As Carson defended his lack of preparation on Malia’s part, she opened her mouth to protest. However, she saw the hurt in his eyes as he commented on the very unprobable event that someone survive what she had gone through. She understood that he was being cautious, that he was taking steps to keep her alive but, in her mind, he was only hurting her more. If he failed to prepare her, it was only setting her up to become injured once again, to be unprepared to protect herself. She didn’t argue, however, she simple cupped his cheek and ran her thumb over his eyes with a nod—only to show him she wasn’t angry. She was frustrated, and she knew he wouldn’t actually train her, but choosing to pick a fight in the hallway wouldn’t be a good idea. Picking a fight at all, really.<br/><br/>She glanced over as Sunny approached her, the Strider only an inch or two shorter than herself. Maybe it was the combat boots she was wearing, however, that gave Malia the extra inch. With a smile, she nudged the Strider back. “Something tells me Carson wouldn’t like that idea very much.” She turned in full to the woman, her eyes shining, finally. “Let’s do it, I’ll meet you there.” After Sunny sent her a wink, she nodded to her with a beaming smile, jogging to her room. Literally, jogging. Carson didn’t let her play, so she got her exercise from jogging the halls.<br/><br/>Malia quietly gathered her things, pulling her harness on over her cotton shirt, and then proceeding to tug on a leather jacket. She zipped it up until just under her collarbone, and she strapped on her belt. The brown stap held 2 knives, her gun that Carson had gifted her before the previous fight, and a long blade. She pulled her hair back into a braid —a ‘French braid’, as she knew it to be called— before she exited the CIC. Again, she jogged her way around, being light on her feet, sure to avoid Carson, or anyone else, really. She met up with Sunny no more than half a minute after she had arrived, an encouraged smile on her face.<br/><br/>“Alright, lets do this.”