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[i][color=Darkslateblue][sub]Star City, Sherwood Florist, Near dawn[/sub][/color][/i][hr][hr]

“What the hell are you playing at Ted!?”

He didn’t answer though, not at first. Instead he stood there, shoulders rising and falling evenly, studying her with a cool-eyed gaze, like a mathematician who had just discovered a particularly interesting equation. She knew that look, and she knew what it meant. He was about to critique her on some perceived failing of form or technique.

She [b]really[/b] wasn’t in the mood for this just now.
 
“You didn’t Scream.” Was his eventual comment. Ironic really, because she felt like screaming out in frustration now. She snorted a sharp intake of breath through her nostrils, which would have to do for now because she knew she’d never make it to ten.

“That’s because I wasn’t afraid. I was pissed off. What are you doing here Ted?” She was still pissed, but she could hear the edge of weary resignation in her own voice. Now she’d had a minute to think she had a fairly good idea of why Ted was here. An impromptu training lesson, if she wasn’t mistaken. 

“No, you’re not listening. You didn’t [b]Scream[/b]. You didn’t use your superpower. Why not?” 

“I don’t know. Didn’t cross my mind, I guess. Found myself a bit preoccupied with the masked murderer in my basement. Look Ted, you know how short I am on patience, so if you don’t stop asking questions and start answering some of mine, I don’t think I can be held accountable for my actions.” 

Whether he was listening or not was up for question, because instead of doing what he was told – when did he ever – the old boxer crossed to a small mini-fridge she kept in the corner and retrieved a couple of cold beers. He popped the cap open on one and passed it to her, holding the other against his right cheek. She took a savage delight to see the swelling there. Sure, she probably had some war wounds of her own that would need seeing to, but she couldn’t remember ever marking the old man in any of their sparring before. Sure, it was probably just because he was getting older, but it still felt like an achievement. 

“You’re getting better.” He grunted aloud, almost like he was reading her mind. “Musta picked up a trick or two during your time on the road, cause I sure as hell didn’t teach you that spinning butterfly kick.” There was a question there, [i]‘where [b]did[/b] you learn that’[/i], left unsaid but acknowledged nonetheless. Dinah refused to answer, instead letting a smirk be her reply. A girl has to have a few secrets of her own, after all. Realising she was going for the brick wall approach – a favourite of his own, and probably where she had learned it from in the first place – Ted chose to forge on.

“That kick, it came natural. You didn’t stop to think about it, you didn’t have to plan for it ahead of times. You just did it, folded it into your repertoire like it belonged there, like it’d always been there—”

“What are you getting at Ted.” She interrupted. Men his age, felt like all they ever wanted was to hear themselves talk. If you didn’t guide them back to their point, then chances were they’d never get to it. He looked at her with annoyance, took a quick gulp of his beer, then gestured at her with the bottle like it was a college lecturers pointer stick.

“My point, [i]Dinah[/i], is you’re not using all the weapons in your arsenal to their fullest potential. You didn’t think to use your scream, huh? Well you shouldn’t have to think about it. It should come as natural as that kick. It’s an advantage you have over regular schmoes like me, but for some reason you ain’t using it. No, don’t bother telling me what your reasoning is, cause what it really boils down to is stupidity. You not using all the advantages fate seen fit to grace you with is stupid, and I didn’t raise you stupid.” 

Her mouth fell open, ready to argue her corner. Ted had no idea what he was saying. It wasn’t like he had powers of his own to contend with. Not everyone got to be Superman, or Spider-Girl, with a whole bag of tricks like super-strength, speed, and the ability to shoot webbing out the wazoo. Some blessings came with their own side of suck. The cry hurt her to use. Sure, maybe not as much as it hurt the guy it was aimed at, but it still wasn’t a walk in the park. Then there were the control issues. Beyond the simple fact that she struggled to modulate the power behind her voice, she still couldn’t actually direct the scream, other than looking in the general direction of the thing she wanted to hit and hope there wasn’t too much collateral in the way. After all, how are you supposed to direct a [i]scream[/i]? Maybe a sound engineer or a vocal coach could teach her, but that would mean admitting to a stranger that she was a mutant, and that was a risky proposition at the best of times. 

But then, didn’t it hurt to hit something with your fist? She remembered how it felt after those initial sessions at the heavy bag, when she came away with knuckles that were raw and ragged. They felt sore then, hadn’t they, but she hadn’t been so quick to quit back then. It had felt good, in fact, a hurt that she’d earned. Something all her own. And maybe the only reason she hadn’t figured out how to control the cry was the fact that she hadn’t practised with it. Before accidentally releasing it tonight she hadn’t used it in almost a year, and that was only to give a demonstration to Kurt at his insistence. 

She sucked at her teeth in annoyance, a scowl forming. Dammit, but maybe the old man had a point. Ted didn’t say anything more – he was happy enough to have planted the seed in her head – but the self-satisfied air that exuded from the ex-boxer as he drained his beer spoke volumes. She finished her own drink at a more sedate pace before grabbing a couple more. 

“Alright [i]Wildcat[/i], since you’re sharing the fruits of your experience, what else have you got for me?” 

“Jesus, where to start?” he deadpanned, receiving a stiff punch to the shoulder in return. He laughed it off. “Well, the costume still needs work –”

“Ted …” She cautioned. She was tired of having this argument with him, but he forged on regardless. 

“The leather jacket and biker boots I can understand. Hell, I support the choice. The more protection, the better, though I do think you might want to get something that allows you a touch more flexibilty. You ain’t bullet proof, sure, but you're sacrificing movement and motion, and I've always said that's one of your strengths. But, c’mon, shorts and fishnets? [i]Really Dinah[/i]? It just ain’t practical. And I still say you need a mask. The kinda guys your dancing with, are the kinda guys you don’t want finding out where you live.” She was suddenly reminded of the creeping horror she had felt earlier when she had thought he had been one of those very guys. How hard would it be for one of those criminals to get a good look at her face and find out where she lived? Probably not very, she was forced to admit. And what if they instead decided to go for her friends, or family. Her stomach suddenly lurched at the idea of some animal breaking into Sarah’s room, just to get at her …

She started out with the notion that a mask was somehow cowardly. Her dad hadn't worn a mask when he was out on the streets, putting away the bad guys, and somehow, she felt it would bring her closer to him if she forwent one as well, as if it would honour his memory. But then, look what happened to him. Killed by the same criminals he was working to lock up. Was she being stubbornly stupid, refusing to protect her identity, just to feel kinship to a ghost? Ted certainly thought so, and had brought it up over and over again.

“The tights stay Ted." She liked the tights. "And as to the mask … I’ll think about it.” He looked up in surprise. He obviously hadn’t expected to make so much headway tonight, definitely not after he'd got her rethinking her position on the scream. Then again, she had spent most of her teenage years building a well-earned reputation for being [i]difficult[/i]. He used to say that as a kid she would jump everywhere instead of walking, but that was only because she didn't like gravity thinking it could hold her down. She'd always been contrary.

“Really? Well, it’s a good start.” He looked relieved. The mask situation must have been weighing on him heavier than he'd been letting on.

“So, what next?”

“For now, get some rest. It’s late, and I could use some shut eye myself. I’m working on something though, reaching out to some old contacts who might be able to help – ”

[B]“What?!”[/B] She spluttered, nearly choking on her beer. He hadn't just said what she thought he'd said.

“I wouldn’t have gone to them if I thought they couldn’t be trusted kid. They’re good people, and trying to help the Glades too.” She couldn't believe how calm he looked. 

“But still Ted. It’s not your secret to tell! I don’t need –”

“I haven’t told ‘em any more than they need to know. Besides, you need allies Dinah, whether you like it or not. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to me. Nobody can do what you’re trying to do alone, and I think deep down you already knew that. This guy can help you take the next step, make you better at this job, mission, [i]crusade[/i], whatever the hell you’re calling it. Trust me.”

“I do Ted, but –”

“Good, we’ll leave it at that then for tonight.” He got up and made his way to the door. He looked back over his shoulder to see Dinah hadn’t moved, deep in thought. “You’ll see kid, this is the right move. I know what I’m doing. Get some sleep.” He closed the door gently behind him.

She barely heard his footsteps quietly receding. She was too busy thinking about what he had said. [i]Nobody can do what you’re trying to do alone.[/i] It wasn’t so much the words themselves that bothered her so much, it was the face that they kept conjuring. 

Strange as it may seem the only person she could think of was Oliver Queen.