#volantsol

“So.  Uh.  You come here a lot?”

answered your ask

““for once… i was wrong.””

“Okay, I’ll take that. I have a habit of thinking I’m right when I’m wrong.”

Robbie rolls his head on his shoulders. The fire sparks back into life behind his eyes as if lit by flint ... but stays there, his face barely feeling the warmth. He sighs and looks at the other... grimacing.

“This is a little embarassing but... I think I’m quenched. Ya know, fizzled out.”

He shifts a little, teleporting a few inches to the left just to check that everything else was working. Staring down at his hands he willed them to jump and flame. Nothing.

Occasionally Tasha would find herself walking the street, admiring the lights of the sleeping city and try to get as much outdoors time as she could before any kind of paparazzi finds her (or any of those die hard fans of her’s). And still armed with gauntlet currently formed to a watch, she felt safe enough to wander without her suit; though that was only minutes away if she was in need.

   And it wasn’t strange to see other people strolling by themselves at this time of day (well, technically night), so when she was passing one of the corners, Tasha spoke up to the stranger.

  “Ridding yourself of your childhood fear of the dark or what?”

It wasn’t often he spent time outside his own city these days, but on occasion, there was benefit to being out of the prying eyes of peers and those who knew who you were. Some days he really missed the anonymity of his past, so when he felt he had been getting too familiar, he found himself drifting outside his so called comfort zone. 

The man pauses from lighting his cigarette, looking to who had hailed to him. He brings the lighter down, unlit cig still between his lips. 

She’s slightly wary of Dum-E’s wheels - pulling her tail back only to perk up now that he’s closer to her and curious. The mutant chuckles, reaching to pat what she assumes might be his head.

“What?  No, I’m not.  I have a mug o–…”

   Yeah, the absolutely exhausted Natasha Stark was full on pouring the coffee pot out onto the marble counter. Not at all hitting her mug, not even the rim. Jeez, maybe she had pulled far too many all nighters recently. It took her a moment to actually stop pouring out the content of the pot even after realizing what she was doing (that reaction time of her’s almost entirely out the door at this point).

  “Better this than the floor, right?” A soft laugh leaving her before smiling, “Want any though? I mean…some fresh coffee at least.”

‘I’m more of a tea person, Miss. But thank you for the offer.’

   In contrast, Tsura seemed wide awake, already rushing with paper towels to clean up the coffee    before it did actually reach the floor. The state of Tasha’s health was more concerning to the    Princess than the faint burning in her fingers now. As she cleaned, blank eyes looked to Stark with    worry.