❝ But Sicilians don't go to therapy and figure that out.

[crossbearing]

Date & Time: August! (maybe some September later idk)
Location: every location
Characters: Helena, Renee, Barbara, Dinah, Jaime, Steph and I swear to God she will go be Helena at non-DC people, too. (closed-ish, let me know if you'd like to do something with her and I can toss a prompt in here!)
Summary: Helena Doing Things At Different Times.
Warnings: Comics, let's be real. Possible rage, angst, violence and then even more feelings or reference to any of these things.

( HAHA no the starters are in the comments, I just wanted to do cut text for fun. Feel free to go with prose or action spam and I'll match it! )

Comments

i have no idea how to respond to that tbh

[crossbearing]

( A little bow of her head, in a you're too kind sort of way. Seriously though, he is too kind.
There are other responses she could make, some banter, but she stops at that question about an electric stove and oven.

Sir. She looks so affronted by that question. )

We might be living in a post-apocalyptic world, but I won't be reduced to having an electric stove in my kitchen.

( Sir. ) It's gas. At least I figured if there's a bombing and the electricity is screwed up or something else goes wrong so we lose power, we won't be without a cooker.

( It's part of why she is so pleased with herself for getting this thing. )

it's not something you respond to, it's an experience

[khajidont]

[Is she joking? Is she serious? When will he be able to tell?]

Uh... there's a difference? They both heat stuff up.

[Of course, it being gas brings up a few other questions. He nods his head at Helena, a little awkwardly and a little apologetically as he speaks to the Scarab. He won't deny that it's nice for the Scarab to speak in his head while he's on duty, but it feels a little rude to talk to yourself in the middle of a conversation. With all of the Scarab's powers, one would think it would be able to project its voice. It's a little awkward talking to it with someone else in the room without anything to fix his gaze on. It's not as if he's going to start talking to his hand.]

Sorry. One sec. You know how to work gas instead of electricity? I feel like the Reach wasn't so big on that - yeah, okay, okay. [He looks back at Helena.] Should be fine. Let's do this.

[Whammo presto, how does someone hook up an oven? Well, the Scarab knows. That's good enough.]

in that case I shall treasure it always

[crossbearing]

That's like asking if there's a difference between a lamborghini and it-- ( Wait, she throws him a look. ) You do know lamborghinis, right?

( Teasing, mostly. She's pretty sure anyone would know a lamborghini is hardly your run of the mill car. And so what if she's being excessive with the comparison? It's just how she do.

And a little grin, a wave of her hand as he talks to the Scarab, don't worry about it. )

All right. How about you take care of the oven, and I'll fix a couple more of these cabinets. ( So she doesn't get in the way. Still, she's crouching down at a cabinet near by. ) Do you two need access to the tool kit or do you have it covered?

( With the weird... beetleness. )

wonderful

[khajidont]

Did you just compare an oven to a lamborghini? Seriously?

[Because seriously, that's terrible. That's like a crime against sweet cars.]

Pretty sure we can handle it as-is.

[As long as she doesn't mind seeing his hands morph into weird shapes in her peripheral vision, which he assumes she doesn't.]

[crossbearing]

Hey. ( A look. ) What are you saying about my cooking?

( Tread cautiously, sir. She doesn't have her car here, so all her stress relief has to go into her motorcycle, vigilante violence, and cooking. The oven is super important, okay. )

All right. ( Excuse her as she destroys a rotten shelf and grabs the wood to put a new one in. Violence and renovation, a life. )

[khajidont]

Hey, we're talking appliances, not cooking. And cars.

[Which he's never going to learn to drive here, he thinks a little mournfully. Sure, he can fly, but that's not the same.

(One of these days, he's going to badger Peacemaker into letting him drive his bike. One of these days.)

That aside, he allows the black armour to rise out of his fingers, and his fingertips on his right hand soon morph into the tools he needs. He's comfortable sprawled poking around in the oven, quietly murmuring to himself every now and again for clarification. It's peaceful, the hacking of rotten wood aside.]