never stood a fucking chance. [She finished her thoughts in soft voice, recalling again all the people who had been hurt or killed because of her. She'd never meant for it to happen, but it did. It always did.
She quickly shook her head at the offer of the jacket.] No. I'm okay.
[She smiled when he mentioned cases about lost cats.] Do you find the cats at least?
[She let out a dark laugh at both his surprise and questions.] Who doesn't fucking what to kill me? My psycho uncle. My even more crazy grandfather. Oh and let's not forget all those people who have chance at killing me who would rather I fucking die. Even my own foster mother put out a fucking hit on me. Granted, she took the bullet for me. Literally. But the fact is she and her husband, my foster father and one of my father's supposed good old friends, turned on me too. [She looked at him with confusion beyond her black humor at the question.] Girls can't join the CIA? Of course they can! My father trained me to fucking join. I think that's part of the reason he taught me marital arts and made me study literature and the classics and know calculus before I was like twelve. He wants me to follow in his footsteps.
[She was a bit taken back when he stopped mid-sentence and then reached out to take her wrist. But he let it go quickly. There was something she certainly almost liked from his touch. But he'd let it go. She let it drop midair, resting close to his leg. Her eyes looked down for a moment and then back up at his face.] Are you really sorry?
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If there is more people like us than they are probably doing the same thing we are. [She didn't want to admit that they seemed to be hiding. Since she didn't feel fear, she didn't hide. She faced her problems and threats against her welling-being head on. But normally her threats weren't half-dressed or naked engaging in intimate acts right in the open for everyone to see. Normally, they just were waving guns or had martial arts backgrounds that served as their weapons which she could easily disarm and take down.
She rolled her eyes when he said that her father was smart to train her. Was it smart? She never could quite figure it out for herself. It was just something she had accepted and dealt with whether she liked it or not.] Everyone should be able to defend themselves. Even people who I know could defend themselves didn't stand a fucking chance in some situations and those who can't... well, they just never stood a fucking chance. [She finished her thoughts in soft voice, recalling again all the people who had been hurt or killed because of her. She'd never meant for it to happen, but it did. It always did.
She quickly shook her head at the offer of the jacket.] No. I'm okay.
[She smiled when he mentioned cases about lost cats.] Do you find the cats at least?
[She let out a dark laugh at both his surprise and questions.] Who doesn't fucking what to kill me? My psycho uncle. My even more crazy grandfather. Oh and let's not forget all those people who have chance at killing me who would rather I fucking die. Even my own foster mother put out a fucking hit on me. Granted, she took the bullet for me. Literally. But the fact is she and her husband, my foster father and one of my father's supposed good old friends, turned on me too. [She looked at him with confusion beyond her black humor at the question.] Girls can't join the CIA? Of course they can! My father trained me to fucking join. I think that's part of the reason he taught me marital arts and made me study literature and the classics and know calculus before I was like twelve. He wants me to follow in his footsteps.
[She was a bit taken back when he stopped mid-sentence and then reached out to take her wrist. But he let it go quickly. There was something she certainly almost liked from his touch. But he'd let it go. She let it drop midair, resting close to his leg. Her eyes looked down for a moment and then back up at his face.] Are you really sorry?