"I don't like tellin' folks stuff about how they may or may not be in other universes. Makes me feel all slimey." She's holding the sunglasses up to him. "I know, it sucks, but... humor an old lady?"
Old lady, his ass. He's pretty sure he's a little older than her. But he'll humor her anyway, and slides the sunglasses on, trying to ignore uncomfortable memories of blackness and burning. "I really don't think glasses make that big of a difference, but sure. Now what?"
She's twenty-two, but she feels a lot younger when she's not in her costume. She looks young to start with, with that open, honest face, if you ignore that she's a little twitchy, a little pale and thin. "Uh... um. Extra precaution." She gets out a little metal doodad, about the size of a thimble but warm to the touch. "Put that in your pocket, and people shouldn't notice, unless you make a spectacle of yourself. I'mma need it back later, though." You might get the impression that Victor has more backup plans than she has hours of sleep. Victor, in her sweater in that August Texas heat, and the flash of a big pink scar on her right palm. "Now... we can walk around."
The sounds of traffic are loud. Hot stones, hot bricks, the humidity that presses right down on you like a big warm palm.
He's starting to wonder if maybe he's tripped his way into a spy novel, because this is getting very cloak-and-dagger and he'd laugh if she wasn't acting so serious.
She doesn't seem to want to talk about it though, so he drops the subject and refocuses on his surroundings. "It smells different here." He doesn't know why he's surprised. "Same sun, though." Though it can't negate the kryptonite entirely, especially being as deep inside his body as it is, he can feel the energy bolstering his strength. He doesn't feel up to lifting cars yet or anything, but the bruises are well on their way to turning green and yellow.
It's Victor's particular brand of paranoia. Sometimes it's justified, and sometimes it isn't, though right now it just might be. She ducks under the police tape and steps onto the sidewalk proper. "I love this city. It's gorgeous. Tons of art. All sorts of people." She fixes her smushed up bowler cap against the heat, though it doesn't do much. She might do better if she could bear to part with her sweater.
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The sounds of traffic are loud. Hot stones, hot bricks, the humidity that presses right down on you like a big warm palm.
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She doesn't seem to want to talk about it though, so he drops the subject and refocuses on his surroundings. "It smells different here." He doesn't know why he's surprised. "Same sun, though." Though it can't negate the kryptonite entirely, especially being as deep inside his body as it is, he can feel the energy bolstering his strength. He doesn't feel up to lifting cars yet or anything, but the bruises are well on their way to turning green and yellow.
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