drop me a line, baby you're fine.

“Oh my gosh, I never even thought about that. There could’ve been a new superhero team wiped out from existence because they made the mistake of wearing capes and we don’t even know about them because of it. My god, you’ve completely opened my eyes!” Edmée exclaimed, her eyes widening at such a discovery. Hearing of the mother’s possible kink for masochism, she snorted through another bite. “You think so? I never really thought about it like that. Maybe she does secretly enjoy the consequences of being a psychopath? She could be the next of Christian Grey’s victims, sorry, submissives” Ed visibly shuddered over her knowledge, limited at best, of what was essentially billed as Twilight fanfiction. She’d only read it at the behest of one of her girlfriends but luckily she’d only managed to get through the first chapter before burning it. Shaking her head at her adolescent activities, Edmée took another long sip from her glass so much so the iced tea had started to turn into ice. “Hm, well, there might not be any hope for me but since I essentially married a giant, there might be some left for Issy” She chucked softly under her breath. Dragging her fork through her diminishing stack, the petite brunette took a rather large bite out of it before swallowing down like a boa constrictor. “Oh god, I can’t wait! Maybe now doing a couple of downward dogs won’t be so much of a ‘stair-y’ thought after all”.

“Glad I could, honestly,” Constance said, her voice low, like this was a serious matter to be discussing, not an off-handed conversation about capes and superheroes. (Though, in all honesty, she took both things rather seriously with her amateur knowledge of both.) Grabbing her own glass, the brunette took a long sip from her straw, relishing the taste as the cold liquid soothed her dry throat. “No, I think victim was the right word. I did read those books a couple years back, and I’m confident in my opinion that Miss Steele was being abused.” She was no expert, or even a dabbler, in the subject of BDSM -- but she did know what an abusive relationship looked like, and all the out of the bedroom stuff seemed to fit the bill. Continuing to read them had been akin to torture, but she liked to know what she was talking about when she called something garbage. She read the Twilight books for the same reason. “I’ve always wondered, is the tall gene dominant or is it pretty much the luck of the trade?” Constance herself was what one would consider ‘average height’ and the other people in her family hovered right around there as well. Her train of thought was broken when the other woman spoke again, forcing a snort of laughter out of her. “That was a good pun, very natural.”

“At least they got something right.” Marcus could relate to that. To the minuscule common ground you felt with the people who raised you. “You’re right, my mistake. A raging jerk with a silver lining” He corrected, a nod of his head accentuating his words. “Exactly –– I honestly can’t say if it’s the best coffeeshop in the city, but I know a place not far from here. Should we get going?”

“Might have been the only thing, but they could have named me Megatron, or something, so I’m not complaining.” Constance shrugged, a half smile on her lips. “If you’re going to be a raging jerk, that’s probably the best kind to be,” she offered with a tilt of her head, humor written all over her face. “Lead the way,” she said in answer, waving her hand.

“As long as your not puking anytime soon, you’re more than fine in my book.”

“Nope, no puking,” she answered with a firm shake of her head. “Does this place serve food, like anything that’s full of carbs and grease? That would be so awesome.”

“Good for you,” she replied. “You probably had way more fun than I did last night. You probably could’ve made a lot more money than me too.” Piper smiled at the girl as she took the ice pack, placing it gingerly on her knees.

“Oh, I don’t do it for the money,” Constance replied, hopping up to sit on the counter, crossing her legs under her. “I just love sucking dick.” Not a total lie, but really, she passed out at ten the night before after binge-watching Trailer Park Boys on Netflix. “Are you going to see a doctor about that? Because I’m not sure it’s normal.”

“I’ll do yoga with you next time. Though full disclosure, it may just be an excuse for me to watch you stretch.” Adam wiggled his eye brows at her with a grin. Burying his face in her neck, he tightened his grip on her. “I’d hoped after that you would really want there to be a next time. But my hopes may be too high.” He bit down on the skin of her neck and laughed quietly. As she pushed out of his arms, he let out a quiet whimper and looked up, watching her go. “I’m kind of hungry.” 

“It’s not as hot as you think it is,” Constance promised as she pulled on her sweater, walking through to the kitchen. “Mostly, it’s me all sweaty and groaning, because I’m so out of shape -- but my ass does look great in yoga pants.” She pulled open the door the refrigerator, grabbing a water bottle, and then stalked back toward the living room. “I never cook, so. I have nothing. But I could order a pizza,” she ended with the offer, moving to sit on the edge of the couch, cradling her bottle in both hands. “I’m, uh-- I do want to do this again. You know, for the record.”

Adam returned her frown, wondering why carnival workers had to be that uptight. If he did find a winter carnival, he’d either have to get lucky or seriously bribe a game attendant. “I grew up in Vancouver, we didn’t get this cold either. Then I spent ten years in Libya and Afghanistan, not much snow in that part of the world.” He flashed a smile and waved for another drink. Lifting it once it was delivered, he took a long sip. “How was growing up in New Orleans?” He couldn’t help but want to know more about her. “True, and how could you resist?”

“Really?” Constance asks, surprised. “I guess I assumed all of Canada was this cold.” She hadn’t gone far enough to test that theory, but everyone seemed to file that under ‘common knowledge’ and who was she to not believe them? “What was it like... in those places?” The way she asks it is hesitant, cautious, but she figures he won’t answer if he doesn’t want to and she’s curious. “It was-- I liked it, I guess, as much as anyone likes where they grew up. We lived right outside the city, so um, it was quiet and my aunts were always really fun. Mardi Gras is always awful, though. The streets are packed, so we would pretty much have to stay home until all the drunken tourists left.” Constance shrugs like she doesn’t really have an answer to that question, but smiles as she’s doing so. “I’m not really trying to,” she admitted.