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After the meeting, Oliver finds himself increasingly torn between picking up his horse and driving his van off into the sunset, in a mad attempt to fulfill God's mission or die trying. And sometimes he decides to set questions of faithfulness aside and help out around the Cooper farm. He's in that particular mood right now.

He's setting a Ward around the hospital right now, and will do the earth bunker once he's done. He walks, one foot after the other, head bowed, murmuring prayers in a language that sounds like Latin. These Wards are the 'nicest' type any Godsworn can produce: they merely force a beast-skin into their animal form rather than, say, shredding skin from bone.

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It's the kind of thing Dinah enjoys, too. But only in that the rage stirring up in her gives her some sort of fire.

"Trained?"

Beat.

"Our natural duties?"

"Yes, trained." Oliver sees nothing wrong with his word usage.

"Natural duties - bearing children, running the household, that sort of thing."

"I see," Dinah says, a little coldly.

"And a woman's not good for anything else, is she?"

"Good for anything else? As if raising a child were nothing at all?" Oliver counters. "Women are naturally more suited to certain tasks - this I believe and science and experience has shown.

"Do I despair that there are lady novelists, artists and missionaries? Hardly. There are certain exceptional women, and there always will be."

Note the lack of lady warriors in Oliver's list of acceptable careers.

Yeah. Dinah notes that.

"That's a limited list," she remarks. "Even then, why should she be 'exceptional'? There are plenty of mediocre men in those jobs."

"It is how women of my land have distinguished themselves," he replies simply.

"Ah, my apologies, I meant exceptional because she managed to trascend the bounds of her sex," Oliver corrects.

"Better to remove the bounds, then, surely?" Dinah counters. "Level the playing field?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot wipe away the decrees of biology," Oliver replies easily. "The difference in women's position is in part encoded in the very structure of our bodies. Does society further this division more than necessary? Certainly. Should those women with less feminine temperaments than their sisters be given the opportunities to succeed in the world of men? It is only fair. Fremmanland was, in fact, rule by a Queen once, and rather ably too."

There simply aren't many women who will deny their natural place in the world, is Oliver's reasoning.

"You have any actual proof for these claims?" Dinah hazards. "For this 'structure of our bodies' stuff?"

Oliver looks a bit surprised that he needs to explain this. "Women bear children," he says. "Your frames are lighter and smaller, as are your brains.

"Which impedes some women less than others," he adds, sensing (finally!) that this debate could easily turn too acrimonious.

It doesn't impede the exceptional women, of course. And women with those teeny tiny brains can still be allowed to vote - as long as it does almost nothing to change their station in life.

Dinah opens her mouth, and it stays open.

She raises a 'hold that thought' finger to Oliver and turns her head slightly away, listening.

"Uh huh. OK, I'll come running."

To Oliver, she uses the same finger to point at him.

"You are one lucky guy," she says. "Just been saved an ass-whipping from a female fighter because a female genius needs her to go rescue a bunch of people in Nebraska. Hold that thought."

And before he can really reply, she's running off, waving cheerfully.

Taken aback by the thought of his ass being whipped - the debate was, he feels, perfectly friendly on his end - Oliver's "If I may be of assist--?" comes too late.

Ah well - likely they have enough people to do what is needed. Still, he will keep an eye out for the plane should it land and see if he can aid anyone.

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