Night Rider

13: Date With... Destiny? Seriously?

AN: This was a long chapter, please let me know if I missed any grammatical points or anything like that. :)

Time since discovery: 11 months

Skill Set:
Continuing Improvement upon all skills- self defense, tactical planning, stealth, hand to hand combat, computer use, gadgetry, psychology, toxicology, first aid, mounted combat (horse), bo staff, knife throwing, awareness of surroundings

Additional Notes:
- it is close to impossible to get anything done when either her or Jason bring up the fruit feud
- despite original doubts, mounted combat involving both genetically modified horses appears to be highly effective
- while she has been able to train either horse to do nearly anything in the field, teaching them how to open doors may have been a mistake. Horses should not be found in the house under any circumstances...

Status: inactive (for now)

Unofficial Codename: Nightrider

...
-Twelve hours earlier-
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at the clothing bag laid out on my bed. What was it doing here? It wasn't as if I wore clothing worthy of a clothing bag.

Not these days at least.

Being "dead" had its advantages as far as dressing up was concerned. No one was exactly a stickler about me walking around in jeans and a t-shirt most of the time. Damian once mentioned I looked ridiculous, some thing he quickly took back once Dick and I had wrangled him into sweatpants and a t-shirt; because denying comfy clothes was not done when one was in them.

Which brought me back to the bag on the bed accusing me of paranoia.
"What are you? If it's a dress, I'm hitting the moron who put it in here..."

I unzipped it.

It was a dress.

"Nope." I zipped it back up and left the room. Whatever that dress was meant for, I was not participating in it.

...
-Twelve hours later, current time-

It was a dumb decision, reckless on so many levels that I was not, but the rage boiling over inside of me had been so red hot, so potent, that I had abandoned all rational reasoning. I needed out so badly. I needed to find space to breathe.

What I needed was to calm down and think things through.

Yet, as I had stormed out of the benefit I had not made myself take deep breaths. As I ripped off my dress and slipped into my uniform, I had not told myself to use my head. When I tacked up Sitdka, I did not release the rage I never held on to. And when I had urged my horse into a run, towards Gotham itself, I did not tell my mind I shouldn't be doing any of it. Didn't follow my well worn track of following authority.
I leaned low over my mount's neck and I cursed precaution and its destruction of timely action.

I supposed that, when I finally confronted my building frustrations, I wasn't one for sparks. My turning point was always a fireworks display...

"Come on Sid," I whispered to the thrumming horse beneath me, "let's get out of here."
His strides continued their building cadence and my words were lost to the wind.

-'Lyn, turn that horse around right now. You are not cleared for field work- much less solo operation!'-
Batman's angry voice crackled in my ear.

It startled me at first, as I had forgotten about the com. Used to wearing it I guessed. But my hand snapped up to my ear and I growled back at him.
"Shut up. I don't care! I'm sick of doing nothing, sick of holing up preparing for nothing! I died to take care of people Batman, and I won't sit around under the guise of precaution when it's obviously not the case!"