exsiliumlogs | We were born and raised in a summer haze

[When Jaime had been invited to Helena's apartment for lunch, the first thing that came to mind after the obvious surprise of learning her identity so quickly was the fact that one was typically expected to bring something. He'd considered it but after only managing to come up with the idea of bringing a bottle of wine (bad, bad idea, he's underage and doesn't even like the sips he stole from his mom's glass way back when), he arrived empty handed.

Not that Helena seems too concerned about it. He shuts the door behind him and toes off his worn sneakers before following her down the corridor.]

Thanks for inviting me.

[And then the smell hits him smack in the face, far different from tomato sauce from the bottle, meals carelessly thrown together when his mom's feet ache from standing all day at the hospital and his dad's just off a double shift at the garage.]

Whoa. It smells great in here.

[And it feels like ages since he's eaten anything close to what he considers to be a proper meal.]

( Typically, her identity would be more secretly guarded. She'd never enjoyed other people knowing it; keeping it from the Gotham families had been so essential, even if in the end she'd been found out. The secret never seem to have spread. Then there was Scarecrow picking apart her brain, but that had been different again, and Batman throwing her name in her face almost as soon as the Huntress arrived in Gotham. The Bats had always known, and maybe that was part of why they'd so stubbornly worked against her for so long. There was never an equal exchange in identities. Nightwing would know her name, but she'd not known his for a very long time. What bothered her more than people her name was the lack of respect, of equal exchange, as if her identity was less important than theirs. In part, they needed to know one another's identities because the group here was so small, that anything else would be impractical. And then, another part of her felt he should know because she knew his, and he hadn't really gotten a chance to keep her from seeing his face.

Never mind all that now, because she's got a bit of a smug grin at the compliment. It was nice to have people around who could appreciate good cooking. (It was nice to have people around at all, actually, as much as she hates other people in her personal space.) She turns at the end of the corridor to usher him into the kitchen, gesturing to the table. ) There's still a couple of things I need to do, but you can get started.

( On the pile of grilled bread rubbed down with garlic and a little olive oil, fresh tomatoes, roasted bell peppers, some chopped basil that had seen better days but had to do, for now. )

My roommates aren't around, right now. We can talk freely.

( Just as a heads up. )

[The smell didn't deceive him - even the pile of bread looks heavenly right about now. He misses the days of seemingly endless sunshine in El Paso, the fresh, clean air of the deserts, but a part of him misses all that produce even more.

He is absolutely ready to make a beeline for the food, but good manners win over his gluttony for the time being.]

That makes things easier. Anything I can do to help?

Not really, it's almost all done.

( She is just checking the oven, inspecting a couple more things and then smiling as she wipes her hands and ) I hope you're hungry. I couldn't decide what to make.

( It's a joke. Mostly. She just likes cooking, and there was no way it was ever going to be a single course. It's sweet that he offered to help, though; men helping in the kitchen was practically a novelty, and would never have happened at the Asano's, and she offers him a smile for the offer as she grabs a piece of bread, but goes to grab the bottle of wine. )

Do you drink?

I'm always hungry, [he says, enough of a playful lilt in his voice to make it clear that he's joking... though the way he downs a piece of bread tells a different story. It just so happens to be the fate of highly active teenagers to manage to inhale amazing amounts of food. Jaime hadn't thought anyone would be able to top Paco until he started going to Titans Tower for mealtimes.

He shakes his head at her offer.] No, thank you. So... is this what you do? When you're not, you know.

[Hey, he bets there are weirder things than chef-superheroes. He'll probably be the world's first dentist-superhero.]

( Ah, teenagers. Admittedly, she gave Stephanie a hard time about wine, but it was mostly teasing. Drinking age was just one of the many things that America was incredibly uptight about. She just smiles a little, grabbing some juice from the fridge, instead. )

This? No. ( She's both very pleased that he might think so, but also a little bit disappointed in what his history with Italian might be. This is why Americans shouldn't be allowed to cook Italian food, their expectations are far too low. Those bastardised sauces in bottles, for example. They were never going to be anywhere near her kitchen. ) I'm a teacher, for primary and secondary school.

( Her expression is gentle. ) By night I try to protect Gotham's citizens, by day I terrorize their children.

( No, she loves her kids, don't even. ) What about you? Are you still in school?

[He grins a little at the description, but that's also mildly terrifying. He doesn't even want to think about any of his teachers being superheroes in their down time because frankly, some of them are scary enough even when they're balding and all their muscle is slowly running to fat.]

Wow. That's some combination. You must never sleep.

[He helps himself to another piece of bread and swallows before answering her question. There's a hint of amusement in his tone, if only because he can only imagine what his family's reaction would be to him dropping out.] Oh, yeah. I'm in grade 11. I've only really had to skip for natural disasters and the really big things.

[...and that point at which he missed an entire year because he was lost in space, but hey, they more or less let him skip a grade. He's not about to complain about that.]

It's too bad I can't use it as an excuse for returning papers late.

( But early starts can be rough, not to mention turning up to school with bruises and trying not to limp. That always made for a good time; she doesn't want to think how many injuries she's aggravated that way.)

The kids are worth it. ( With a shrug, as she claims a piece of bread for themselves.) Gotham's hard on its kids. They need someone else looking out for them, sometimes.

( The way she and her brother never really had; in the families, everyone had an agenda.)

This is one way to get some time off - from school and work, I suppose.

( she can imagine some people thinking of it that way, to be honest, before the reality set in )

[Protecting kids in and out of the classroom is a nice sentiment, and one that really does appeal to Jaime. He doesn't know if it would be in him to do it - it's got to be exhausting, having to deal with these things day in and day out, night in and night out, and all he really wants is a steady job with a decent paycheck - but he's glad someone is.]

You know, I think I'd actually prefer school.

[Contrary to the dry way he says that, he does like school. After the hubbub about him being the Great Disappearing Dude wound down, things went back to normal and he went back to being utterly unremarkable according to his classmates and teachers alike. Not good, not bad, just normal.

It's nice.]

Some guy was talking about setting up some kinda school over the network. Wonder if that'll ever actually take off.

( A bit of a grin. ) Me too.

( She really, really misses her kids; her smile is gentle, maybe a little sad, before she knocks it away. )

I've heard about a few efforts. ( She sounds dubious. ) It takes a lot of work to run a school, and without any consistency in the teaching staff and administration, it'd be hard to keep the education consistent and relevant.

( It's not like she's been thinking about this, or anything. ) Besides, trying to enforce attendance in an anarchic society? It'd be worse than Gotham.

( Don't get her wrong. She loves Gotham - but it is Gotham. She's feels like she's more invested in raising some of her kids than their parents are. ) I'm thinking of starting some research projects and encouraging some of the younger kids to get involved.

( But, she hasn't contacted the Initiative yet, with so much going on. Training and thinking and cooking too much seem to have taken over her life. )

True. I hear we don't even remember anything from this place if we get sent home anyway.

[Which is a nice way of saying that he certainly wouldn't attend. He may like school all right back home, but he has no intention of trying for anything here, not unless it actually counts back home. School is either a place to hang out with his friends or to get that much closer to getting into college - if neither option is viable here, he's not interested.

His time's better spent on training, anyway. He has a feeling that this new supers-team he signed himself up for is going to take a big chunk out of his time.

The mention of Gotham, however, elicits a short huff of laughter out of him.] I didn't know you were from Gotham. I'm starting to think everyone from our world except for me is from there.

Mmm. ( The look she casts him is faintly judging, although it cracks into a grin. ) You can always help me with a research idea I have, if you miss school so much.

( Don't troll the poor boy, Helena.

And, she nods;)
Gotham, Sicily, Gotham again. I think I'm going to be spending a fair bit of time in Metropolis. It's the location of our new HQ.

( With a bit of a grin, leaning back in her chair. ) Gotham is becoming a bit infamous around the city. Although, you know, Supergirl is here. She's based in Metropolis.

( And she's definitely not from Gotham, what with being from another planet, and all that. But she can empathise, she knows what it feels like to feel-- excluded? Different from your peers, at least, even if he hasn't made any kind of suggestion of the kind. )

Do you miss home?

( Who doesn't, really? And there goes a timer, so she is going to go and get THE THING. "THE THINGS" is the most epic slab of lasagne ever seen, by the way. )

[He raises his hands in defense]

Hey, I don't think I said miss. Missing it's a totally different story.

[He's full of it, because if she did ask for help, it wouldn't cross his mind to actually say no. The mention of Supergirl is acknowledged with a short nod, because they did speak once - however briefly - and he should probably remember that Supers of all people aren't located in Gotham.

He is going to answer her next question, but first he's going to gawk openly at that lasagna because A: exactly how much does she think he can eat and B: that is possibly the best smelling thing he's encountered since he's gotten here. He may have just been stuffing his face with bread, but he can make room.]

Of course I miss home. Don't you? This wasn't really what I expected my first time moving out to be like.

[He flashes a grin at her, bringing some levity to the very real fact that he misses it horribly. He's never been away from home this long before in his life, and even when he stays over at the Titans Tower, he knows his family's just a phone call away. He tries to at least text them before he does anything too dangerous. It's not worth it not to.

Even though he's been told that no time passes at home, there's a small, lingering fear that it is, and he's left his friends and family high and dry again. He has more faith in his family than to say it would destroy them, but it wouldn't be easy. He doesn't indulge in brooding often enough to let his mind linger on it for too long - what would be the point? - but it's an unsettling thought nonetheless.]

I know we're supposed to be grabbed here at random, but it'd be good if we at least got a 24-hour notice or something.

Edited 2013-07-17 18:22 (UTC)

( Touche, her grin suggests, laughing to herself.

His question, though, is a difficult one. She doesn't know. )

I miss my students and some of my colleagues.
( Dinah, Barbara, Zinda. They were the closest things to friends she had, thought she still isn't sure if they really are friends, or some painful amalgam of friend and family and coworker and people-who-drive-you-insane. (Maybe that just comes under each of the previous titles, she's not sure how all this works, exactly.) ) Gotham and I have a complicated relationship. It's part of me, and I'm part of its history, in my own way.

( Her drops, setting down the lasagne and grabbing a couple of plates, slicing up some alarmingly huge pieces of lasagne. ) A lot of people are part of Gotham.

( The Huntress is only a small part, one most people would gladly forget. ) Okay. How hungry are you?

( because there is also salad. Don't think there will ever be an escape from salad. )

Edited 2013-07-18 15:00 (UTC)

[Helena's answer doesn't sound so hot on the friends and family front, which is something that Jaime does, in fact, pick up on.

It's easier to address the lasagna bit first, and the size of that slice first.]

That's plenty. Thanks. You've got enough here to feed an army. [Then again...] Or maybe four superpeople.

[He accepts a slice with a smile and sets it down lightly on the table.] People talk about Gotham like that. Like it's alive. [They don't do that for El Paso. El Paso's all sorts of things, backyard barbecues and family reunions and days of endless sunshine mixed up in gangs and drugs and not necessarily legal strays quietly taken underneath local wings, but it's not personified.]

How about Sicily?

Same thing, aren't they?

( A bit of a smile, though it turns more thoughtful with his observation about Gotham. ) We do, don't we?

( She's not really sure what to say about it. Maybe because Gotham is so strange and so unique, and becomes such a force in your life. Once it invades your life, there's no real way to get its hooks out of you.

That's not really something to discuss over lunch. )

This is Sicilian lasagne. ( Egg, ham, peas, mince. Sicilian lasagne is the most intense and delicious of lasagne.
It's a half-hearted attempt as a mislead. A beat, and she looks back at him, reclaiming her seat as she grabs the salad to pass over to him. )

How much do you know about the mafia, Jaime? ( Just. You know. Casually. He should probably know about the thing. )

[Okay, this? This is not where Jaime had expected this conversation to go. He cuts through a bit of the slice he's been served with his fork and says,] Not much.

[Which is absolutely true. He hears about it on the news, sometimes, sees the big men with salt and pepper hair and fat cigars clenched between pearly white teeth in movies and TV, but that's about it. He eats a mouthful of lasagna, waits for her to elaborate on exactly why she's asked this question - though at this rate, he can guess.]

My full name is Helena Rosa Bertinelli.

( The pause is weighted, but she's enjoying loading up her plate with salad, before digging in. ) The Bertinellis were the head of the Gotham families. When my family were taken out, I was sent to Sicily.

( It's easier to talk about this, these days, if it still makes her throat burn, stomach twist. )

Sicily is beautiful, Jaime, but it's not a happy place.

( Not for her, not for anyone. )

[As Helena says the name, a flash of recognition . He's too young for it to be anything beyond something that everyone knows, just a line in the history books.

Criminals kill each other. It happens. It's not good, but it's not horrible either. Jaime can't say that he'd ever really thought about the people caught in the crossfire.

He doesn't think he'll make that mistake again. Between Stephanie and Helena, he's starting to get the picture: vigilantes do not have happy lives. There's only one proper response to the news of someone's family dying, criminal or not.]

I'm sorry.

( Not many people have ever expressed their condolences. She doesn't talk about her parents or her family or any of what followed with Dinah or Barbara; it seems like it would start too many fights when both their fathers served in the Gotham City Police Department and they had been her natural enemy since birth. The police were dangerous, they were enemies, they'd hurt her family and her kin. If you spoke to the police, you were a snitch, you were less than human. The police had been so jubilant when her family were wiped out; she didn't know how to reconcile that with the images of beloved family that Dinah and Barbara honoured above all else.

So she didn't talk about her family, about watching her mother bleed out, about how her brother had spoken about running away to Los Angeles to join a baseball team. She didn't talk about how she'd told her father she'd prayed he were dead not minutes before he was shot, or that he'd said she'd be better suited to running the mob than her brother.

She didn't receive apologies or condolences that were sincere and meant without barbs or double edges, or the desire to hold a place with the last of the once-great Bertinellis. The only other to apologise had been a stranger, Max Briest, and now a boy who wasn't alive when her family were taken from her.

For a moment she stares at him, unsure what to say, before she shakes her head and simply piles more lasagne - never mind that he's barely started that piece- onto his plate. ) My mother wouldn't have thought this was appropriate conversation to throw at a guest. Don't worry about it, Jaime.

( She'd also say that Helena Rosa should have asked him to say grace, but she can't handle that right now. )

[He watches her pile more food on his plate with some measure of confusion, but it has become rapidly obvious that Helena has a thing about food, and a lot of it.

If nothing else, he appreciates the fact that she's being so transparent about all this. It's something that's important to know, in some intangible way, even if it has no bearing on what Helena does now. Even if Helena's family was made up of some seriously bad people, and even if she may have been part of some seriously bad stuff, she's making it her business to help people now. Simple as that.]

I think what we do kind of moves us beyond the whole appropriate thing, [he says first, because their occupation is one composed of complete lunatics who do appropriate things like go flying in miniskirts. Then:] But, um... thank you. For telling me.

[And not only about her family.]

Don't mention it.

( It feels like half the capes know her identity and her past, anyway, it had been circled around the Batcave in folders and files when they tore her history apart for the sake of investigation. Sure, they had their reasons; it didn't make the fact that she'd never been one of their own even after No Man's Land any less painful. She sounds it a little too bluntly, before she takes a bite of her lasagne and reaches for some of the bread. )

You seem like a good guy. ( Reminds her of Robin, just a little, and Robin had always been good to her when they worked together. Smart, energetic, a solid investigator - even if he did have a tendency to rush in recklessly to save the ladies. ) It's better you find out this way, if we're going to work together. This is a strange city

[The compliment is acknowledged with a nod and a smile - he appreciates it, even if they don't know each other too well yet. He pauses to make a good dent in the veritable mountain of food, but eventually says,]

You can say that again. I'd return the favour, but there's not much to know about me. [That in particular is said with a hint of good humour to him, if not only because he's aware that he's something of an anomaly in this community.

Thank god.] Oh, um. Except for that the bugsuit is actually a part of the AI in my spine? So if I look like I'm talking to myself while we're out there, I'm not actually crazy. Or on drugs.

[He's gotten both accusations. He's getting used to it.]

( A little smile plays at the corners of her mouth. ) That's better.

( Better that he isn't burdened down with stories and histories, the way some of them are. She wonders how they bare themselves up under the weight of it, sometimes. For all that she despises Batman, she wonders how he manages to stand at all - maybe that's why he's so cold to the people that need him the most, because it's the only way he's able to keep standing. That doesn't make it acceptable, or forgivable, but they all need to survive somehow. He shouldn't survive at the expense of the people around him, though. That was a simple fact.

Of course, her eyebrows shoot up a little bit with that titbit of information. )

Right. ( Huh. She's going to mull that over with a bit of wine, don't mind her. ) The AI that made your suit lock up?

( She could have said "that made your suit disappear" but she doesn't feel like being a GIANT JERK. )

That's the one.

[He's relieved that she didn't mention that particularly embarrassing moment just as they're getting comfortable with each other. There are some things that absolutely kill any sort of amicable mood they've been building, and one of those things is remember when you were inadvertently naked in front of me?.

He still doesn't know how to adequately explain the Scarab to others without it sounding horribly creepy. There's always this presence in the back of his mind that has the capacity to control everything from his hormones to his body, but he doesn't really mind these days. There's only so many ways you can describe becoming friends with the sentient presence at the back of your mind, however, so he doesn't typically bother.]

The Scarab's always on whether I've got the suit on or not.

( Not going to lie, that does sound a bit alarming.

Maybe it'd be good to start from the beginning, with this one; she clears her throat, setting her fork down for a second as she wonders what exactly it being on means. )

How'd you wind up with that thing, anyway? Lucky dip?

Sort of.

[There isn't really a nice way of putting it, honestly. Just because he's ceased to be creeped out by the Scarab doesn't mean everyone else isn't. He drags his fork across his plate, then says,] I found the Scarab and thought it was, I dunno, some sort of artifact or sculpture or something, so I took it home.

And then it burrowed into my spine. [Even though one hand is still holding onto his fork, he still manages to splay the fingers of both of his hands in a facsimile of jazz hands.] Ta-daaa, instant powers.

( A sculpture? A sculpture, Jaime. She throws her hands in the air, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands and massage her temples. Had he learned nothing from science fiction or the rules of their world? Never take home innocent seeming artifacts that you happen to stumble upon, that had to be an early rule.

On the other hand, he's not from Gotham. Maybe everything is a little warmer and fuzzier outside of Gotham. )

It burrowed into your spine?

( Kudos to them for avoiding nudity, but spine burrowing is also not really dinner table conversation. Jesus. )

Burrowed?

( Burrowed! No! That's not okay! She's going to need some more wine, but probably after Jaime has left. )

Oh my God.

It's not as bad as it sounds, [Jaime hastens to add, holding his hands in the air a little defensively.] Maybe burrow's the wrong word, it's more like...

[Like it ratcheted itself along his vertebrae? That it's currently clinging on and can - and has - been taken off by a set of very sharp and knowledgeable claws?]

...you know, it doesn't really matter. It waited until I was sleeping, so I didn't feel a thing anyway. Which was. Considerate?

Logical. The Reach did not wish for their host bodies to come to any harm.

[To Jaime's credit, he's at least very quiet about it when he mutters,] Shut up, you're not helping.

Edited 2013-07-29 06:12 (UTC)

( Okay, okay. He looks uncomfortable, and the plan here was to make sure the boy ate something decent. Knowing more was good, but sometimes it was worth backing off, when he's so eager to defend it.

Burrowing, though. Seriously, that's creepy. Admittedly getting his with Scarecrow's methods and all the rest of Gotham life hasn't really made her a fan, but anything involving your body and a lack of permission doesn't really fly by her. She makes a face, and just claims some more garlic bread. Carbohydrates will soothe away the pain. )

Really considerate.

( And then a sidelong glance. ) Does it do that when you're at school?

( Because damn. ) Just so we're clear, if that thing is ever not attached to you, I'm having words with it.

( Is that a joke? Or is she serious? No, she's trying to make it a joke. But she is totally serious, though. )

Talk to me, you mean? If it's got something to say, then yeah. Which it usually does.

[Unless it has something to do with helping him on a test, in which case the Scarab often remains conspicuously silent. Which is just tragic, because having a web browser more or less plugged into his spine ought to be good for something.

He pauses to cram a good hunk of lasagna into his mouth, because it's truly tragic to ignore all of this amazing food in lieu of talking about important things, honestly.]

You're having words with the Scarab now, anyway. You just can't hear what it says unless it's, uh. Attached.

[Okay, moving away from the creepy spine-burrowing territory now. He helps himself to some of the salad on the table entirely of his own volition, because believe it or not, even a teenaged body craves some vegetables on occasion.]

See, this is when my mom would be yelling at me about dinner conversation. We don't really do bugsuit talk at the kitchen table.

Sounds like a headache.

( His words prompt her to, very briefly, wander what it would be like to have something sentient attached to her that she didn't really have control of - it didn't seem that way, after what she saw of Jaime in action during the bombings. It goes against the grain, makes her stomach churn. No, she's happy to be the Huntress rather than something more. If something happened, she knew it was on her, for better or worse. )

Your parents know?

( Curiouser and curiouser. )

Yup. Even if I didn't tell them, I'd give my mom maybe less than a week to figure it out.

[For all that it's dispensed as a joke, Jaime's being completely serious. It's not that he sucks at keeping a secret identity - okay, so he really does sucks at the secret identity thing - but his mom just so happens to be a very protective force of nature. If she didn't find out on her own, she'd guilt him into it. Mom guilt is like magic.]

They're cool with it.

Mothers are like that.

( A bit of a smile, extremely amused. ) I like the sound of your mom.

( it's a difficult thing. After so long, talking to others about their parents is easier than thinking about hers. She knows for a fact, though, that Franco Bertinelli would have died before letting his daughter go on as a vigilante, that her targeting of the families that he was the leader of would not have been remotely acceptable. And her mother, she doesn't know; Maria Bertinelli had lived her life in fear, especially for her children. She wonders, sometimes, what her life would have been if her parents had lived; if she would have been married off to Tony Angelo or some other mobster's son, political alliances in the same way her mother had been married to the Bertinellis. She wonders if her brother would have made it out, if her father really would have ever thought her anything more than just a daughter, if she would have wound up a leader of the families rather than their destruction.

She's fairly sure she'd never have been able to become a teacher, at any rate, and she sips her wine. )

I'm impressed. ( That he managed to get them to be cool with it. And a little concerned that they're cool with it, but maybe it's more complicated than that. Jaime does seem exceptionally laid back, himself. Less damaged than so many of them, hopefully less isolated. ) Do they understand all the implications of what we do?

( The risks, the fall out. )

Yeah. They do. [If they didn't before, Jaime can safely say they do now, after everything that's happened with the Reach. For all of Jaime's false reassurances, they had all known there was a good possibility that they were saying good bye for the last time. And yeah, that had been hard and just about everyone cried - including himself - when he gave them all a hug and went on his way, but it's preferable to them not knowing and just having another empty space in their heart they don't know what to do with because their only son didn't trust them enough to tell them. Jaime knows that other people don't tell their families to protect them, but as far as he's concerned, his family's done nothing to deserve that kind of hurt.]

Of course they worry. But they get it. I mean, even if I didn't ask for the powers, I've got them now. I can either do nothing when I know I can help people, or I can go out there and do it.

[It's simple, laid out like that. He knows he can die doing it, just like Ted died, but he's read Ted's notes and he thinks the guy was onto something. Once you choose this, it's not about you anymore. Jaime doesn't want to die. He loves life, and his family, and his friends, and yeah, he loves the whole hero business now too, but it's about everybody's lives.

He would have died if Booster hadn't come in and saved him at the last minute with the Reach, but he still knows it would have been worth it. He hopes his family would have seen it the same way.]

( She's glad she ran into this kid. Or, crashed into, if you want to be technical. He's what superheroes probably should be, before ego and the mess of your own head gets involved. Jaime just seemed genuinely good. The world needs more vigilantes like him; the world should protect people like him from being so thoroughly wrecked as vigilantes inevitably become.

A little smile, a sip of wine, and she's pushing away her plate for a moment. )

I hope you get back to them soon.

( He could do a lot of good here, but he shouldn't be separated from his family. That is far too painful a thing. )

I hope we all get home soon. Just so long as they don't end up here.

[He says it lightly, but that's mostly because he's discussed this with a few other people already - he wouldn't feel comfortable with just going home and giving up, even if he had the option to. To go and live in ignorant peace, going to school and fooling around with his friends when an entire world here can be destroyed is tempting, sure, but it's not the right thing to do.

They'll have to win, eventually, and then they'll go home.]

Yeah.

( With time being so messed up and with the things she's heard, his comment makes her briefly - very briefly - what it would be like if her parents turned up here. The dead do arrive, sometimes, apparently.

Her only conclusion is that it would be simultaneously wonderful and horrific, before she brushes the thought away, standing to retrieve the next course. It's not as lavish as she'd go for a big event, but Jaime is still a guest and one who she is concerned lives entirely on food rescued from cardboard boxes and foil wrappers, so she's gotten a little enthusiastic.

One magical timeskip and pile of food later, she's dwelling on less dark things and grinning a little. ) Ever had cannoli?

( Yes. There is more food. She doesn't even care if she's fulfilling a stereotype, it's fun to indulge stress-relief cooking and the urge for hospitality once in a while. )

Oh my god, there's more. Are you sure you weren't expecting like five more of me?

[That is the sort of self deprecating statement that Jaime's heard from girls at school before after eating about a quarter of what he tends to inhale, but unlike them, Jaime did justice to his status as a teenage superhero. He's no metahuman, but give him a good meal and he sure can keep up.]

I might've had them. Aren't they, like... pasta tubes?

I was bored.

( So flippant. Whatever, Jaime. )

That's cannelloni, usually. ( Whoa there Helena, that was even more Italian than usual. She keeps explaining as she wanders to the cupboard, grabbing some powdered sugar and a sieve, and then to the fridge.) They come from the same root word, though. "Canna" in Latin means "reed." Cannelloni is a big reed, cannoli is a regular reed, I guess. And then there's manicotti, which are sort of similar.

( "Sort of similar." She would say they are rather different, but Americans. No, instead she is setting a plate down on the counter and dusting whatever is one it with the sugar, before bringing over those things that turn out to be some delicious Sicilian pastry tubes filled with ricotta. ) Now, these are cannoli siciliani.

( And there is a pile of them. They aren't huge, but there are a lot. )

Edited 2013-08-15 13:00 (UTC)

[Any protestation that he can't eat another bite dies on his lips once he sees something he can't identify, but are covered with sugar, which means they're great in his books.]

Uh huh, [he says, a little absent during the language lesson though the Scarab is an annoyance in the back of his head, rumbling its way through extremely clinical translations.

Probably to annoy him, but he can't possibly be annoyed in the face of pastries. He helps himself to one and takes a bite.]

Okay, it's settled. You're my favourite. Don't tell anyone.

The way to the teenagers heart is food. Stop the presses.

( So, so dry. She is, however, undeniably pleased, and she helps herself to a couple of them, too. )

So, you're all right with coming over here sometimes instead of living off stuff in packets?

The way to the teenager's heart is good food, [Jaime cheerfully corrects her, because believe it or not, he knows the difference.

He just doesn't care most of the time, so yeah, the way to his heart totally includes crappy food. He looks undeniably pleased at Helena's offer, however.]

Oh, totally. I can help next time? I didn't know how serious you were about cooking.

[Jaime, don't offer. Helena, don't let him into your kitchen.]

Flattery will get you everywhere.

( Good work, kiddo. With a little shrug, ) If you want. I'm thinking about setting up an entry exam, though.

( Batgirl cannot ravioli, Jaime. She just cannot ravioli and Helena felt vaguely insulted.

No, okay she wasn't that bad, and the effort was cute, but Helena can still make fun of her forever. )

We were born and raised in a summer haze

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one day i will write a tag for her that isn't FEEEELIINNNGGGSS

sob helena ;; IT'S OK jaime's complete lack of FEEELIIIINGS will make up for it

such a sweet summer child

it's okay, he'll learn winter soon enough :')

song of ice and fire/dc au, let's get on it

the only difference is that all the dead people will start coming back to life

you should have heard my gleeful cackle

bahah EXCELLENT. obviously the asoiaf cast and the dc cast need to get together now

FLAWLESS PLAN

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this is the boy who ended up leaving the titans before a mission to go hug his mom

that is adorable he is her favourite forever

it didn't turn out so hot for him but it's adorable anyway :')

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helena 8(

one day she will just give jaime a hug

good, he gives fantastic hugs 8)

i am imagining that being really cute, help me

because it is HUGS FOR EVERYONE

EVERYONE? THAT'S A LOT OF HUGS MAN

HE CAN HANDLE THOSE, HELENA HANDLES THE DROP KICKS

WHAT A GOOD TEAM

good cop bad cop that's the way to do it

terrifying cop and adorable cop, I think

like being cornered by a puppy and a dinosaur

that is so perfect a summary of them idek how to cope

and the best part is the puppy has a nuclear arsenal at his disposal :')

in this film the role of Jaime will be played by Dug

and Helena can probably just play herself as a t-rex 8)

accurate

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