nothing left to burn

            Jessica seized the woman for a moment but then hummed in agreement. ❝Well, yeah. As if big people didn’t get drunk at all.❞ She shrugged, drinking more of her spiked beverage. ❝Do you get drunk easily? Is that why you came with your words of wisdom?❞

“Idiots.” Cassie affirms idly, before giving a slow shake of her head. “Not easily- just often.”

Deep down, Stephen had feared the press conference would not end well. He admired and appreciated Steve Rogers’ wish to speak to the public about the importance of heroes and the good they could do, of course. If anyone could present the case well, it was Captain America. But the environment and attitude of the public had been so hostile of late that an uneventful press conference had seemed unlikely. Still the eruption of violence was much worse than even Stephen had thought, but now there was nothing to do but try and protect the civilians who had been caught in the crossfire. 

He needed help, that much was obvious, but she still couldn’t find it within herself to aid him. Images from that fateful day plagued her vision: the Leviathan crashing through the ceiling, her legs pinned under the dead creature, the trail of blood leaking from the corner of James’ mouth as the light faded from his eyes. Was this the PTSD the therapist had told her about? She didn’t know.

“Would you believe magic?” He leaned close, as if about to spill all the secrets. “It loses its charm if I tell you, I’m afraid. Gotta keep the mystery alive.” Leaning back, he grinned and set about cleaning up his small station. 

She leans in with him, looking as though she might actually nod before wrinkling her nose and shaking her head. “No.” Leaning back in her chair for a moment, she has a brief mental debate with herself over whether or not to pursue the subject. Yes eventually wins out, thanks to her journalistic instincts telling her there’s something here, so she tries one more time. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she offers before raising her hand palm-up, letting electricity spark and crackle between her fingers. It’s a last-ditch effort, and probably a horrible idea, but she’s had such a difficult time finding anyone like her that she’s gotten desperate.

Jessica looked up at the other woman and just stares for a moment before drinking more gulps of her now spiked beverage. “It’s really difficult for me to get a headache from drinking this. Or any alcohol for that matter. People think that because I’m small I can’t hold my liquor, but I know my limit. I’ve been there, and let me tell you: it takes a while to get there.”

Cassie shrugs and shakes her head in a sort of ‘what can you do’ gesture as the woman chugs more of the beverage. She smiles at the explanation, sympathizing with the sentiment. “People always underestimate the short guy- short girl in this case, I guess.”

“Oh-” She accepts the wipe with a grateful smile, swiping under her eyes to rid the skin of the old makeup. “I appreciate the head’s up- and the wipe.”

A voice in the back of her head kept telling her that this was a bad idea, that not only she’d end up with a virus infiltrated in her tablet, but most probably scarred for life more than she already was. Poppy had seen some videos on the dangers and content that formed the deep web — from hitman-hiring, and drug dealing marketplaces to satanic games, pedophilia and specially, human experimentation. Part of her didn’t want to do this, but after she and Wanda found that damn remote, she needed answers. 

Cassie winced as the girl jumped, an apology for startling her already forming before she had a chance to speak. “Oh no, it was fine. I’m just too curious for my own good.” She’s not trying to snoop; she isn’t, it’s just pure reflex that her eyes are drifting over to the girl’s tablet and she has to stop herself. “That, and I haven’t seen anyone concentrate that hard for that long since my best friend in college was prepping for the bar exam.” It seems almost worthy of suspicion, and she has to remind herself that not everyone in deep concentration with normal reflexes is hiding a Watergate-level scandal.

“Wrong? I never – ” With a grin, he nodded at her answer. There was a slight crackle in the air as he shifted the light around them to appear as if it was sunset. Different shades of reds and oranges danced along their skin. “Gotta make it dramatic, yeah?” He reached forward and plucked a card ( seemingly ) from behind her ear. It had no number on it – only the symbol of clubs. “Not too shabby.”

There was a childish wonder in her eyes ( one she thought she’d lost out on having ever again ) as she watched the lighting change around them. The journalist in her, along with the mutant who often projected onto others in hopes of finding people like her, was more than tempted to ask how he’d done it, but she refrained until he’d finished. She chuckled as he pulled the card from behind her ear. “Definitely not. How’d you do all that?”