10254/Hella Good Time

Hella Good Time
Date of Scene:	23 February 2022
Location:	Queen Mansion
Synopsis:	Oliver gives Hella a mansion tour and they talk about love and life.
Cast of Characters:	Oliver Queen, Hella Rokkurdisardottir

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Oliver Queen has posed:
After an enjoyable dinner with Ted Kord and Joan Wright as well, Oliver managed to persuade Hella to return with him to his mansion, offering her a ride in his hybrid sports car. Not that it had much of a thrill to offer someone who could fly, but it did have satellite radio, which isn't nothing.

He parked his car in a garage with eight other cars and six motorcycles. This, of course, did not account for the 'secret' vehicles parked in an entirely different garage hidden on the property. He leads her up the marble stairs and into the atrium, Queen Manor being large enough to house dozens of people comfortably, luxury and opulence more or less incarnate.

Once upon a time, Oliver Queen felt quite at home in this place, but now he isn't quite as thrilled with the displays of grandeur. He even seems kind of sheepish as he shows some of the art treasures of the place, "My great-great grandfather had that commissioned sometime in the 19th century, late. I guess it's a famous artist, I don't know. I think he looks like he just ate a sour persimmon. Which, hell, maybe he did. I bet fruit sucked in the 19th century."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella didn't put up too much of a fight when Oliver invited her over. She probably should've fought a little harder to go on her own way and he on his, but... Hella has trouble turning down men who challenge her, in some form or another. At least, turning down the chance to be in their company, at any rate! So, she's chatty and bright as she rides along with him to the Queen Mansion. She's vocally appreciative of how nice his car looks and applauding the fact that it is, at the very least, a hybrid and, therefore, has less of a carbon footprint. "Someone should make fully electric sports cars and make them look so cool that even oil companies will want them," she comments, idly. "Bastards."

    Hella doesn't mention that her visor also gets satellite radio, because that'd take the wind out of Oliver's sails in a way that isn't fun or exciting.

    She looks suitably impressed at all of the vehicles parked in the garage as she steps out of the car. "You have death wish -- one, two, three, four, five, six -- six times over, unh?" she asks with a half grin. "Firefighter, I see some terrible things I cannot unsee. Some are motorcycle accidents," she shakes her head and moves on.

    Once inside, Hella exhales a sound of wonder. "Is like MUSEUM," she says, a little too loudly. It echoes. Echoes. She looks at Ollie with a little toss of her head, as if to say, 'can't believe you live here.' She looks at the portrait with interest, examining the technique and skill of the painter. "Is like witchcraft, what artists can do, making art. Not normal," she says in an appreciative voice. "Maybe he has stick up booty," she says with a grin, an alternate theory about the sour expression on the subject's face. "Or, bad case of hemorrhoids? Maybe from sucky 19th century fruit." She looks unashamed of her highly inappropriate jokes about a man who died a long, long time ago.

    "How you live here and feel cozy? Temperature usually no matter for me, but even I feel cold here. No...life," she says, not even contemplating whether or not it's insulting.

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen nods about the motorcycles, "I know they're dangerous, but that's part of the fun of them. I've done dangerous things all my life. When I was a young man, I did them stupidly and recklessly. I nearly did die, more times than I can count. Now? Now I have the skills to ride that line while remaining in control. I'm not in that much danger on a motorcycle because I'm an expert rider who can handle the unexpected. Maybe I'll let you ride with me sometime and I'll show you. And if I make a fool out of myself and almost crash, at least I'll have someone there to rescue me."

He hangs his thumbs on the pockets of his jeans and winces at the description of his ancestor, "I really hope he wasn't doing weird butt stuff. That's the last kind of equipment I want to find in the antique attic," he says.

"As for the place, I...I grew up here. I ran up and down these halls. I played tennis, I rode horses. I learned tae kwan do in the workout room. I chased my sister. We'd have huge Christmas eves and big Thanksgiving dinners. It wasn't until a lot later, as an adult, that I realized that what made those things special were my parents, not the place. Now they're not here anymore. I try my best, but I don't seem to have quite the same magic with the place they did. Maybe because it speaks a lot about their lives and not much about mine," he says. "But my sister, Thea, would probably kill me if I changed too much. Especially if I changed it to my terrible taste."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella laughs as he basically invites her to ride with him, sometime, and has the cheek to brag about how, if he screwed the pooch (proverbially speaking), she'd be there to rescue him! "You have real nerve," she says, and it's not entirely an admonishment. "Is true I would save you, though. I will always save anyone, if I can," she says this earnestly, with conviction.

    Her laugh at the expression and the phrase 'weird butt stuff' is bright and sparkling, her dimples popping into view and her pale blue eyes shimmering a bit. It's just too good not to enjoy the joke, however juvenile! "If you do, please make sure to have someone record event for me, please. I would pay good money to see your face," she says, still trying to catch her breath and stop laughing. "Oh, my god, that is so funny," she giggle-sighs, opening her mouth wide to stretch her jaw muscles.

    Hella's mood sobers noticeably as Ollie speaks about his childhood in this giant museum-like mansion. Especially when he mentions having lost his parents. She didn't talk much about her parents, in the plural sense, when she babbled on about her own childhood. Just Mama. Mama this, Mama that. Hella's only ever truly known one of her parents, but the idea of losing Mama is just unthinkable. She puts a hand on Ollie's shoulder and says softly, "I'm sorry for your loss. No words can really help, but feeling is there. My heart goes out to you, your sisters. Thea.. I have not met. But, Emiko seems kind."

    Then, she grins, curious. "What is your terrible taste? What would your ideal living space look like?"

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen pats the hand on his shoulder, "Thanks. It's been a couple of years now...longer than that for Dad...but it always feels kind of strange. Especially since we learned more about them after they died than we knew when they were living. My other sister, Emiko, for example. We have different mothers, if you hadn't guessed. Dad had hidden her away from us, we didn't know she existed until after he was gone," he says. "He did so many things that I still don't understand. I guess I didn't really know him, except in the way that a child knows their father. And that's not as close as I always assumed."

To the last, he grins, "Oh, you know. Hunting trophies. I'd put in a bowling lane. It would be crass and loud and fun. And more modern. I like rustic living, it's true, I have ski cabins that I love, but I'd like this place to be a little less like Downton Abbey if I could manage it. I'm sure the local richie riches would be horrified."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella withdraws her hand and, while the warmth from her touch was definitely noticeable when she placed it there, the absence of that warmth is felt more keenly. She nods, though, listening attentively to the things Oliver has to say, about his family, about his father. "Many of my brothers are half-brothers," she says, sharing a little more. "I have never met my father face-to-face, that I know of. I wonder if I would have preferred to have childhood like you, growing up with father who has secrets, finding out some after he is gone... Or, growing up without father I know has secrets and I never wish to learn more about them," she lifts a shoulder. "I think is maybe balanced, from outside perspective. But, knowing what I know, am glad I think, I grew up only with Mama and brothers. I'm sorry I can't relate more to what you say, but I appreciate you sharing with me," she smiles softly

    Hella wrinkles her nose and grins, shaking her head. "Bowling lane? Seriously? So loud. But..." She pauses, canting her head, "Why not leave family home in hands of Thea, who loves mansion so well? You have plenty of money, as you are always pointing out. Get place of your own and make look how you want, so you feel at ease and happy."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen listens to Hella's own tale, his hands in his pockets, "Nothing to be sorry for. Everyone has their own story, their own strife," he says. "I try to believe my father was a good man. Even though I know some of the things he did were not," he says.

To the last, he looks almost startled, "I guess...I never really thought of that," he says. "It's always just been assumed I would live here, even by me. I mean, I don't...I can't leave now, I..." he says, thinking about the Arrow Cave below, the secrets he's hidden here. "But maybe I can have another place that's more...me, too. A hideaway, of sorts. I promise, if I do, I'll let you know where it is," he says with a wink.

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella smiles. A sad little smile. If only her father was a good man, despite the things he's done. This is definitely not something she has in common with Oliver. "Is good that you can hold onto that," she nods, wandering along, looking at things. Mostly because she doesn't want to think about her father, anymore. Not right now.

    "People should always have place where they feel happy and at ease. No bad memories chasing them, no antique furniture they must never touch for fear of damaging, no screaming neighbors, no barking dogs... But, is so difficult for some to acquire. Many never do. You can, though. Seems shame to pass up opportunity," she says with a smile. To the last comment, she laughs and shakes her head, "You never turn off. How many girls have fallen for your easy words? Must be hard to count, by now!"

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen nods, "You're right. It would be selfish of me not to do something...selfish?" he says, moving his hands around. "Foolish. Foolish of me not to do something selfish. Because it's the right kind of selfish, that's good for me," he says.

He leads Hella further along to the lounge, a place where he hangs out frequently, with the big screen TV, billiards table and comfortable chairs. "I won't pretend I haven't dated a lot of girls. I have. Like you said, I'm pretty good at getting my foot in the door. Problem is, after a while, they usually tend to slam it in my face. My fault, no blame on them. Most of that was when I was younger and I wasn't exactly the best guy in the world myself back then. I like to think I've grown up a lot, but I've been less, uh, popular since. I mean, don't get me wrong, I get pursued. I'm a rich single guy. But most of that doesn't go much beyond the surface."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella grins at the strange way of putting the advice she's given him. "I think...proper term is...self care? Is not selfish to take care of yourself, as long as you don't put someone else down to do it," she offers an alternate way to look at it. "Healing is hard, even for people with healing factor. Because mind and heart and soul and body...all different parts, all take different ingredients to heal," she continues, unsure of where the words are coming from, but letting them come. "I think, anyway. I'm not especially smart, but there is one favorite saying that applies: even broken clock is right twice a day, ja?" she asks. It's not Russian, that word she said, that sounds like 'yow'. It's not German. It's a clue, maybe. An unintentional hint. For the observant Oliver Queen.

    Hella doesn't wait to be invited to sit. She simply sinks into one of the comfortable seats, the closest one, probably. She makes herself even more comfortable, sticking her legs out straight and crossing them at the ankle. "Maybe is because you are too scared to let them in," she posits, regarding the pursuits that never seem to go anywhere. "Bad boy, broken many hearts. Afraid to get karmic backlash when he is ready to try? Can be scary, unh? Being vulnerable?" she asks. She doesn't sound like she's mocking or taunting him. Just...theorizing, thinking aloud.

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen does take note of that linguistic tic. He isn't surprised that Hella might have a less than conventional background. How could she, after all, given her particularities? She was like someone stepped straight out of a myth. Ollie would know, he's met a few of those in his life. They weren't usually beautiful women (although sometimes they were, although he tried to steer clear of Amazons generally, for the sake of his health and bone density).

He sits down across from her, hooking a leg casually on the arm of the love seat he's chosen, close enough to her but not sitting down directly next to her. Frankly, it would just be awkward to turn his head sideways to talk. This is much more direct and he's not a teenager trying to cop a feel at the movie theater.

"Isn't that kind of the definition of vulnerable? Who isn't scared when they're vulnerable? That's the best time to be scared!"

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella's icy blue eyes follow Oliver's movements as he lowers himself into an arm chair across from her, letting one leg dangle over the armrest. She smiles at his comment, nodding her head. "Yes. Is time to be afraid, not knowing if heart will be broken, not knowing if love will be returned, not knowing if acceptance will be offered or shunning. But," she holds up a finger.

    "Another favorite saying: nothing ventured, nothing gained. Don't start none, won't be none, but in another sense. How can you expect someone to invest time in you if you keep them closed out? Is no fun knocking on a door and constantly being told, 'No thank you, we don't want any.' Eventually, people give up. Or, recognize signs and avoid altogether."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen kicks himself back up from sitting, a restless gesture from a man who has trouble sitting still sometimes. Unless he decides to, of course. "I hear what you're saying," he says. "And there's some truth in it. I've spent a lot of the last few years with a very...complicated life. Secrets of my own. Things that aren't always safe to share," he says. "Not only not safe for me. Not safe for the person I would share them with. I didn't want to put a woman in danger just because I wanted to date her. It seemed, at best, rude and at worst cruel."

"I like to think I'm a pretty good lover. But I'm not worth anyone risking their life."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella's eyebrows raise. She continues to be surprised by the words that spill forth from the unpredictable Oliver Queen. She furrows her brows, though, the more he goes on. It looks like her brainworks are chugging, trying to make those connections. But, then, her face clears and she smiles, "Is not my business, I know. I would never suggest putting anyone in danger for any reason. I will go into danger with smile on my face, but would do everything in my power to stop someone else from going. So, I understand, sort of. I ask for no details. Not my business. I have recently learned important lesson about that."

    To the last comments, though, Hella clears her throat and flushes, "Wouldn't know first thing about any of that."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen allows for a small smile, "Not yet," he says.

He pours a simple drink for himself and will offer Hella whatever she likes from his well-stocked bar, "Let me guess, white Russian?" he says with a playful tone. "And don't worry about what's your business. I invited you here, I've opened up my house. You can be nosy. I've invited you to be nosy," he says. "Maybe because I know you can handle yourself. That you wouldn't be in as much danger as some of the other people I've met. Nobody's entirely safe. But your capabilities put you..." he says, "in a class of your own really. Power, maturity, beauty, an accent that could melt butter...even I can only resist so much magnetism."

He puts a hand up, "Which isn't to say I'm propositioning you or trying to impose. I don't know you that well. You might have a beautiful wife that I haven't met. God, please, tell me you don't have a beautiful wife."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella, who had been looking elsewhere in her moment of vulnerable confession, snaps her gaze back to devilish Ollie at that comment. Her cheeks are pink. "Well.." she says and can't think of anything else, so lets it die in her throat.

    Thankfully, Oliver grants her a brief reprieve as he pours himself a drink and offers one to her. She grins at the guess, "Actually, never had one. In my family, is mostly vodka. Vodka, vodka, vodka, and oh, more vodka. Beer is like water to me. Takes real effort to become drunk and need hard liquor to accomplish it." She smiles warmly, her eyes sort of far away as she remembers how her family would drink. For anyone else, it would probably be incredibly unhealthy, but it's okay for the Rokkurdisar-family. "I will try white Russian." She pauses before adding. "White is my favorite color. White and pink, and silver, or grey," she shares a tidbit about herself. "I think Ted believes is pink because everything he makes for me is pink," she grins. "Not that I complain. He is generous friend. Haven't known him for long, but already, he is very kind to me."

    Then, she smiles as she listens to Oliver explain how much better equipped she is to face danger, nodding her head. "I'm glad you notice these things," she says, pleased. "You haven't seen what I can really accomplish, yet, even," she says with a cryptic smile. As the compliments continue to flow, Hella shakes her head and waves them off with a dismissive hand. "All rubbish," she laughs. "I cannot believe single word you say! Admitted bad boy. Besides. I am far from mature. I may be 23, but very sheltered," she says, owning her own shortcoming.

    Another laugh and she shakes her head, "No beautiful wife, no. There is...Booster. Maybe? I don't know, for sure. I kiss him once, he kiss me two more times. Then, he poofs. Probably superhero work, but... Leaves me thinking about situation a lot. Leaves me questioning. Feeling uncertain. Recently, another fuckboy try to entice me, then revealed he has significant other. Hurt my heart. My fault for not asking, as you have done with me... But, still." She lifts a shoulder and looks glum. "Why am I attracted to boys who will probably hurt me? Not healthy. But, I can't help when attraction happens. Can I?"

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen gives a sheepish gesture, "To be fair, a white Russian is mostly vodka," he says, "Just vodka leavened with cream and Kahlua to give it a bit of flair. And to make it more tolerable to less Soviet palates like mine, I would guess," he says.

He makes the drink carefully, mixing with one of those little glass mixing sticks, before he carries it over and hands it off, "It's best cold, so you might want to drink it quickly, before your body heat gives you something unpleasant," he says.

He sits again, this time on the arm of that love seat, just a little closer but not in any way impeding on Hella's personal space. "I notice a lot of things," he says. "I know of Booster more than I know him, but he's not entirely a stranger," he says. "I can see the attraction. He's a very charming guy. I think he's handsome, although I've never seen him without the mask and, frankly, he's not really to my taste,"

"And I think that's just being attracted to men. Most men are bad, even the ones who seem good. To be good, you have to fight against your very nature, to a certain degree. Male instincts are to be takers, to be selfish, to conquer and push and fight. Very useful things, when you're a caveman trying to survive in a harsh environment. Not so good in a romantic partner who shares things equally and gives a good god damn about the woman they love," he says.

"I gave into my base instincts a lot when I was younger. I definitely broke hearts and I wasn't always nice about it. I'd tell myself it didn't matter, but it did. It took a toll, even on me. Because even I knew I wasn't being a good person. Some of the other guys just wanted notches on bedposts and, don't get me wrong, I went through that phase. I'm sure there are ways you can do that and still be a good person. I just wasn't. So I don't do that anymore. But I also don't assume any woman will take my word on that."

"I do still flirt a lot, though. I never could give that up. It's just too damn fun."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella smiles and nods as she listens, accepting the white Russian and drinking it quickly enough. She downs it in one. She looks at Ollie with a pleasantly surprised face, "Tastes very nice. I like." She puts the cup on the table in front of her, her warm fingers leaving condensation clouds around where they were touching the glass. "Thank you for introducing me to drink. I will order more often, when I'm out," she says with a smile.

    Then, she exhales a sigh and shakes her head, "Not always. Booster is very... Kind. He is shy, I think. Around me, anyway. I think he is sincere and probably would be good to me... But, I don't know if the attraction is there, not as strong as I thought at first. I don't want to hurt him. I also don't want to write him off because I haven't seen or spoken to him in little while."

    She rubs her face and looks up at the ceiling. "I think I like feeling chased, challenged..." she finally says. "But, maybe men who like hunt are men who want trophy room, like you," she concludes, lowering her gaze to Oliver's face. "Maybe they find thrill in flirting with any pretty person they see. Maybe the idea of chasing new prey is too strong to ignore when they have caught old prey. So... Exciting, but dangerous for soft-hearted girls like me."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen nods, "Soft-hearted. You really are, aren't you? You're so obviously strong and fierce. I bet they don't expect it, usually. Not a lot of guys can toss you around, after all, they take that to the next level, thinking they can't hurt you even in your heart. But it doesn't work like that," he says.

"I'm a hunter, yes. But I have other outlets for my hunting instinct," he says. Impulsively, he reaches over and picks up a dart for the dart set, the bullseye all the way across the room, a solid thirty feet, well beyond regulation for a game.

"I don't have any powers. But that doesn't mean I can't handle myself, too," he says. He flicks his wrist and outstretches his arm and the dart flies straight and true, all the way across the room to proing into the bullseye. "You should see me with a bow and arrow."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella nods her head. "I feel like, maybe is my duty to femininity to deny and say I am just as strong in my heart as I am in my body, but... is not true. Maybe I'm setting feminism back, but we can't all be warriors in every facet of life. Right? I'm good girl who craves excitement. Like, in Ariana Grande song! 'Dangerous Woman.' You know it?" she asks.

    Without waiting for an answer, she says, "Kordi, play Ariana Grande, Dangerous Woman, second chorus." She pulls out her flip phone and thumbs it open as the song begins to play in the room. Though it's coming from her phone, the sound quality is surprisingly good. Hella, completely unself-consciously, sings along with it, (also, surprisingly good):

Somethin' 'bout yoooooou~
Maaaaakes me feel like a /dangerous woman/~
(Somethin' bout, somethin' 'bout)
Somethin' 'bout yoooooou~
Maaaaakes me /wanna/ do things that I /shouldn't/~
(Somethin' bout, somethin' 'bout)
Somethin' bout~

All girls wanna be /like that/
Bad girls, underneath, /like that/
You know how I'm feelin' inside~

    "Kordi, pause song," Hella finally says over the music. The music halts and she gestures with her phone. "Exactly like that. Is exactly what I mean. I don't think there is single woman in world who doesn't feel that way, at some point or another, if they have capacity for romance, sensuality, sexual desire..." she exhales, sitting back and letting her phone plop on top of her abdomen.

    Then, Ollie is displaying his marksmanship prowess and Hella stands up to go check the dart board up close. "Whoa. You put dart right in center," she says, looking very impressed. "I want to see you with bow and arrow," she says, simply. "I have no skill with such things. Finesse, precision. These are not my strengths."

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen listens to the performance with a bemused expression, surprised but not unpleasantly so. He even gives a little wiggle of his hips to show his appreciation for the music, "Usually I'm more of a country-western guy with a bit of rock and roll to go with it. But that's not bad," he says.

"I think the only things you shouldn't do are things that hurt other people and things you don't want to do," he says. "Romantically speaking, anyway. And those are both hard to manage, sometimes, as far as relationships go. I think sometimes it's okay to get hurt. You usually learn something from it. Doesn't make it fun. But it does make it worth it," he says.

"I'll show you sometime," he says. "Now I feel a bit like a show off. Which I am. But it's supposed to look all natural and unplanned," he grins.

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella doesn't even really get to see Ollie dance, because she was singing the whole thing with her eyes closed. It wasn't meant to be a performance, but an aesthetic outpouring of her feelings, an attempt to really express her thoughts in a deeper, more meaningful way. When Ollie's first comment after she finishes is about the style of music he prefers, she sighs. "You don't get point," she says, shaking her head, sighing.

    She nods her head, "Logically, practically, yes, Those things are true. I am speaking, purely, about passion and desire, emotion so sweeping you are carried away by it, is addictive and calls you back when moment has passed!" She talks about things in a way that, perhaps, an artist might talk about how art makes them feel. Maybe it's lost on Oliver. Maybe not.

    She nods her head, moving to sit back down, leaving the dart in place. "Maybe you can help me learn to be more accurate, some time. You want to work out together, I would also enjoy training," Hella says, resuming her previous position. She looks a little discontent, though.

Oliver Queen has posed:
Oliver Queen sees that discontent and, of course, overachiever that he is, can't really abide it. He walks back over and moves to stand beside her seat now, "I get it," he says softly. "You can't always control how you feel and that's the way you want it. Because real feelings aren't things you control or choose or decide. They just happen. Spark set to flame, turning to an inferno. Passion and desire and maybe you get burned and maybe you don't but the burning feels so good that you don't really care one way or the other before it's through," he syas.

Even as he speaks, he moves, leaning forward, closer and closer to her. He plants his hands on the arms on either side of the chair. He's not going for a kiss, but he is near to her now, eye to eye, facing her directly.

"I have something of an idea of what it feels like. I've been in love before. And it's cost me plenty," he says softly. "Doesn't mean I don't want to feel it again. And I know you want it. I can feel it from you, like a static charge. I can see it in the way you look at me. No, not in a sexual way, although you've looked at me like that, too. And I've certainly looked at you. But there's another kind of yearning there, something I want to touch and feel, but I'm also not sure I have the right to ask for it because I don't to hurt you either. And not only because you could pop me like a soap bubble."

Then he stands back up and offers his hand, "Let's go down to my range," he says. "We can shoot some arrows."

Hella Rokkurdisardottir has posed:
    Hella's gaze follows Oliver as he gets up and gets nearer to her. She's looking up at him as he talks, listening to what he's saying, trying to discover if he really knows what she means, how she feels, what she was trying to communicate. When his hands lower and plant themselves on the armrests of her seat, she feels her heartrate kick up a bit. The more he says, the way he's leaning in, the... the smell of his cologne...the nearness.

    Oliver can feel it as her temperature spikes. As others have come to learn through practical experience, getting very close to Hella when she's spiking is like bringing your bare skin right up to a portable heater. She's probably at about 115 F or so, by the time Ollie is eye to eye with her, her eyes wide and sparkling, dancing back and forth between his eyes. Her lips are parted and she's breathing a little more quickly than she normally does.

    Swallowing thickly, Hella glances away as he mentions having noticed her looking at him in a not-quite-innocent fashion. He saw that? It was only once! Maybe twice. She thinks. How could he have seen?? She's feeling so fuzzy, right now. Not from the single white Russian, no.

    "Yes. Good idea," she finally manages to say, taking his hand in hers. Oh, her hand is so very hot. It might be uncomfortable. It might not. But, she's definitely putting off a considerable amount of heat. "Do you have any very strong bows?" Right now, the way she's feeling? She'll be lucky if she doesn't pop a bow like a matchstick.