Stevie Crowe

31st October, 1998; Boo’ed up || @doctor-crowe​

“Hi, yeah, let me save all of us some precious time on this—” Blake leans in to grab the man’s card — she can see it has ‘Brad’ scribbled at the top, which seems too on-the-nose for the beefcake ( barely ) dressed as a Chippendale dancer. “—Brad. You’re not her type.” She scribbles in the ‘no’ box across from Stevie’s name, slaps the card against his muscular chest with a patronizing smile, and then shoos him out of the chair before he can gather the brain cells to protest. “Yeah, and I’m taking your time. Thanks, sweet cheeks.”

Dropping herself into the now-vacant chair as Brad wanders off in a dull confusion, Blake grins as she leans over the table and pecks a quick kiss to her girlfriend’s lips. “Hey, babe. Some real winners tonight, huh?” She holds up her own card, pointing across from Stevie’s name. “I’ve preemptively marked you down as a ‘yes,’ but you can still try to impress me, if you want.”

Stevie only smiles as she watches the scene unfold before her: as Blake commandeers the conversation and the chair. She even gives-- Brad? His name is Brad?? Then why the hell has she written down Chad?? With a shrug, she gives Brad a little wiggle of her fingers as her only way of parting. 

“Babe.” Stevie returns the greeting and the peck, nodding her head in agreement. “Have you talked with the Hamburglar yet? He does barbecue competitions on the weekends and felt that was a fact that he should open with. He also told me he’s never placed.” 

         no one. his point is made, albeit not to either of their preference. it would be a better life to believe that they don’t live in an uncaring world, that the government that oversees them wouldn’t turn a blind eye to their suffering… but not a realistic one. a dream, perhaps, more than reality. the line between mutant and human is thin, but one that many will defend to the death—particularly as far as cruelty is concerned. after all, they are nearly genetically identical, in many cases. think of the scientific possibilities! it all makes him want to puke.

         “i don’t know,” he admits, half sighing. “i don’t know what i’m going to do.” and how could he? there’s no chance in hell that jack is going to be able to seek out the trail that essex has left behind, if there even is one to find. he’s smarter than that, he thinks. smarter than to rebuild his empire in broad daylight. sure, it will be beneath the noses of someone, somewhere… but more than likely not within his reach. “i guess i’ll just have to do what i always have. lay low and hope for the best.”

Stevie nods, though it’s more from understanding than agreement. It doesn’t seem like a thing that someone should agree with: the uncertainty, the pessimism disguised as being a realist. Even if both of those things still ring true for herself. 

He senses it more than he can actually see it, but Levi still watches carefully as something in Stevie seems to… relax. Unspool, just a little bit. That’s a good thing, he thinks. Or at least… he hopes. For his part, he carefully flexes the stiffness from his hands at his sides, letting his fists relax, and listens to what she has to say.

It isn’t surprising, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting, just a little. Keeping what he and Riley do for the Brotherhood from his mother is hard enough sometimes, feels bad enough for the secrets they keep… but maybe it was selfish of him to unload those things onto Stevie instead. Like a confessional she never asked for, and Levi never examined closely enough to see it was hurting her. It stings to know that now, but he supposes… better late than never. It’s better now than after it’s too late.

So, Levi barely has to think about it before he nods in agreement. “Okay,” he says quietly, meeting Stevie’s gaze with his own, still a little glassy and red-rimmed. “Okay,” he reiterates more firmly, nodding now. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it. I promise.” It’s so easy to promise this, to get his sister back. It won’t necessarily be easy to carry out, but that’s a problem for the future.

A beat stretches between them, then another. Levi’s chest feels tight as he draws a shaky breath, but at least this one brings a little more relief. “I love you, too,” Levi promises, quietly but with obvious earnesty, thick with feeling. A hundred more explanations or apologies die in his throat as he holds out his arms instead, silently asking — begging, even, considering the look in his eyes as he rapidly blinks a few more tears back — for a hug.

The the speed at which his agreement comes surprises her, but only for a moment. A moment that she covers with first one nod, then another; her gaze turning away as their quickly hashed out deal settles between them. It’s not ideal, she knows, putting up this divider between them; asking him to keep her in the dark when they’ve always been able to each other everything and anything. 

But for now, at least, there’s no other way forward. And they need to move forward. 

‘I love you, too.’

Another nod and she looks back at him, to acknowledge the sentiment. To accept and receive it-- when she sees his outstretched arms. Stevie scoffs lightly, but it does nothing to hide the small smile that forms anyway. And with a familiar, almost loving, roll of her eyes-- the same one that they’d always given each other when one of them was feeling particularly sentimental-- Stevie reaches out and grabs his ungloved hands and pulls her brother in, her arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. “Sentimental punk.” She lobs, though her tone is warm and thick, and she makes no moves to let go. 

“I’m multi-talented! I should probably apply for a position in a local circus,” Cyrus jokes. He likes the way she says his nickname, and enjoys the way she bites the cherry off the stem even more. She knows she’s hot, which makes her all the more attractive in his eyes. “Aw, c’mon, you don’t have to beg, Stevie,” he teases, a mischievous grin on his face. “Okay, okay, let me get ready.” After clearing his throat, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath — it’s all for dramatic effect and to build up the anticipation. As he opens his eyes, his lips turn downward, bottom lip jutting out. 

‘I don’t want this either.’ Levi clings to that admission, eyes stinging, like it’s a lifeline — because it is. He didn’t know how badly he needed to hear it until she’s saying it, and he’s sucking in a shaky breath. He’d been entirely too terrified this was the last straw, that final thing that’d make Stevie write him off for good. He never wanted to believe it was possible. Maybe he still doesn’t have to.

“I missed you, too,” he manages to say around the tightness in his throat, hastily scrubbing the back of his hand over his cheeks as he turns back to her. “And I…” Levi gestures helplessly, swallowing hard before he can manage to continue. Even when he does, his voice keeps wavering. “I’m angry too, just… not at you. Stevie, I-” He brings his hands up, clutching them into white-knuckled fists. “I have so much anger that I just don’t- I don’t fuckin’ know what to do with.” It’s not an excuse. It’s barely an explanation. Levi just doesn’t know what else to say, how he can explain.

“I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish I wasn’t like this,” he adds more quietly, and with another quick swipe at the tears spilling over. Levi looks to their father’s grave and shakes his head, briefly but sharply. “I don’t have any ideas, I just…” He hesitates, not because he doesn’t want to say this, but because he wonders ( fears, maybe ) where it will go. “I want you to know I’d do anything for you, Stevie. I mean it.”

Levi would quit the Brotherhood in a heartbeat if she so much as asked. The only other people in his life with that much sway are Riley and their mother. His family. He’d quit if any of them said the word, and maybe that’s why he’s never told their mother. Stevie’s never asked him to quit before, either; she’d understood. Maybe that understanding is running out. Maybe it’s gone. But the simple fact remains: if she asks him now, he’ll leave them.

It’s an effort to hold back the stink-eye that comes so naturally at his comment about his anger not being directed at her. He has nothing to be angry with her about, is the immediate thought that-- thanks to better judgement-- is pushed aside without acknowledgement. Still, the confirmation that their fighting doesn’t have to escalate again; that she doesn’t have to be at the ready to hold her own again, does wonders for her too tight muscles. 

It doesn’t look as drastic as it feels, she’s sure, but all at once the tightly coiled up tension in her shoulders and all down her back slowly start to unravel. And relax. Stevie takes a deep, cleansing breath that for the first time in a month isn’t coated in anger or frustration. 

She’s still angry. But it sits.. differently, within her. 

‘I want you to know I’d do anything for you, Stevie. I mean it.’

Stevie nods, but only as an acknowledgement, so he knows that she’s heard him. Claiming the statement feels.. wrong, somehow. Maybe she doesn’t believe it. Maybe she can’t. Not yet, anyway.

Blake doesn’t bother to remind Stevie that she’s the one who ended that particular argument, because she knows she knows — and it’s not the issue, anyway. The issue isn’t even that Levi didn’t come to talk to her besides that, Blake thinks; the issue is that this is, presumably, the worst argument the siblings have had. Or if not the worst, then one of the ones with the least clear path back out.

All Blake can really do is laugh when Stevie points out — with all due accuracy — that this must be what Blake feels like on one of her infamous whiskey nights. “Okay, well, the obvious upside is that you haven’t physically fought him yet. And it’d be a total dick move to do that tomorrow, of all days, so I don’t think you’re going to, either.” Blake brushes a few strands of hair from Stevie’s forehead as she sighs out, thumbing her temple gently. “I’m sure he’s still angry, too. You’re both angry because you care about this, and you care about each other.” The look she gives Stevie in the wake of that comment is pointed, as if daring her to try and disagree. “The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference, blah blah. Talk to him.”

“You know that’s the only advice I have because it’s the only advice worth giving. Even if you two have to yell at each other again, it’s better than a few more weeks of silent treatment.”

As Stevie sighs, long and drawn out, she allows her body to slide down deeper under the covers. When she rolls onto her side (a half-hearted attempt at ‘escaping’ her problems) her nose bumps up against the skin just under Blake’s exposed collarbone. Another sigh escapes her lips before can form enough of a coherent thought together to speak. “I know.” She starts, her arms snaking around her girlfriend’s waist. “You’re right.”

“I can’t fight him tomorrow-- it would be a dick move.” Blake was right about everything else, too-- but Stevie’s not ready to fully admit to that. “But I can’t really win a physical fight with him any other time, you know? He’s got the advantage there.” Thanks to his one-touch-KO power. “Unless I get some kind of.. slap.. stick? A slapping stick? Is that a thing? Oh! Or one of those really obnoxious clapper toys!” Stevie grins, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and angles her head up from Blake’s chest to meet her eyes in the dim light. “You don’t happen to have some kind of studded.. No.” The sentence is left to drop as she catches the mildly serious glint in Blake’s eyes, her own softening in response. 

the-amazing-blake​:

M. SANCHEZ​:

“All yours, doc,” Mari says with a small wave of her hand. That leaves her with the mother of all chads. Backwards hat, baggy jeans and all. He stands head and shoulders taller than her— but, so does everyone else —and looks like he expects to win. That is Mari’s favorite kind of opponent. Years of training had prepared her… well, not for this moment, but it didn’t hurt. “Guess it’s just you and me, Chady boy.” Her head turns to Blake before he can give her his real name. Not like she cares for it, anyway. “Alright, ring leader, count us off, why don’t you?”

@the-amazing-blake​·

“Alright!” Blake shouts over the general noise that’d started to rise again, gesturing down the line of four tall bar tables before she moves to stand behind her own. “We’re almost ready.” She points a finger at their crew, slowly sweeping through her options — her finger pauses on their esteemed leader, but Blake winks and moves on. Finally, she lands on someone nearly as stocky, even if it looks like he might crumble into ash for the hours he’s so obviously spent in the tanning booths. “You! C’mere.” Blake pats the table in front of her, and the man steps up with a smirk as he adjusts the sunglasses resting in his icing-tipped hair.

“We ready?” She addresses down the line, far more concerned with the responses of her own squad than the chads opposing them. As soon as she gets a nod from each of them, she clasps the sweaty mitt of the guy standing in front of her — yeah, his breath definitely smells like cheap beer — and calls out, “Go!”

Blake slams his hand down against the tabletop with zero pretense, so hard she can almost hear the bones in his knuckles crack. Destroying his masculinity seems a lot more fun than toying with it, so she immediately laughs in his face to boot. “Looks like it’s back to the gym for you, bro!”

@coachdare​

Dare watches her friends pair off and square off against the douchebros with a hint of pride; she knows they’re not losing this, but the way they work together as a team is a big part of what makes hanging out with these three so much fun. At Blake’s direction she takes her place across from Mr. Muscle and flashes him an almost innocent smile.

 "You ready to lose to a girl, big guy?“ she taunts, knowing all too well exactly how he’ll respond. Sure enough, he strips out of his jacket and flexes his massive biceps as he sets one elbow on the table, and Dare has to fight the urge to laugh. She doesn’t bother with posturing, just plants her own arm in position and wraps her fingers around the base of his thumb - he’ll find out what he’s up against soon enough. The moment she hears "Go!”, Dare meets Mr. Muscle’s forceful grip with an arm like stainless steel. It’s second nature by now to add mass exactly where she needs it, to pad the tendons in her elbow and shoulder so the extra weight doesn’t strain them too hard. There’s no trace of effort on Dare’s face even as he starts to strain, veins bulging, in a futile attempt to gain some ground.

There’s cheers and groans from down the crowd they’ve accumulated as Blake obliterates her own opponent, a guy Dare’s nicknamed Beef Jerk-y. She doesn’t have to look to know exactly how that match ended. Instead Dare keeps her eyes trained on the man across from her and begins to force his hand back an inch at a time, buzzed just as much on his bewildered and embarrassed expression as she is on the whiskey.

He loses - and she wins - in slow motion. Once she’s pressed the back of his hand to the sticky tabletop Dare wipes the sweat from her hand with the nearest napkin and offers him a sportsmanlike handshake. “Hey, I’m sure you did your best.”

@doctor-crowe​​

Stevie waits to go last on purpose; letting Carrot Top watch all his friends fail in record time. Call it a mind game, but she’s here to win. When it’s their turn, she meets his eyes and only shakes her head as he places he ‘good’ arm on the table. “Let’s make this interesting. Since it seems I’ll have to take it easy on you.” She starts, placing her left hand on the table instead of her dominate right. Carrot Top tries to argue with her, convince her to use their dominate hands, but she shuts him down.

“C’mon, Carrot Top. Don’t be a chicken now.” The patronizing tone she takes is maybe a little mean, and definitely part of the mind game, but she doesn’t drop it even as she lowers her voice. “Carrots, chicken..” She pauses to give him a wide, cocky grin and chuckle. “Add a couple of potatoes and you’re a proper roast, huh? Which is what I assume you’ll be in for with your friends if you walk away now.” Stevie glances at her friends, still smiling. “I know we certainly will.”

“So c’mon.” She challenges, wiggling her still splayed fingers. “Try me.” The taunts seem to work, as he places the elbow of his weaker arm on the table and reluctantly connects his hand to hers. “Can one of you be a doll and count us off again?” Her eyes never leave his as the countdown begins. On the ‘Go’ command, they both throw up their best resistance, their joined hands teetering as they fight for control. While Stevie only barely matches his strength, her ability tells her that this will be a battle of stamina-- and she’s got more of it. 

It takes a few handful of seconds, but eventually that bum muscle in his shoulder-- and old injury that was never set properly, her ability decides-- buckles and gives way, giving her all the leverage she needs to slam his hand onto the table. Stevie throws her hands up in victory, turning to her friends with an obnoxious cheer.

Atticus nods slowly, “Yeah, it was a mess from what I’ve heard” He sighs, hand reaching for another cigarette before he decides against it. His hand drops to his side, “The staff did what they could but you know…the Brotherhood hit this place with people who were just as strong as the ones who came to us; so there was a lot going on and some kids got hurt and-” Atticus cuts himself off. This probably isn’t a conversation that is worth having, whatever has happened, it happened in the past. 

Atticus smiles softly at her offer, “Thanks, that means a lot” He says sincerely. “I’ll be honest, the hope would be that we don’t end up needing the help of a proper doctor but-” His hand moves agin, but not towards a cigarette. He pulls out a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket, and tears off the bottom part. Atticus takes a pen out of another pocket (He seems to be collecting those by accident) and scribbles down his name and number before handing it back to her. “This way you have an actual working number for me and stuff. And you know, a way to contact me if you need me” He states, before he hears a student call his name from around the window ‘Mr. Bellefield’ Atticus still hasn’t gotten used to hearing that. “Anyway, you know where to find me” He adds with a smile before giving a final wave and heading back towards the student who had called him. 

         “i think it’s more likely that they already have.” essex, at heart, is a corporation. why would they only have one location to shuffle their experiments around at? it doesn’t make sense that destroying a building would end an empire that spans decades—or more—and as much as jack wants to take in the victory… he can’t. he can’t believe that this is over in one fell swoop, after so many years of torment. essex seems smarter than that. “i’m sure they’ll change the names around. hell, he might even try out of the country. but i can’t believe that they’ll just… give up like that.” miserably, he realizes that even if nathaniel essex is destroyed and gone, another will rise in his place. evil is never defeated for good.

         ultimately, there’s nothing he can do—nothing anyone can do—to stop the transgressions of the future. all they have is the snail’s crawl of waiting to see what pops up next. and something will pop up next. jack may not confess it to the others, but he’s more than certain of that fact. “we all know how much effort went into hiding it the first time… and how easy that was. change some names around, and who would even suspect anything? ”

For a long few moments, Stevie is simply quiet. Not angry-- unfortunately, not quite shocked either, by Jack’s perspective. Just quiet, her face a picture of near reverent neutrality, as she contemplates what he’s said. 

He’s right, there’s no denying that, but-- fuck-- what’s someone to say? Offer the kind of blind optimism that their country is so known for-- even when she doesn’t believe it? Even if he wasn’t speaking from experience, she wouldn’t do that. False hope can be just as dangerous as anything else. More so even. 

~

The twinge that comes from her laugh doesn’t escape Mari, but she knows better than to baby Stevie. Between simply knowing Levi, and being close friends with Stevie, she knows what kind of reaction she’d get to overdoing anything. “You feeling okay,” She opts to ask, a twinge of concern still in her voice. It feels disingenuous to ask. She knows the answer is probably no. Stevie had been stabbed, and nearly died. Nothing about that felt okay. Especially with her ability, she can only imagine what the experience was like. Still, she makes her way into the kitchen, grabbing a much needed beer from the fridge, and popping it open with her house key. 

Mari taps nervous fingers against the table top once Stevie disappears into the bathroom, calling out from the other room. The foursome had seldom gotten all together since June. Between everyone’s individuals struggles with June, and the trips people had run off on, it was hard to get everyone in the same space. Not that Mari had much to complain about when she could barely bring herself to look any of them in the face without feeling like she owed some kind of apology. “I’m fine. I’ve been… trying to keep myself busy, I guess. It’s not as fun hanging out without the rest of you, you know,” She says teasingly.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Stevie answers, grabbing the tape from it’s home in the bathroom cabinet and shuffling to her bedroom before reappearing. She grins and dangles a little bag made out of a sheer green mesh. Coiled safely inside is a white puka shell necklace. “Obviously, we came back with presents. And if you promise to forgive us for ditching you two for a couple of weeks, you can be the proud owner of this totally rad necklace.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, Doc.” He begins to sketch a rough idea that he has for Stevie’s tattoo, “You know, it’s going to take a while for me to make up designs, I don’t want to take up too much of your time today.” He takes his portfolio and opens it to show Stevie options of what type of style she’d want to go for. “So, here are your options for style, Classic Americana, Traditional Japanese Style, Black and Grey, Realism,” He points at each type of style as he mentions them. “I crossed out stick and poke since you’ve mentioned you want something intricate,” 

Atticus smiles softly “Nice to meet you, for real this time” He offers before nodding “Ah, yeah. I was actually a student here, forever ago. So I just came back is all” He shrugs. It still felt weird saying so. It had been so long of Atticus always saying that he would never go back, that he was done with the institute. But things had changed, and now everything was different. He sighs at her question “Oh yes. Kids still learning how to control their mutations mixed with normal kid and teen clumsiness? Injuries galore” He shakes his head. “Different then working the streets though, that’s for sure”

He follows her gaze up to the mansion, taking a final hit off his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and putting it out with the toe of his shoe. He blows the stream of smoke out slowly, turning his head so it doesn’t flow into Stevie’s face. “It’s…different. That’s for sure. There were kids here during the attack, you know? So..a lot of them are struggling.” Atticus scratches the back of his head. “I’m a little worried about them honestly”

.

Stevie’s brows lift in surprise. “Students were still here? Kids?” She’d heard of the attack, obviously, but for her own obvious reasons she’d avoided most of the other news about that day. “God.. I didn’t know that. I knew that some of the staff was but..” A hand lifts to smooth her hair, pulled neatly back into a long ponytail. “Those poor kids. That had to be horrific.”

“That’s not what I-” Levi growled softly in frustration, low in the back of his throat, and brought his hands up to press the heels against his eyes. That’s on him; he could argue, but for the time being, he’ll just have to swallow down his own poor choice of words.

“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you,” he counters, dropping his hands into a helpless half-shrug. “I wasn’t. But like I said, I- I didn’t know how to bring it up at the time.” The more Levi says, the more helpless he feels about it. Cornered, defensive, like there’s nothing he can do or say to try and grovel back into his sister’s good graces. And whether he likes it or not, when Levi feels cornered, he acts like any other cornered animal: he snaps back.

“And if I remember correctly, you stopped talking to me. Did you forget that bit? You told me to leave,” Levi bites out, that wound still incredibly fresh even after a month. “You can’t do that and then get mad at me for not talking to you about something. The hell was I supposed to do, call you up the next day like, hey you seemed like you wanted space but I thought I’d just ring you to tell you something else I think will piss you off?”

Levi doesn’t bother to try and control his heartrate anymore; he doesn’t think he can, not talking about this. “Yeah, I fought Prism — if you can even call it that.” He didn’t ask Riley how much he’d told their sister, which he regrets now. “And, yeah, it didn’t exactly go well for me. Just another thing that’s gotten me hurt while I’m runnin’ with my band of hooligans. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Levi knows it’s not. He knows that’s almost as bad as the whole contest-pity-party comment earlier, but he can’t stop himself. He’s just as hurt as he was a month ago — no, moreso. They’re arguing over their father’s grave and he doesn’t fucking want to do this. Levi’s next breath stutters and catches in his throat, and when he turns away, towards the gravestone in front of them, it’s with a hard set of his jaw that sharply contrasts the sudden sheen of dampness in his eyes, eyes that’d stayed dry even through the memorial. If he has anything else to say, he can’t. Not if he wants to keep whatever tenuous, threadbare hold he still has over the last shred of his emotions.

“Yes, I kicked you out! Yes, I needed some space.” She agrees, her voice loud and a little rough. “But do you remember the last time you gave me that? Because I sure as hell don’t--” Stevie cuts herself off with an aggravated yell. There’s no point in making a mountain out of a molehill and she knows that. 

She turns away, her hands covering her eyes. Even if it is her natural instinct right now, and even if she does believe she’s justified... The yelling and the anger isn’t what she wants. She doesn’t even want to fight, not really. It’s all just so..

Exhausting. That’s it. She’s so fucking tired of dealing with this; tired of feeling like this. Just.. tired. For a long couple of moments, she simply breathes and counts the beats of her heart; until she’s calm enough to speak again.

“I don’t want this either.” Her voice is quiet, her hands stay covering her eyes. “I don’t like us fighting. All the yelling or the silence.. I don’t like any of it.” Surely, he had to know that already. Her hands slide down her face and she looked at him. The tinge of red around his eyes bringing the emotion to her own. “I missed you, kid. I just..” Stevie shakes her head before she can finish and takes a shaky breath. She looks up towards the sky, still streaked by the sunset, to keep the tears from spilling over. “I am so angry, Levi. And I don’t know how to stop. I want to, I do, but..” 

But her ability can’t tell her how to stop seeing them every time she looks at him.

         there was never going to be any going back. she’s right, even as the realization aches low in his stomach. normalcy had always been denied to him, both within and without the essex house. last month? jack knows it’s been a lost cause since the beginning; from the moment that emptiness had crawled into his being, he was doomed to be different. and different, he is. now everyone knows the extent of that. he’s never been an open mutant. now, anyone unfortunate enough to recognize his face will know the truth. and what a terrible truth it is, too. even stevie, an acquaintance, knows the worst of what he’s been made to do.

         is that worse than a stranger? or better? he can’t tell. “i appreciate that.” it feels hollow, meaningless as soon as it slides off his tongue. does he mean it? even jack doesn’t know. maybe he never will. god, he wishes it would all just go away. looking over his shoulder had always been easier than this. “but i don’t know if that’s true. i don’t think they’re really gone.” it’s the first time he’s said it out loud, a fact that surprises even himself. “just… under the radar. sure, the building’s gone. the mutants are out. but i can’t believe that’s the end of it.”

His words sink as they settle, right to the bottom of her stomach. ‘I don’t they’re really gone’. Her stomach turns into a gaping pit, the chill of it gnawing and throbbing it’s way through her. She doesn’t realize how still or how quiet she’s gone, not until her brows knit together and she hears the uneasiness in her own voice. “You think they’d try again? Even though everyone knows what they’ve done now?” 

~

If Stevie holds any suspicion towards Mari’s story, she doesn’t show it. And, even if she does, Mari’s glad she doesn’t have to explain away this injury. Though, she had come up with plenty of stories: Missing and punching a metal pole, slamming her hand in a taxi door, tripping and falling down the rickety old stairs at Belcourt— any of those would be believable enough… she thinks. But Stevie waves it away with a joke. “New trainees can be bold,” She counters, with a smile.

Thankfully, Stevie switches into work mode and does her Stevie thing. Mari doesn’t really understand what exactly happens to make her ability work, but anyone could say the same about her being able to turn into air. When she comes back to reality, Mari can hear the doctor-y tone in her voice.

“Nah, I’m not going to bug him for that. He’s got bigger problems to deal with than a few stress fractures, I’m sure.” She never liked to use Riley’s powers for anything she could manage the pain on herself. He may do it if she asked, but it would leave her feeling like a mooch. Not to mention, she then runs the risk of having to explain to Riley what happened, and she’d have a much harder time dodging the truth with him than Stevie. She had been managing to do that for so long with her, it felt like second nature in some depressing way. “I would appreciate the help, though. A week will fly by, and maybe I’ll even try and follow Doctor’s orders,” She says, a lilt of teasing to her voice. 

Stevie’s quick to laugh at Mari’s tease-- quicker to regret it, as the still healing muscles in her torso fight and protest the movement of her diaphragm. The pain doesn’t quite stop the laughter though. She knows full well that her friend will only listen to her for a couple of days, max, until she’s bored enough to tempt fate. “And maybe by the end of the week, I’ll be the queen of Sheba.” Her own quip produces another round of laughter, and her ability flashes a vision of potential consequences of continuing to pull at already torn muscles that she’ll translate as ‘knock it the fuck off’. “Ow, shit--” Stevie mutters under her breath between a few more sputtering chuckles, one hand coming to rest on her stomach, over the scar. The other gestures lazily towards the kitchen and small dining room. “Help yourself to a beer or something and take a seat. I need to go get the tape.”