Friends

Take someone out.

It's too sunny for the patio, even with the umbrellas, and Mike instead takes a table inside the Crescent Moon, positioned for enough from the bar for privacy, close enough for convenience. The doors are propped open, front and back, and there just enough of a through-draft to be pleasant. The bar-restaurant's décor was retro, but not kitsch, just simple wood and tile décor, a few tasteful knicknacks here and there. ( A waiter comes by... ) Mike smiles and asks for some ice to be brought to the table while he awaits his guest.

You pass a complete stranger on the street and notice they are crying. What do you do?

Sheila's sitting on the fountain when the phone goes again. She just knows it's Bill, or her mother, and that she should just take it, answer it, get it over with, but all she can do is put it down. It rattles a little on the wet stone until the beeping stops. Default ring tone, of course.

It's a changeable sort of a day, bright but breezy now, and she thinks maybe it will rain later. Maybe it won't. It's always so hard to tell. She's over dressed for the sun, under dressed for the rain, and she's been worrying at her wool cardigan so much she's put a hole in it. He fingers keep going back there, and she knows she's making it bigger, but she can't stop herself. The sun's out, but she's shivering like anything, hot and cold.

( People are watching her. Sheila thinks maybe they know. )

Unrelated to anything, does anyone know if Lady Johanna Constantine's daughter from the Hellblazer Special - Lady Constantine miniseries ever shows up again? Or is mentioned?

Cheer someone up

So I thought I'd start a superhero team!

( Now, I know what you're thinking... )

Open to applications now!

Is redemption truly possible?

"Is redemption truly possible?" Karla asks without preamble, dropping into the chair on the other side of the table with deliberate ease.

"I hear if you have vouchers, you get a free muffin," Mike says, smiling at her over his glass of ice.

Karla chuckles. It's an open, friendly sound. There's a touch of the Mid-West in her voice, but she could be from anywhere. Her accent is generic, every-woman. Her hair is a touch lighter than usual, her eyes just a little more grey, her soft yellow sun-dress floaty. It's a nice day. Pleasant. Warm. Just enough of a breeze to tousle their hair.

(The other Ms Marvel, the one before her, sat here once, at this table, at this street-side café. Mike is sitting where Jessica Jones was. There are patterns to history, Karla knows, just as she knows there can be patterns to seeds, scattered across stone, to flung yarrow stalks. Meaning is ascribed, not intrinsic.)

"I knew a Carla, a long time ago," he says, while she peruses the menu. "She looked a little like you, I think. Spelt with a c, though. Do you have children, doctor?"

"I have team-mates," Karla says, deadpan.

He grins on cue. The waitress arrives, and she orders, and he tells the waitress to add it to his bill. She nods her thanks, watching him openly. He expects it, so why not provide? She's read his file. No doubt he's read hers. Both are true, and untrue, in various proportions. The waitress brings her a green tea. Mike sips his own drink and smiles slightly. Karla knows he'll ask a question, something innocuous -- it's pasta; throw it at the wall, see what sticks -- so she asks first.

"What brings you to New York, Mister Connor?"

( Mike )