Re: Marta/Dahl
[Dahlia is on the floor of her "office"—i.e. the corner in the back of the gym where she managed to wedge in a desk between some weight racks and the bathrooms—and lying in front of a box fan. Her pitbull functions as her pillow. The old firehouse has never had air conditioning, and that is extremely evident right now: even with every door and window open, every fan she owns running, the place still feels (and smells) like a goddamn swamp at this hour of a summer morning.
Hiro glances up, tail whirling in familiar greeting. Dahlia doesn't open her eyes. Absolutely refuses to. Can tell it's Marta by smell and gait alone, anyway.] Y're a goddamn saint, girl. [Mumbling, slurred. Blindly reaching for where she thinks the cup is.]