2901/America & Cait

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America & Cait
Date of Scene: 19 October 2017
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Fairchild, Miss America




Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild doesn't go out of her way to make a big splash in the superhero business. It's not that long since she was hunted by mysterious forces of an unspecified government agency and, frankly, despite a few assurances that they're somewhat in the clear, she still habitually looks over her shoulder.

But when a minotaur starts trashing the mall food court, well, sometimes a girl just can't stand by and let it happen.

She lets out a cry as she crashes through the Chik-Fil-A, going end over end into the counter and making quite a dent after the beast got ahold of her. It's superstrong and supertough, capable of tearing through brick with the force of its power as it snorts and roars its defiance. The ginger-haired Amazon pushes her way up out of the rubble, "You...you...bully!"

Miss America has posed:
    It's been a while since the invasion of Apokolips' forces. Work is still ongoing, doubtless, to repair the damage done, in its many different forms. Efforts that America Chavez had been taking part of, in her way, just as soon as she recovered. But now? Now, she decided, maybe even -she- was overdue a break.

    Which is exactly why she is here, at this mall, on this day, to enjoy a simple gyro in peace and (relative) quiet.

    Right when a minotaur just up and bulldozes its way through the mall right in time to blow her gyro away with the sheer, kinetic force of its arrival. She looks down. And she frowns.

    That was then. And this is now: America Chavez, landing between Caitlin and the minotaur, with a cold, smolderingly intense look in her brown eyes. That she can look so controlled while looking so -angry- is nothing short of remarkable. And also, terrifying.

    "Yeah. Okay. Ginger girl's right. And bullies get one thing coming for 'em." Knuckles crack.

    And America just looks to drive one mighty fist into the minotaur's similarly mighty jaw.

    "Shouldn't have messed with my god damn gyro."

Fairchild has posed:
The minotaur goes flying, of course, flipping end over end, but managing to land on its hooved feet, leaving skidding trails of sparks in its wake as it manages to stop itself. It shakes its head, clearing the cobwebs as its eyes flare red, blowing steam from its nostrils.

If it's capable of speech, it isn't using its words, preparing to pounce again - only to be cut off by a pretzel cart flung over America's head and directly into its horned skull, knocking it back down to the ground.

"Wait...there's a gyro stand now?!?" Cait says as she moves to stand next to America, towering a bit as the two indestructible supergirls stare at the doomed monster trying to get back up to its feet.

Miss America has posed:
    Rolling her neck, the muscles of her legs tensing up into tight, ready cords, America seems wholly prepared and wholly about to drive herself into a full-bodied tackle into that raging, rampaging minotaur as it charges --

    --only to blink once at that pretzel stand that beans the creature. Her head tilts. She looks behind her, towards the approaching Caitlin. A lone, dark eyebrow lifts a quarter of an inch.

    "Nice shot," she utters off-handedly, before she turns her gaze back the monster's way. A few inches shorter than the redheaded Amazon, she makes it up with that stoic aplomb in sharp contrast to Cait's surprised wonder.

    "There was," is her answer, before jerking her head the scrambling monstrosity's way. "C'mon, chica. You go high, I go low." Her fists clench. "For the gyro stand."

    It might almost be the driest joke ever to be uttered, but it comes naturally as breathing before the Utopian girl launches off like a shot, aiming to drive a titanic punt into the minotaur's gut to send the monster airborne -- and hopefully, just in time to set Caitlin up for a follow up. For the gyro stand.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild breaks into a sprint as America goes in first, not having much chance to respond before they're both into the fray. The beast isn't fully recovered from having his skull rattled already and the two girls are able to finish the job with their double-team.

America's fist hits him in the gut, blowing out his breath and doubling him over, only for Caitlin's uppercut to follow through and send him somersaulting again to land on his face, one of his horns breaking off on the floor as he lets out a startled groan and loses consciousness.

"Wow, I feel very...mythic after all that!" Caitlin says, putting her hands on her hips. She's wearing a purple hoodie over a green top, along with black tights and boots. "I would guess somebody's called the cops by now. I hope they bring a big wagon."

Miss America has posed:
    When the minotaur lands and ultimately thumps on the ground with that defeated groan, America walks over to it. Without a word, she nudges it once, twice -- and when she's sure it isn't going to be moving anytime, turns her attention back towards the tall redhead with a thoughtful sort of frown.

    "Mythic, huh," she utters, before a brief look of wry amusement flickers in those dark eyes of hers. "A little lame... but I guess you're not wrong," she concedes, lips twitching just a bit before she looks back towards the minotaur.

    Dressed herself in a gray sweater with the America flag taking up the entire front half, a pair of black hot pants and some worn down red, white and blue sneakers, America crosses her hands underneath her chest and looks back Caitlin's way, jerking her head towards the minotaur. "Yeah, probably. Dunno about you, but I'm not really a cop person. Wanna split?"

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild blushes a little bit, eyes flicking down, "Yeah, cool's never really been my strong suit," she says, the awkward nerd inside the powerful young woman.

"Um, no, definitely not a cop person. I mean, I'm not anti-cop, but I don't really like filling out paperwork and answering questions. And some police don't always understand or have the most enlightened attitude about this sort of thing, which is part of their...y'know, um, yeah, let's go," she says.

Miss America has posed:
    To her credit, America is pretty patient about listening to Cait's winding answer without much more than another, slow arch of one dark brow in response. It's only when the redhead is done that America just walks past, clapping a hand briefly on Fairchild's shoulder as she goes.

    "Yeah, let's bounce," is all she says in regards to all of that, stuffing hands into her sweater pockets as she makes her way past her companion, only pausing to add,

    "You know you just took down a damn minotaur, yeah? Cool's already your strong suit. You're a badass, ginger." And then, she continues walking, easy as can be, lifting one hand to gesture for Cait to follow. "You know any good places to eat?"

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild follows along, "Um, there's a good pizza place down the road and there's a Shenanigans over there, if you don't mind, like, casual express dining?" she says. "Malls don't tend to have good hole in the wall local places," she says.

As to the other, she shrugs a little, easily keeping pace with her long strides, "I mean, yeah, took down a minotaur, but it's not like...I mean, that's not me. I guess it is me, but I wasn't always like this, so it still doesn't feel like me, sometimes," she says. She glances aside at the confident young latina, "I kinda think you were maybe born awesome. You seem like it."

Miss America has posed:
    Slipping out of the mall and waiting for Caitlin to follow suit, America does not seem to pay much mind to the people wonderingly calling out after them; all things considered, all of this seems like just another day to the stoic latina. Stretching her arms up and over her head, fingers lacing behind the back of her head as she speaks. "Sure. Works fine. I could go for some pizza."

    It's only when Cait talks about her abilities and her situation that the Utopian girl looks back her way, as if taking the redhead in critically. "... I just do what I gotta do," is her answer to that observation, shoulders lifting in an easy shrug. "Cool's not about what you can do, ginger. It's about what you do with it." She offers Caitlin something of a half a smile.

    "Besides. Most people I know who actually call themselves cool? Total losers."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild smiles, "Said like the coolest person around, usually, I'm guessing," she says. "Knowing what to do with myself has never been easy. I almost never know what to do, ever. I mean, punching minotaurs is pretty easy, but other stuff? Not so much," she says.

SHe leads the way into Shenanigans, the bouncy waitress leading the two to a table away from the bar and where ESPN is blaring on the TV as usual. "The mozzarella sticks are pretty good here," she says, taking a seat, "Oh, um, I'm Caitlin Fairchild," she says. "I don't really have a codename or anything. Never found one that fit."

Miss America has posed:
    There's a single snort from America at Caitlin's proclamation as she follows the redhead into the restaurant. She follows the waitress to the table, slipping into her seat with an ease that feels like second nature, slumping herself into the hair and letting an arm dangle across the back of it as she looks back Caitlin's way. "The hard stuff always stays hard," she notes, after a while; it might be commiseration, but at the very least, she says it matter-of-factly as anything else.

    Plucking up her menu, she looks over the options as Caitlin makes her suggestion; though she doesn't remark on it, she does look up as the redhead offers that introduction, head tilting faintly. "America Chavez," is her greeting, before adding, "No codename," as simply as if she's never wanted, or needed one. "Fairchild's a pretty solid name anyway."

    She pauses, considering Caitlin a minute. "You still new at all this?"

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild nods, "A bit. It didn't just happen last week, but for the first...I guess year or so? I wasn't really in a position to really figure things out. Life was too hectic. I was running for my life most of the time. And my friends' lives," she says.

"Now that things are stable, I sort of...have to figure out what to do. And I haven't yet. Except the minotaur punching thing," she says.

"America Chavez. See, I knew you were cool. That's maybe the coolest name I've ever heard," she grins, making her order of the cheesesticks and a barbecue burger, tucking her hair back into a ponytail quickly to keep it out of her face.

Miss America has posed:
    "Look who's talking," is America's counter on the name, amusement flickering in that otherwise calmly stoic face of hers as she folds up her menu. "Badass name for a badass chica." When the waitress comes around, she makes her own order of a Southern Fried Chicken Sandwich -- and an order of mozzarella sticks, just like the redhead across from her had suggested.

    "You got a pretty damn impressive punch," she notes off-handedly once their orders have been taken; arms folding over her abdomen, she watches Caitlin curiously, brows knit inward. "Can use it to help a lotta people. If you wanna. But you just gotta do you. You got your freedom now. Friends' too, I'm guessing. Put it to good use." Her brows lift, but there's no judgment there, or in her words when she asks that simple question: "What do -you- wanna do, ginger?"

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild nods, "I do want to help people. I even think it's somewhat my responsibility. I just want to do it in a way that doesn't potentially put me and my friends back in danger," she says. "But...I also don't want to wear a mask or a cape or...I would just feel silly," she says.

"What I want is to go back to school. Real school, graduate school, the way I planned before...everything. I've already put in for financial aid potentially, I just have to try and find the right school and figure out what path I wanna take. Hard science or soft science or computers or mathematics...I have SO many interests," she says.

Miss America has posed:
"Bet you could rock a cape," America observes in that dry way of hers that makes it difficult to tell if she's teasing or not, leaning back into her seat as she looks sidelong out a nearby window. "But you don't need a cape to help. Just wear the clothes you got. They look good on you anyway, and besides." She looks back, the right corner of her mouth twitching upward just a bit.

    "A few more people not running around in goofy-ass costumes couldn't hurt."

    As they wait for their food, America considers Cait's words. Hands sliding into the pockets of her sweater, she lifts a brow, head tilting towards her left. "Science nerd, huh?" wonders the Utopian girl. "Don't know what kinds of schools they've got here, but I know someone who's probably got connections. You want some help, I can see if she can."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild smiles, "I'd be a fool to turn down help," she says, blushing a bit at the compliment to her looks. Again, she still thinks of herself as the frumpy, skinny nerd she used to be.

"I think a cape would probably suit you more than me. Probably because of my height, I'm kind of ridiculous already and a cape would only lengthen me more," she says. "But you'd look good in anything."

"I'm torn between genetics, physics and statistics. They all have their own appeal and I might do multiple degrees, although I'd love to find some syncretic way to make it all work together."

Miss America has posed:
    That compliment has America's brows lifting, just a bit. "Yeah?" she asks, before looking down at herself. "Thanks. Not really a cape type, though. This?" And here, she gestures at herself and that casual ensemble that decorates her, one long leg crossing over the other. "This works just fine."

    As Caitlin continues on, though, her head tilts, brows furrowing inward towards a mildly consternated knot. "Yeah, you're already losing me," she notes mildly, though far from any kind of real annoyance. "Don't worry too much about it. You like that kinda stuff, yeah? Bet you'll find a way. Seem smart enough for it to me."

    And as she makes that final observation, their food comes, plates set down on the table as America uncrosses her legs to lean in and start to work on that food.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin Fairchild shows no lack of appetite herself, eating heartily and contentedly. She double-dips her cheesesticks and puts plenty of ketchup on her fries. Conversation mostly ceases as the two girls fill the appetites they worked up fighting ancient Greek myths at the mall.

Finally, Caitlin sits back and nods, "I'll get it figured out eventually. And, in the meantime, I'll keep fighting the good fight," she smiles. "But it's always easier with someone else to help, y'know?"

Miss America has posed:
    "Huh. These are pretty damn good. Nice pick, ginger."

    It's America's lone words as she tastes one of those mozzarella sticks before the Utopian girl chows down. Far from ravenous, she's still worked up a good hunger -- and it's a little disconcerting just how fast that food actually disappears considering how calmly she goes about getting her fill of an ill-advised amount of carbs.

    It's only when she's more or less satisfied that she focuses on her companion's words, sipping on her soda as those chocolate-brown eyes lift back Caitlin's way. She watches with what might be an awkward silence, for a time -- before slipping a hand into the pocket of her sweater. Without a word, she pulls out a simple smartphone -- cheap, but looking very new, as if she's just had it replaced or perhaps something else -- before she turns it on with the swipe of her thumb.

    "My number," she offers, simply, as she looks back up. "You got your someone else, if you want. Call anytime you need help. Or whatever else." She slides the phone Caitlin's way. "Wouldn't mind watching your back. You're not half-bad to hang around, ginger."