cheerful
Dinah Lance blondecanary
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Priestly's loft above Luke's, Saturday morning
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Really, Priestly should've been expecting this. Hopefully Dean was already either up and exercising, or would be able to go back to sleep after the upcoming argument.

Dinah bounced on her toes, and knocked again.

[for the guy in question! Time to ruuuuun!]

It was Saturday morning. Saturday morning was either for sleeping in or for watching cartoons. Not for loud knocking on the door.

Priestly let out a low groan and rolled out of bed to shuffle over to the door (he'd been sleeping fully dressed for weeks now, so he didn't even worry about whether he was wearing a shirt or not). He peered sleepily at Dinah.

Oh god. She was here to make him run, wasn't she? Maybe if he pretended he didn't know, she wouldn't make him do it.

"Okay, fine, I'll make you breakfast," he said. "But I get to have coffee first."

"Priest-ly," Dinah sang out, shaking her head. "Coffee if you want. Maybe something light like fruit if you're starving. But then you need to get your shoes on, buddy."

"But it's Saturday morning," Priestly pointed out. "Morning! On a Saturday!"

Because clearly she hadn't noticed this fact, yet.

"Amazingly, this is true! It comes after Friday. And I'm here! Not in New Gotham or Glacia." She bounced on her toes again. "And nothing is trying to kill us. And we're ourselves, and not crazy. C'mon, we have to take advantage of this break in the universe. Running! Fun!"

"You know what's more fun?" Priestly tried. "Cartoons. Also, sleeping."

"It is not six A.M. It's not even eight A.M. I love cartoons as much as the next college girl, but this is why we have DVR's and Hulu and Youtube." Dinah pointed at him. "Shoes. Water. Shades. Sunblock. Mush!"

"It's ass o'clock," Dean shouted from his spot on the couch watching... yes, that was anime. It was an art form, you shut your mouth. "So suck it up and get out there, Priestly."

"Says the guy who is already watching cartoons. And what kind of college student gets up early? I thought college was all about drinking and studying till the early hours and then sleeping all day." Says the guy who dropped out of college. Shush. "Embrace the post-teen lifestyle!"

"The kind who's going to be beating up bad guys across three boroughs by the end of the weekend. My lifestyle includes surviving, and now yours does too," Dinah responded, then poked her head inside the apartment. "Thank you for the back-up, Dean. We'll be out of your hair as soon as Priestly cooperates with the kidnapping. I mean exercise regimen."

Next time, Dean was just shoving him out the door. Like the most amazing roommate in the world would.

"Get out there before I decide you need combat lessons," Dean said, waving them off and going back to his show. It was starting to get interesting. With the random fighting and... well, that was really about it.

"Your next burger's going to be made of turkey!" Priestly hissed. "If I'd known it would come to this, I would've let the zombies eat me." That was not even remotely true.

Dinah hummed, stretching while she waited. Patiently. Inevitably. No escape, Priestly.

"No joking about being zombie food," she said sternly, straightening. "Or vamp chow. Doing this 'cause you're a badass. C'mon."

"I swear to god," Priestly said. "If you get me chased by an alot again. . . ." He let that trail off while he went to change into shorts and running shoes. He considered lying and saying he couldn't find any, but then she'd probably just make him run in boots.

Clearly, Dinah had been secretly evil this whole time.

Jaime would've confirmed this. Also about Dinah being pushy to do things for their own good. And! It would explain the kind of person she was on some of those crazy crazy weekends.

"We'll stick to the paths. And leave the deer and alots and birds alone. Some of them are probably holding grudges." Especially that poor, poor flamingo. Dinah stepped out the door before Dean started getting tempted to rummage for weapons somewhere.

"Combat training might be easier," Priestly grumbled -- or continued grumbling, rather, he'd kept up a pretty steady under-his-breath litany while going to get changed -- as he pulled his mohawk back into a top knot.

He had no illusions that that would actually be true. Knowing Dean, combat training would probably involve being locked in a room with a demon and a can of salt or something.

"You will owe me ice cream," he said. "And movies. And letting me try out weird international vegetables on you."

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