trans_9 | But Sooner Or Later God'll Cut You Down [Open]

'Running away' is, in Howard's opinion, the most useful thing the human body can do. And unfortunately, he has plenty of reasons to think it will come in handy at some point, or at various points, in the future.

That's why he's set up a 400 yard circular track-slash-obstacle course in Hydroponics, as well as set up markers for hundred meter, two hundred meter, and mile routes. Every other morning, before Med Bay shifts, he's here, improving on speed and stamina. He knows full well that even if he gets into the best shape of his life, he can still be outrun (or outflown) by his super-powered, magical or metahuman peers, but it's better to have that added little bit of competence if and when he ends up sprinting away from danger.

He's feeling the results, too. There's no way to time if he's getting faster, but where he was once just skinny, he's becoming lean, and the mile run that used to exhaust him leaves him considerably less winded than it did a few months ago. And he's getting much more confident going through the tunnels and up the ladders of the obstacle course.

The only thing looking worse for the wear is his shoes. At some point he's going to have to relegate his velociraptor shoes to a beloved keepsake, because the seams are literally coming apart around his toes.

Howard double-knots his shoelaces and stretches a bit before running the obstacle course again.

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"Kids don't get 'better'. They just get old enough to mess themselves up without your permission," he says suddenly, cynically. There's something on edge about him when he discusses kids of any kind. Too long living with them and no one else. The way he sees it, children are as awful as adults, they just lack the foresight and impulse control to keep themselves from ending up in danger of their own design.

"And yeah, every other morning. It's, um. It's a good way to keep busy." From what he's heard of Amy, he can't imagine she's the type to approve of putting so much effort into plans to escape things. Rory painted a picture of a gutsy young woman who jumped headfirst into adventure.

Amy actually laughs at the statement, then puts up a hand in apology. "I can't disagree, it's completely true. Spoken and heard from experience." Because really, she's still rebelling, running off with the Doctor and getting herself into trouble. "Sometimes I think adults are even worse." And they still don't get away with it.

Nodding, she looks around the course. "It is. The Sensoriums get a bit old after a few turns, don't they?"

Howard shakes his head. "Oh, man, no way are adults worse than kids. Just trust that I know from experience on this one, right? Adults are...you know, but kids are the worst." It's not that kids mildly annoy him or tick him off, but that he outright hates and fears them.

"Yeah. Sometimes it helps to have someone else inventing the setting for you. Besides, this is probably the closest to fresh air we can get on the whole ship." He runs his hand over the bark of a tree. He doesn't like nature, but he doesn't want to think about how long it's been since he breathed in legitimate open air. "Did you know plants spit out oxygen? I read that the other day. How cool is that?"

He's fairly excited to share that fact.

She isn't about to argue, but she does give him enough of a look to say that she doesn't necessarily agree with him. Adults are always worse when you've grown up being thrown around at different shrinks because no one else believes in the man with the box.

"Sometimes, yeah, but nothing beats trees." Or the sound of the wildlife here. It's exotic, alien, and reminds her far too much of her adventures with the Doctor. Of course, the image of the plants actually hurling up oxygen doesn't help much. Definitely like being with the Doctor.

Amy nods. "I think they mentioned it in school, but it's always so hard to believe when you look at them. The fact that we rely on these little guys? Yep, I'd say cool."

He gives her a level stare back. Trapped in a giant fishbowl with other kids, he's learned to believe the worst of them. Not that adults are much better; they have an unfortunate way of disappearing just when you start to trust them.

Howard's face falls a little. "Oh. I didn't think about it that way. Relying." It's a concept he prefers to avoid, because if you rely on something else, that something can be taken away.

He blinks. "Wait, are you Scottish? I assumed you were English like Rory, but your accent's a bit weird."

There isn't much Amy can tell him to argue that point. The adults in her life were a little too caring and careful, and it's something she can do without most of the time. When it came to other kids...well, normally she was the pushy one.

"Well, they rely on us, too." Because that's going to make it better.

Amy is a little surprised by the sudden change in topic, but the way she straightens up is a clear indicator of how proud she is of her Scottish heritage. "Scottish, yeah, but I moved to England with my aunt when I was seven."

"Not really. I don't think the trees really give a care what happens to us. If we die they'll just use us for nutrients." Oh hi there, morbidity. Where you been.

And Howard, naturally, hones in on the latter part of that question, possibly looking for some kinship there. "Why didn't your parents go with you?"

Amy is about to point out that the trees need the nutrients to survive, but decides against it. There's really no use in arguing with Howard.

As soon as he asks about her parents, however, she regrets not sticking with the tree conversation. Amy scuffles her foot across a tree root and shrugs. "They died when I was very young, and my aunt Sharon took me in." She doesn't remember them much (or at all), and does her best to shrug it off. Aunt Sharon did an okay job, four psychiatrists or not.

"That sucks," he says, not sounding all that sympathetic. "But you were probably better off without them anyway, honestly. Like ripping a band-aid off, get it over with fast and early."

It definitely isn't the best thing Howard could have said, and had he said it to anyone else the response might have been less than grand for Howard's nose, but Amy shrugs it off alright. "Depends on how you look at it. I don't remember much of them, so I can't say it's good that I didn't know them. At the same time, my aunt became my parent. It's a nice big loop, I think."

Howard's nose is secretly a lodestone for fists.

"Sounds depressing," he says, scuffing the toes of his shoe along the ground. "Did Rory tell you mine ditched?"

But Sooner Or Later God'll Cut You Down [Open]

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