Thanksgiving?
It was either this or head to the cars in the garage, and kitchen grease is easier to wash off in case there's a downgrade in Amelia's condition.
Screw all of this! I'm going home!
Which home though? Here? Star City? Cape May? Portsmouth? Hell, the JSA's place in the city was starting to feel comfy there for a bit.
She's run out of chocolate chips and all the eggs she just bought. Half this place is coated in flour. It's like Thanksgiving in here. Only no joke, no supervillains you can punch. No Christie.
She shouldn't think, "damn kid." Her man is a street kid. So is her best friend. But Christie isn't being molested or underfed. She's just gone and it looks like a runaway situation. Maybe to that boyfriend somewhere.
But what if it's not? What if it's because she works where she works and someone figured it out. Blaine did.
She takes out the chickens and puts in the cookies. No mitts. She doesn't need them anymore. She's changed. She can and has to do other things.
Like maybe watch Amelia or Christie die while she can do jack about it.
She'll try not to break the spoon that's stirring the minestrone.
She really doesn't have time to clean. The others have all gone off to get their gear while she monitors the place and Amelia. They will find a feast of almost holiday proportions and the mess left behind. The cook has already gone to serve her charge what medical science says she likely should have in exactly proportions.
Screw all of this! I'm going home!
Which home though? Here? Star City? Cape May? Portsmouth? Hell, the JSA's place in the city was starting to feel comfy there for a bit.
She's run out of chocolate chips and all the eggs she just bought. Half this place is coated in flour. It's like Thanksgiving in here. Only no joke, no supervillains you can punch. No Christie.
She shouldn't think, "damn kid." Her man is a street kid. So is her best friend. But Christie isn't being molested or underfed. She's just gone and it looks like a runaway situation. Maybe to that boyfriend somewhere.
But what if it's not? What if it's because she works where she works and someone figured it out. Blaine did.
She takes out the chickens and puts in the cookies. No mitts. She doesn't need them anymore. She's changed. She can and has to do other things.
Like maybe watch Amelia or Christie die while she can do jack about it.
She'll try not to break the spoon that's stirring the minestrone.
She really doesn't have time to clean. The others have all gone off to get their gear while she monitors the place and Amelia. They will find a feast of almost holiday proportions and the mess left behind. The cook has already gone to serve her charge what medical science says she likely should have in exactly proportions.