(no subject)
Felicia Hardy hasn't been very good at have friends who were girls (or girlfriends for that matter) in a long time. It's a habit that she lost sometime around college. Other things got in the way and she lost the ability to connect with people who didn't share her special brand of hobbies. Somehow it is hard to explain to someone why you can't make that sobfest or play wingwoman because you just have to go snooping around the city on the search for the next big score. Being a P.I. had made it a little easier, but she's never been one cut out for more run-of-the-mill lines of work.
This isn't a fact that has changed very easily during her time on the island. Sure she has a legit job and her secret identity has been retired for over a year now, but she still has fewer friends than most. It's hard. It requires an effort she's not used to exerting without a recognisable gain. But she's proud of herself as she strolls down the path towards the Watson-Parker residence. She's making an effort and heck, it's been a while since she's had a conversation with Red that doesn't involve Spider being in traction.
Standing outside the hut, she knocks on the door as she whistles. "Yoohoo, anyone home?"
This isn't a fact that has changed very easily during her time on the island. Sure she has a legit job and her secret identity has been retired for over a year now, but she still has fewer friends than most. It's hard. It requires an effort she's not used to exerting without a recognisable gain. But she's proud of herself as she strolls down the path towards the Watson-Parker residence. She's making an effort and heck, it's been a while since she's had a conversation with Red that doesn't involve Spider being in traction.
Standing outside the hut, she knocks on the door as she whistles. "Yoohoo, anyone home?"