GIVE ME MORE.

Finn was taken aback by the sudden lash of anger.  Mimi and himself had fallen into an easy rhythm of playful banter, but even he could admit he was prone to sticking his foot in his mouth.  Dumb jock syndrome or something.  

Still, as much as didn’t enjoy being on the receiving end of that fiery nature, the least he could do was let her get it out of her system.  Finn could relate to relief that came along with releasing pent up anger.  They were behind the four walls of his apartment, and it had been a hell of a week.  He could sympathize.  

“Hey, it’s okay,” he offered patting the hand resting on his arm.  “If you ever wanna talk I can listen.”  Finn couldn’t offer much in terms of advice, but something told him Mimi wasn’t in the market for anybody telling her what to do, but he would gladly listen to whatever was on her mind any hour of the day or night.  “Or I got a punching bag if you ever need to go that route,” he added with a bit of a smirk ensuring her that there was no hard feelings on his end.

Surprisingly relieved at the confirmation that he wasn’t angry (God, she was soft tonight), Mimi sank back into the couch. She was glad they had chosen to stay in for the night; crowds were making her more nervous than usual, and she wasn’t sure she was in the right mind for a bar. Finn was a relatively calming presence, though, and she didn’t have a lot of those in her life, so despite the tension still knotting her muscles, she was grateful for the company. 

“Not sure the punching bag could handle me, Hudson,” Mimi joked, a little weaker than usual. “I’m pretty tough.” She took a sip of her drink, nursing it as though it would solve all the problems. After a moment of hesitation, she shrugged. “It was just weird. I switched with this guy in a mutant prison, and I hate small spaces as it is, but... I don’t know. It’s stupid.” For a moment, she clenched her jaw, wondering if she should change the subject there. Mimi was tired of forcing herself to be quiet, though. She was tired in general. Brow furrowed, she huffed. “I feel like an idiot that shit like this just puts me right back in that... fucking prison. Not last week, but... you know. And it makes me feel weak, and no one wants to hear me bitch about it, but after last week, it’s like... every time I close my fucking eyes, I’m right back there. I lied about so much shit when I came back, because I knew I’d lose credibility, but... I don’t know. I just hate that it’s been years and something as stupid as a body swap can fuck my head up this much.” 

I’m technically strong but I don’t enjoy using brute force. I can, however, offer my condolences and a bottle of wine? People keep giving me wine when I don’t even drink so I’m more than willing to donate to the Ritter Relief Fund.

That’s okay. I found an alternative source that doesn’t mind doing some manhandling, so all that’s really left is the mental reprieve. Which is... I mean, that’s where the wine comes in, which I appreciate. Luckily for you, I can consume a frightening amount of wine to compensate, so your contribution is appreciated. You don’t drink anything, or just wine? And where do I meet people in this town who will just give me wine?

I don’t know who to thank either. It’s a mystery. It definitely wasn’t my dad, though, so I totally won’t tell him how grateful you are or whatever. Finn is the ideal hunk for every job. I’d like to just watch him lift heavy things all day…specifically if the heavy thing is me. Not that I’m like heavy, but you know. Anyway, I’d love to be of some assistance. Guys don’t usually complain when I man-handle them because like, I’m cute and adorable and it’s more confusing than anything. 

Cool. Great. Tell your not-dad that I said thanks. It helps that he’s an entirely not infuriating jock, too, so he doesn’t ruin things when he opens his mouth--gotta love a well rounded hunk. I’d rather have you help anyway. Mostly for the shock and entertainment factor, but also because I don’t hate you, so I don’t mind having you in my news room.

My favorite reporter is back, I’m so fucking happy! Even though it sounds like your job basically ran into the ground without you. If someone hunky like Finn Hudson doesn’t volunteer, lemme know and I’m totes down to surprise the whole office with my strength. #swole.

Shout out to you for that one. Kind of. I don’t know who to thank for the reverse body swap, but I’m pretty glad it got fixed. While Finn is the ideal hunk for the job, neither he nor anyone else has volunteered, and I don’t think I can take on the job myself without getting arrested. If you want to do the honors, I won’t complain.

She couldn’t remember why she’d snapped at him to begin with, but she knew it wasn’t his fault.

Mimi wasn’t normally an angry drunk, and although she hadn’t known Finn for very long, she couldn’t imagine ever being genuinely mad at him. He was a welcome sanctuary from her normally hectic life, and she had come to value his company, but this week it wasn’t providing quite the same sense of calm that it normally did. She’d been a general terror to everyone in her newsroom since the body swap, and if Finn couldn’t qualm the temper, then no one else stood a chance. Still, immediately after the cutting words left her mouth, she felt guilty. 

“I’m sorry.” Mimi closed her eyes, reaching out with the hand not clasping her glass of wine to rest apologetically on his arm. “I didn’t mean that, I just...” She exhaled slowly, frustrated. “I haven’t slept since that body swap. It kind of... dredged up some shit, I guess. That’s not your fault, though.” 

While we’re on the subject of mimes, if anyone with more upper body strength than me is interested in getting this particular one with some kind of agenda (which I can’t figure out because he won’t speak)  out of my studio, I’ll pay you in alcohol. Apparently security’s in on the joke.

So, some shit has happened. And now I feel slightly responsible. Let me know if anyone you didn’t want out of prison has escaped. Otherwise…welcome back to the real world. It’s much nicer. I’m so tired. I normally don’t get this tired. But I guess I’ll have to get used it…if I’m never switching back into my own body. Any advice on how to obtain more energy? Jogging? Red Bull? Cold shower?

You’re a pain in my ass. You know that, right? 

CASS: Yeah, near-death situations are my kink. ...Just kidding.

CASS: Yikes, okay. Avoid the gun. Don't worry. We might be powerless for a hot second, and stuck with powers that we don't know how to fucking work...but we're not coming in empty handed. I have some Lunar weapons kicking around, and I'm going to make a few new ones if I can. So knocking a guard out will be...possible. Fuck this high tech prison tho.

CASS: No emails. We're booking you a 48 hour spa trip right after. Just kidding, you're on the body of a convict, but I can whip you up a face mask or something.

CASS: When civilians get involved, Super Nova gets serious. We would never leave you in there.

CASS: Tonight. We're coming tonight. Try to be in your cage so we don't have to run around finding you.

CASS: Things might get...crazy once the plan sets in action. But it's the only way.

MIMI: I'm quoting that in an article.

MIMI: If you can break some bone belonging to the blonde guy with the beard that looks like it was dipped in a vat of donkey shit, I'd appreciate that, too. Fuck that guy.

MIMI: ... Ah, shit. That means I really can't go to the station until this gets fixed, doesn't it?

MIMI: Oliver's not fucking anyone in my body, right? I have a lot of concerns, here.

CASS: Because New York doesn't have ME, duh!

CASS: You're a literal fuckin genius and I worship you. Thank you for all that you do.

CASS: We're going to get you out of there soon. I have a plan. Kind of.

CASS: Oliver's powers are kind of complicated, and he is extra dangerous. He's probably 2% more powerful than me, but don't tell him I said that.

CASS: Also...prepare for mental overload when we get you out of the place and his powers kick in.

MIMI: Yeah, but I've been in more near-death situations around you than I have been in New York.

MIMI: Yeah, yeah. Don't get stunned by whatever gun they have, either, because I saw a guy get knocked out twelve hours ago. I'm pretty sure he's still unconscious. Also, no pressure, but I'm 76% sure you're going to have to knock a guard out and use his thumb to get me out of my cell. There seems to be zero door handle. I guess they're under the impression it's more difficult to cut off a guy's thumb than steal a set of keys or something.

MIMI: ... Okay. Well. I'll do my best not to kill any of you in the chaos of it all. I'm sure it'll be fine. Just don't let me look at my emails, because if anything is triggered by sheer irritation, well.

CASS: Everything is going to shit. The good news is, Rosa has my powers, so...with a little coaching, I feel like she can help? And I can breathe fire now? So that's cool.

CASS: I swear we're going to get you out of there, Mimi. I'm sorry that you're in this position, but...

CASS: Is there anything you know that can help? Any details? Floor plans? Ideas of where they keep the power negating machine that I assume they have in place? Going in blind scares the shit outta me.

CASS: I swear we will get you out ASAP.

MIMI: Christ. How many people have swapped bodies? Does this mean I have Oliver's powers? What are his powers?

MIMI: I don't know why I left New York. This is ridiculous.

MIMI: Yeah, yeah. Already did what I could.

MIMI: [PHOTO UPLOAD]

MIMI: Sorry for the terrible quality and the fact that this incomplete floorplan is drawn in mush. The corn represents the guards I've been able to track. Please excuse me while I punch myself in the face.

CASS: Yikes...I am so sorry.

CASS: I'm also not in my own body so I honestly have no clue what the fuck is going on, or how to fix it.

CASS: But I swear, we're working on a plan to get you out ASAP. I just have to figure out...how. And preferably to get my own body/powers back.

CASS: Hang in there?

MIMI: ... What's even going on out there? You don't have your powers? Ah, fuck.

MIMI: Oh God. The show's going to shit. There's no way I'm not fired.

MIMI: I don't do well being held against my will. I've been through it enough in Iraq.

It was a slow news night. Or, rather, the network had put an embargo on almost any interesting story she wanted to do, forcing Mimi to question every stupid ass decision she’d ever made that put her on the path to this stupid job in the first place; it was annoying, not being able to investigate whatever she damn well pleased, and while she’d always worked for publications that took certain stances on issues such as mutants, she found that television was a horse of a different color. Maybe it was just Chicago. But the Times and the Post had both allowed her a decent amount of freedom to report on the facts, as long as it vaguely aligned with their views--the way news should be. Regardless, the restrictions made her restless and irritated, which always proved to be a dangerous combination. 

So. It was late, just shy of 10:30pm, but it was still a bit earlier than she usually left the station after a show. Mimi found more comfort in her office than her own apartment, surrounded by staff who either worked just as hard as she did or didn’t want to be seen as inferior by going home at a normal hour, but tonight there was nothing to do other than a run down full of the usual frustrating news from the White House and a few Chicago-based stories that felt so unimportant in comparison to what was actually going on, and she just... couldn’t, anymore.

With insomnia and time to kill, Mimi opted out of her usual cab back to her apartment in favor of walking--it was only a few miles, and she was less afraid of walking alone in Chicago at night than she probably should have been, but whatever. As luck would have it, she was on a relatively vacant block when she heard a noise in the alley up ahead. She couldn’t put her finger on the source, and if she were smarter she would’ve crossed the street and ignored it, but as it stood--

Well. She’d call it curiosity, but the truth was that she was a nosy bitch.

Normally when I get called into work early, I prepare myself for the worst because chances are it means something bad has happened. But nope, not today. I’m happy to report that instead of sadness, my current favorite shelter dog went into labor last night and we now have seven (!!!!) little boxer puppies gracing Chicago. They’re tiny and wiggly and mewling and the best way I can think to start off a Thursday.

I can ignore a lot of standard cute shit--babies and Jon Hamm, for instance--but even I can’t pretend like I wouldn’t love to spend all day hanging out with boxer newborns. Do you work at a shelter, then?