Owner	Pose
Mary Jane Watson	"I wish you'd stop taking it for granted that I'm in something I want to get out of." The voice sounds bored, the woman with short black hair pushes her glasses up her nose as she reads through the script for the umpteenth time today. "What you are talking about is desire, just brutal desire!" MJ's own delivery has far more gusto, leaning in towards the line-reader pleadingly, "The name of that rattle-trap streetcar that bangs through the Quarter, up one old narrow street and down another!" She stands in the middle of the bare, upstairs room as the table of Off Broadway bigwigs stare at her over the tops of cooling coffee cups. Her brow furrows, her eyes search the room in exasperation as her fist bundles up in the open collar of her thin rose-colored cardigan. "Haven't you ever ridden on that streetcar?" asks the line-reader. The redhead frowns, turning away to the window and placing a hand delicately on the frame. She stares out, her face a mask of sadness: "It brought me here, where I'm not wanted and where I'm ashamed to be- what's that?" She narrows her eyes, peering out the window.
Caitlin Fairchild	There's a half-second of confusion. "Miss Watson, the line is--" The reader never gets to correct MJ with their prompt because the window-- and the wall-- both go crashing inwards a second later. Safety glass and masonry goes flying as a green-and-purple blur fetches up against a more resolute iron pillar holding up the building. "Cheese and /crackers/," it complains with a mutter, and rubble rolls aside to reveal a redhead in a single-piece gymnastics leotard. Her bare legs flex, more dirtied than injured by the impact, and she starts shedding debris as she tries to regain her footing. It's at that moment that a roar of noise fills the room with the sound of jet exhaust, and a hideous macabre figure flies in atop a stingray-shaped device of some purple metal. "Ah ah ah!" it screeches with an electronic voice, and grabs the first person it can lay claws on. The Green Goblin snatches MJ by the wrist and dangles her in midair with one hand; the other produces a fist-sized explosive, and he waggles it menacingly at the redhead. "Stay down, girl! Or the..." A leering mask looks at MJ. "...the /other/ redhead gets it!" The woman in green narrows her eyes, settling her weight over her toes in a low crouch. "Put her down, Goblin," Fairchild orders the criminal. "You're already on the hook for armed robbery. You add a kidnapping charge, you know you're facing life in prison," she advises him.
Mary Jane Watson	It's all a blur to Mary Jane. She throws herself to the ground as soon as it becomes apparent someone is going to come flying through it, and by sheer luck she manages to roll out of the way of a few falling bricks. She's covered in plaster dust, however, and she rises slowly to her feet just in time to be scooped up and suspended in the air by her wrist. "Wuh-huh?!" Not the most heroic of lines when faced with an honest-to-goodness super villain, but it's all she can manage. She brings up her other hand, attempting to yank herself free for a moment. The Goblin lets her slip just a fraction, and realising her feet are now suspended several storeys over 6th Street she makes the wise decision to stop struggling. As her head turns slowly to take in just who is the Goblin is yelling at, her eyes fall on Caitlin. She says nothing, only gritting her teeth and opening her eyes wide - pupils shifting from her, sideways to the Goblin, and then back to her pointedly. She lets out a half-disappointed, half-terrified gasp as her shoes slip from her feet and fall to the street below.
Caitlin Fairchild	The Goblin screeches a defiant, crazed laugh. "You really want to threaten me with /jail time/?" he demands of Fairchild. "Ridiculous woman! You don't have any idea who I am-- or what I've done!" He hefts Mary Jane, shaking her again. "I'll kill her if I have to! I'll kill everyone who gets in my way! And you can't possibly sto--" Goblin makes the mistake of looking away in his gloating, and his mask limits his peripheral vision just enough that he misses the fastball Caitlin hurls at his head. It takes the form of a ten-pound cinderblock flying fast enough to get Caitlin a spot on the Mets pitching bench if anyone was paying attention. It explodes against his mask and the Goblin flails backwards, arms pinwheeling. His claws loosen. The bomb tips from one hand; MJ slips from the other. "My mask!" he wails, clutching the ruined metal cage. The skimmer dips and pinwheels as he tries to fly off and recover his aplomb. Caitlin never stops moving and without a second's hesitation leaps out the window. The Goblin's bomb is swatted up and away, detonating a few hundred feet overhead. "Hang on!" Caitlin yells at MJ, and grabs the other woman. MJ's bundled up in Caitlin's arms like a child and she braces MJ's head against... well, politely, against the softest available surface. Caitlin twists violently in midair and puts her body between MJ and the ground. They smash hard into the asphalt, bounce once, twice, and then tumble to a stop. Caitlin's arms and legs form a rolling cage for MJ. Scuffed up, sure, but not broken on the ground below. They end up with MJ on top of Caitlin. "Ow," Caitlin wheezes, and looks down at the other redhead in her arms. "Uh... sorry. You okay?"
Mary Jane Watson	"Waitwaitwaitwai-!" MJ lets out a shout of alarm as the Goblin threatens to kill her, then reaches out a hand to try and claw for purchase when he lets her go. Finding none, she topples only to find herself swept up in Caitlin's arms. As they hit the asphalt and tumble, Mary Jane lets out a few grunts and shouts of pain. When everything stops moving, she blinks a few times and looks at her own hand first with a disbelieving look. Then she looks past it at the other redhead whom she's currently sitting astride. She just looks at her for the second, opening her mouth to speak but only a high-pitched 'huh' sound comes out. Then she realises where she is and she quickly scrambles to her feet, muttering 'sorrysorrysorry' before losing her footing just a tad and steadying herself against a parked car. She winces, testing her ankle a few times before limping awkwardly over to where her rescuer lays on the ground. "I'm - yeah, I'm okay, I think. I - wow! Are you? You just ... woah." Even as she speaks she glances skyward, shoulders hunched and eyes scanning for any sign of the masked, bomb-wielding maniac.
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin arches her back so she can look at the skyline behidn her head, then rolls onto her belly and pushes herself slowly up to her feet. A tear over her left shoulderblade in her uniform reveals smooth skin underneath, marred only by some dust and mud. "I'm fine," Caitlin tells MJ, though her focus is still on the skyline. She scowls heavily. "Rats. I should have chucked that brick at his darn flying jet thing," she remarks, more chiding herself than soliciting opinion. "I just saw that stupid fanged face and wanted to smack it with something." She sighs. "I don't think I can catch up with him now. At least the chemical shipment's safe." Caitlin turns to look at MJ, then balks. "Oh, gosh! I'm so sorry!" she says with dismay on her face. "I didn't even-- rude! I'm Caitlin, Caitlin Fairchild," the towering ginger says. With a vexed expression she starts trying to dust the worst of the detritus off MJ's nice clothing. "I'm so sorry I grabbed you like that, it was just instinct and I didn't think about the landing until I had you in hand. I didn't land on your ankle, did I?" she frets.
Mary Jane Watson	Mary Jane opens her mouth to speak as Caitlin starts dusting her off, blinking a few times before she reaches out to offer the same courtesy in a bewildered sort of way. "Wha-? Oh, no. No, you didn't. I think I twisted it when you came through the, uh, through the wall. And, hey, don't sweat the grabbing. If you hadn't grabbed, I'd be smooshed right about now. So you're a hero as far as I'm concerned. Guess I'd know, I'm meeting enough of them ... " She mutters the last part, glancing down at her one bare foot and then smiling up at Caitlin, "I'm Mary Jane. Watson. Mary Jane Watson. Nice to meet you, Caitlin. You - you don't have one of those super names like ... Strong ... Woman ... ?" She blinks a moment and then shakes her head in disbelief, "Good grief, that was lame, MJ. Strong Woman? You'd think you landed on your head."
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin titters at the nom de guerre she's assigned. "Gosh. No, that's... thank you, though, but it's just Fairchild. Caitlin, really," she amends. "I mean, I don't exactly 'blend' during my day job," she says, gesturing at herself. She's six-five at *least* in her low-heeled boots, not to mention the flaming red hair she's busy whipping back behind her head with a spare scrunchie around her wrist. "It's nice to meet you, Mary Jane," Caitlin tells the actress politely. She offers a handshake, then glances down. "Oh no! Your shoe!" She looks around with dismay. "Crapapples," she says, muttering the word like a curse. "I'm sorry," she apologizes with a crestfallen expression. "I don't see-- wait, there it is." Caitlin moves to retrieve the footwear. It'd dusted and offered back to MJ. "You don't wanna get hookworms or something. The city sidewalks are super gross."
Mary Jane Watson	"I suppose not," Mary Jane answers, looking up and then way up at Caitlin. Her mouth hangs slightly agape, awestruck at the sight of the super-woman who just saved her life. She takes the offered hand, hanging on maybe a second too long as she continues to stare. Eventually she shakes her head, coming back to her senses a little. It's been a big day. "Even the ones you know the names of have their made-up names, y'know? But hey, props to you for bucking the trend. Made-up name or not, you kicked that Goblin guy's ass." The shorter redhead greatly accepts her shoe when it's offered to her, immediately dropping onto her butt in the middle of the street to stick her foot in the air and pull it on once she's emptied it of any rubble and dust it might have accrued. She remains there a moment, smiling up at Caitlin as she ties the laces. "I love your outfit, by the way. You look like you could kick down a concrete wall! Which, I mean, you kind of did, so ... "
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin offers Mary Jane two hands for balance when she's ready to stand again. Her cheekbones pink at the compliment, and she ducks her head a little bashfully to look at her outfit. "Oh, gosh, you're being real nice," she says with a modest laugh. "I normally wear, y'know. Pants. But it's just too doggone hot in the summer to wear a full bodysuit," she clarifies. "I switch out to a sports top when it gets over ninety. It's about all I can do, 'specially with as humid as it gets here on the coast." That might help place Caitlin's subtle accent, something that suggests lots of cornfields and one-horse towns. "Er.." She fidgets under the weight of MJ's bright gaze, and twists to look up at the building overhead. "Listen, I know you probably need to get back to... work, or whatever, but I got thrown pretty hard into a structural beam. Really oughta wait until a city planner can come inspect it. Sorry, I really didn't mean to hit it," she adds hastily. "He kinda caught me off-guard while I was chasing him."
Mary Jane Watson	"I'm gonna be honest," MJ answers, looking back up and over her shoulder at the hole in the side of the building, "I think the auditions might be cancelled. Besides, do you think I'd even make a good Blanche DuBois? Ah' have always depended on the kindness of stran-juhs." Mary Jane furrows her brow a little bit for a moment, shrugging her shoulders and reverting back to her more natural East Coast accent, "I always thought you guys, you know, didn't feel the heat. I mean Superman jets around in that cape and bodysuit." Her eyes widen and she lifts a hand to cover her mouth, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That's, like, just comparing all of you like all the superheroes come from the same place." She quickly looks around, realises they're in the middle of the street, and hustles towards the sidewalk, "Can I buy you a bottle of water or something? I know it's pretty lame after you saved me from being blown up, but I can't grant wishes or anything ... ... ... yet."
Caitlin Fairchild	"W-water? Sure, I could... go for something to drink," Caitlin agrees. She looks around, shaking out the last of the dust from her hair. "And it's fine. Really," Caitlin tells Mary Jane, and smiles warmly. "I'm just a wimp about humidity. I feel all sticky and gross. Y'know? Flamethrowers are a dry heat, at least," she jokes. They start walking, and Caitlin makes an adjustment on her wristwatch. Her clothing twists and changes shape and color, and in a few strides it goes to being something that could pass for casual civilian attire: relatively modest khakhi shorts, a babydoll tee in pale rose red, and low-ankle Chucks. The belt around her waist becomes a little satchel that she promptly slings over one shoulder like a purse. "Auditions, huh? So you're, um, like an actress or something?" Caitlin guesses. "I-I'm sorry I don't know who Blanche... Dubuoy is," she apologizes. "I don't read a lot of screenplays or scripts, is she someone famous I ought to know about?"
Mary Jane Watson	"Nah," Mary Jane waves a hand at the talk of Blanche, "I mean, you could watch the movie? Do you like Marlon Brando? Stella! STELLA!" She shouts the last word up at the sky, fingers curled and hands outstretched before her. Not a lick of shame as people stare at her in passing, still limping but apparently completely forgetting about her brush with death moments before. "I'm not - well, I'd like to be an actress, but so far the universe isn't really on board with that idea. That's probably going to be my fifth failed audition this month. 'Stick to photographs, honey!' Crap like that." She shakes her head, shooing the thought away like a bad smell before pointing at Caitlin's wristwatch: "That clothes-changing things pretty wild. Where'd you get it?"
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin pinks at MJ's effusive actress outburst, and waves shy apology at someone goggling at the two redheads walking down the street. Mary Jane's question catches her off guard. "Huh?" It takes Caitlin a second to process the question. She looks at her watch, then laughs as realization sweeps over her. "Oh! Gosh. Sorry, I don't even think about it anymore. I, uh, I made it," she admits, shyly, and tucks red hair behind her ear again. "I mean, I designed it," she amends, hastily. "It's sort of a ... I guess you could call it a budget version of unstable molecules," she clarifies. "Y'know. That's what the Fantastic Four wear for uniforms. Lots of capes do. It's really durable but they cost a *fortune*, like... as much as a new car." "It's a smart fabric," she explains. "It holds a few different color and shape states. It helps speed up repair of the fabric if it gets damaged, and I can change clothes fast without ducking into a ... a bathroom, or something. It's not like there are convenient changing booths on every sidewalk corner," she points out. "It's more work than it looks, programming in the various outfits. You have to make 'em custom for every user. So it's not really a viable commercial product, at least, not yet," she amends. "Maybe someday." "I'm sorry your audition got ruined," she volunteers, switching topics again. "I don't know anyone famous or anything in Hollywood. What kind of acting do you like to do?"
Mary Jane Watson	"Whatever acting they'll hire me for!" MJ pays the goggling bystanders no mind, at least possessing that level of self-confidence an actor might need if she's still working on the technical skillset, "Don't be sorry, though. It's Off Broadway. Well, Off Off Broadway. I think my agent got it for me out of pity. She wants me to stick with modeling ... she thinks the whole musician, actor, model triple threat thing is a waste of time." As they near a food cart on the corner, Mary Jane leaves Caitlin's side to run up to it and quickly fish some money from her pocket. Two bottles of water in hand, she tosses one Caitlin's way and cracks the lid on her own. "So I can't buy one?" she asks about the wristwatch, "Wow, it seems like everywhere I look I'm meeting people who invent these amazing gadgets. Closest thing I've got to inventing something is a business plan I can't afford to, you know, do anything with."
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin uncaps the bottle and promptly guzzles it in about four swigs. Plastic crackles in her hand and she tosses the empty container in the recycling bin nearby. "Oof. I /was/ thirsty," she mutters. "The..." She looks at her watch, then at Mary Jane, and winces. "I'm sorry. I mean, I could, but it'd be real expensive. I've only got a couple besides the prototype in the lab. And you'd have to learn how to run the clothing engineering software, it's not too bad if you know how to use a computer-aided drafting program already." She shrugs. "So it's not a 'no', but... oh, gosh, I'm sorry to sound so negative," she apologizes. "It just wouldn't do you much good, you know? Not without a ton of backend support and the demand's just not out there for it, yet. Maybe-- maybe someday, though!" she offers helpfully.
Mary Jane Watson	"Hey, don't worry about it," Mary Janes smiles amiably, not at all down or disappointed, "It's a cool invention all the same. I'll just stick with leasing that storage locker for all my clothes. Can you believe the closet space in these tiny apartments? Oh, sure, I live in New York so obviously I only need three t-shirts and alternating pairs of jeans. That'll suit me down to the ground." She is slower with her own bottle of water, taking a sip of it and sighing. Auditioning and being almost murdered by the Green Goblin is thirsty work. "So, you just ... save people for a living?"
Caitlin Fairchild	"Huh? Oh, gosh, no, this is-- this is community service," Caitlin clarifies. She blinks. "I mean like, real community service! Not court mandated or anything," she amends hastily. "Like being... a-an EMT, or something," she clarifies. She unbinds her hair and shakes yet *more* dust from it, then with a scowl starts trying to tie it away from her face again. "I work for Stark Industries. I'm in the Skunkworks, advanced R&D-- I'm an engineer," she says, and for the first time boasts a little pride in her voice. "It's a great job, and Mr. Stark's very accomodating about my, er, extracurriculars. If I'm late 'cause I was stopping a bank robbery, I just gotta text the department head that I'm not coming in. It's... well, I'm real lucky to have such a great job," she admits.
Mary Jane Watson	"You're like the third person I've met who works for that guy," Mary Jane laughs, grinning from ear to ear, "He must employ half the state! Think he'd be interested in buying a movie studio and giving me a job? I'll work for low seven figures, no problem. Want to put in a good word for me?" She takes another sip of her water, stopping to lean against a wall and watch the world pass by, "Community service is good, though. If I was like you, I'd probably be out there ... I don't know, but I'd probably not be as good a person as you clearly are. You oughta be proud."
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin pinks at MJ's words. She's clearly being teased, but the redhead doesn't have the werewithal to respond adroitly to Mary Jane's casual, effortless banter. "Oh, sheesh, I couldn't--" Her mumbling rolls right under MJ's casual observation and she watches MJ with a surprised expression at the actress' confession. Heat suffuses her cheekbones at the casual praise, and she gives MJ a look of timid reproach at her implied self-chastisement. "I'm sure you're a really nice person," Caitlin says, instantly. "You bought me a water instead of telling me how much I suck for getting your clothes dirty," she points out. "That's good manners, isn't it?" "'sides, pride is one of the seven cardinal sins for a reason," she points out. "People who are too proud start thinking they're better than everyone else. Or that they got where they are without any help. Which isn't true. No woman's an island unto herself," Caitlin says, quoting a bedrock-firm maxim.
Mary Jane Watson	Mary Jane smiles at that. "I'm glad you've got your feet on the ground, Caitlin. And hey, you might've gotten my clothes dirty but I'd attribute that more to the homicidal maniac riding around on the jet-thing. As far as I'm concerned, you kept me from being blown up or breaking my neck in a fall. You earned your bottle of water, girl." She pushes away from the wall with a bump of her hip, brow furrowing and her lower lip catching between her teeth. When she speaks, she tilts her head to one side: "I think you're probably right about the pride thing. I suppose that's why all the big guys team up like they do, huh? Getting by and helping each other?" She waves a hand, "Eh, I don't know. I probably oughta run though. Goblin attack or not, Gwen would never let me hear the end of it if I was the one late for practice. Thinks she's got a monopoly on never being anywhere on time, that one."
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin shrugs at the question, but it's clearly rhetorical; she elects to smile at MJ instead as the actress works her own way through her conjecture. "Yeah, I've chewed up too much of your day as it is," Caitlin tells MJ. "Um, listen, if anyone gives you grief about missing the appointment, tell 'em I said the building needed to be evacauated. I mean, I'm sure it *was* evacuated anyway," she amends, thinking about it. "The cops are good at their job. But, uh... I don't know." "It was real swell to meet you, Mary Jane," she tells the redhead, and meanders a half-step away herself. "If you get any headaches or neck pain, go see a doctor, okay? Better to get checked out early. Hot bath and warm tea, that'll keep the muscles from cramping up," she adds. "I hope your... practice? with Gwen goes well."
Mary Jane Watson	"Thanks, Caitlin - you can call me MJ, by the way. All my friends do. And hey, guess what? I have a business card. Glory printed them because of course bands that can barely book a gig at a club for free beer need to have business cards." She fetches the small white rectangle from her pocket and holds it out for the tall redhead. On it, are the words 'The Mary Janes' and underneath that 'M J Watson' along with a phone number. At the bottom, it reads 'Clubs, Parties, Anything.' "If you ever need a band or something? I don't know. It feels rude to just say 'Thanks!' and let you march off to save the day again. I figure this way I can actually make it up to you sometime."