hey, mr curiosity, is it true what they've been saying about you?

[naturenurture]

The patient was being transferred today.

It was some strange kind of psychological exercise or another that Cosima was the one who'd gotten her hands on Cassandra Cain's intake, really, though it was a new special hell that she'd found herself placed in here. Maybe they thought they were doing well with their secrets and subterfuge, keeping her in the dark, but it was no real mystery for Cosima as to what she was doing here. Cassandra is young, smart, attractive, with a highly capable physical prowess. She'd made a reputation for herself with Batgirl. She'd made a name for herself when Dyad had gotten its grubby mitts all over her.

Clones, cloning. They had to want to clone her. They had to want to do something with her, but the first determination was just what side of the nature versus nurture puzzle she leaned towards.

It's out of her hands, for the first few days. 'Project Stellaluna isn't functioning how we'd hoped,' is the most of the information she gets on the surface level; 'Ms. Cain is being uncooperative,' Delphine hears behind closed doors and in places they think are out of reach, and that's much more satisfying to hear relayed, and Rachel's stolen itinerary can only confirm the fact. When Cosima has her shouting match in Rachel's office - really not much of a match, Rachel doesn't really do things that might disrupt her super interesting robot lifestyle, like shouting, or emoting - it's Monday morning. When she receives the work order to run Cassandra Cain's intake herself, it's not even noon.

The woman sitting before her is a haunting one, nothing so much that Cosima can begin to blame her for. Cassandra's been taken captive, confined to a cell, poked and prodded - she guesses; the medical testing would come first. She doesn't want to imagine how they got her here, less so how they would have coerced her into any manner of consent. They didn't do much around here without some kind of liability form, the very bare bones of legality. Hunched over like Cass is in her spot too, she figures there's some manner of injury going on underneath there. Unless she's faking it.

Cosima sits a relatively safe distance across the table from Cass, tapping fingers in loose debate against the keys of a Dyad laptop. The guard has forcibly directed her into her seat, and the pair of cuffs she's wearing are really - honestly - impressive, thick and steel and unlocked only with an approved thumbprint scan. From what she understands about Cassandra, that's not necessarily enough to stop her. Neither are the chains lashing her to the table. With a crooked and concerned tilt to her mouth, Cosima's head tilts at Cass as the guard leaves and locks the door behind him, joining his equally heavily-armed buddy outside.

"That's Stuart," she offers after a few beats of silence, for the sake of everyone involved trying to be as helpful and compassionate as she can manage. She doesn't expect this woman's seen a lot of that. "We don't talk to Stuart anyway, generally. His mail order bride skipped out on him after five years and he's très perpetually grumpy about this."

Her hands pat lightly against a slew of notes spread out before her, as she thinks in careful intervals about where she's going to proceed from here. With the embarrassingly conspicuous two-way mirror hanging up on the wall, considering who she's talking to, she can bet on this being recorded and fully monitored. She can't risk much, but she's going to risk what she can. She looks at Cass and she can't help but see a girl who looks just like her, parked into the same chair, scared out of her mind as they draw her blood and claim what is hers as their own, duplicate it, triplicate it.

If it's up to her, Paris Hilton's going to see that Oscar before Cass sees any more of the ugly underside of the Dyad Group than she has to. And that she can bet her goddamn life on (or at least what's left of it).

A candy bar slides across the table suddenly, neatly bumping up against Cass' knuckles on the table. "Brought you something. I didn't know if they were actively, like, feeding you."