8286/Non-Irradiated Boozy Brunch

Non-Irradiated Boozy Brunch
Date of Scene:	17 October 2021
Location:	Cafe Lalo
Synopsis:	Cael and Sam catch up over brunch. It's 5 o'clock somewhere on the planet, so brunch includes alcohol, which is maybe the only reason why they manage to have a whole discussion about serious emotional topics.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Wilson, Cael Becker

---

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Once the adrenaline had worn off, the post-mission reports and debriefings done, the assembled SHIELD agents all certainly deserved a good night's sleep. That's absolutely what Sam treated himself to, at the very least, once he'd made it back to the Avengers HQ. But even the threat of a nuclear bomb isn't enough to convince Sam's circadian rhythm that he should stay in bed later that 7AM. He isn't a morning person, in the sense that he's chipper and upbeat at the crack of down, but he's awake and caffeinated.

    Post-workout, he confirms brunch details with Cael via text, and puts in a reservation through the cafe's website for a table.

    Ah, the wonders of technology.

    He arrives early, because that's what Sam does, and the table they're given is in the corner near the back. Sam's sat himself against the wall so he has a good view of the cafe, which is both tactically advantageous and also, well, it makes it easy to watch for Cael. It's probably more practical matters than paranoia that influences his choice of seating.

    There's a carafe of coffee on the table already, along with two glasses of water, and Sam peruses the menu as he waits. But let's be real, he already knew what he was going to order before he even walked through the door. Cafe Lalo is a NYC staple, after all.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Let's face it - Cael is not the 'arrive early' sort of person. Given her usual personality and demeanor, this is probably a surprise to no one, but she is on time. Well - two minutes late counts as 'on time' in her book. What sure as hell looks like a genuine smile crosses the woman's features as she spots Sam and makes her way towards the table, slipping into a chair with a casual slouch. "We don't do this often enough," she remarks, pouring herself coffee from the carafe - then staring into the depths of the rich brown liquid. Would they have whiskey here? She would love to dose her drink. Perfect way to start off an evening.
    "Hell of a night, huh? I never got the chance to ask, anyways. What the hell was the deal with the hoodie?" she asks bluntly.
    Nope. She never figured out his costume.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Hey, Sam's not the type of person who cares about people being as punctual to he is. He may live by the motto of 'if you're early, you're on time, if you're on time, you're late, and if you're late, why bother?' but he doesn't hold anyone else to it!

    Well, except his sister.

    "You're right, we don't," Sam agrees as Cael sits down, and he sets his menu aside. "I'm back up here full-time, though, so--$20 for a plate of bacon and eggs, here I come."

    He smiles, though, clearly not all that bothered by the price difference between food here and food down in Louisiana. Just a part of NYC life.

    He takes a sip of his coffee, which has already been dosed--but just with cream and sugar, so far. "Hell of a night." Sam nods. And then he eyes Cael critically across the table, as if he's not certain of her sincerity. "Mean Girls?" he asks. "'She doesn't even go here'?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "...ah," Cael answers the explination. "Never saw it. Sorta assumed I wasn't missing anything." She sounds - if anything - vaguely puzzled by the notion that Sam might feel otherwise. She sips the coffee straight for the moment, glancing at the menu before remarking, "Nutella waffles just sounds like the best, worst idea right now, doesn't it?
    "How was the trip, anyways?" she asks - apparently making some effort to show she can care about others. Sure, it may be a bit minimal, but it's something. "Family, right? That was the whole deal?"

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam stares at Cael, coffee mug brought nearly--but not all the way--up to his mouth. Then he just shakes his head and takes another sip. "You're missing out. It's a cultural touchstone, Becker." He sets his mug down and slides his menu towards himself, though he doesn't pick it up.

    "...Well, I was going to get the Moroccan eggs like I always do, but you make an excellent case." Though how much more do you need than 'Nutella' and 'waffles' together in the same sentence? He frowns thoughtfully.

    No sign of any waitstaff at the moment, but they'll get to the boozy part of boozy brunch shortly, no doubt. In the meantime, Sam nods. "Yeah. My sister inherited the family business and we had a lot of work to do to get it up and running properly again," he explains. "All good now, though. How've you been doing? Work treating you alright?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael buys herself a moment by sipping her coffee once more. She could blow the question off - say that work's going fine. Or she could give an honest answer to someone who is - quite frankly - on the very short list of people she might consider one of her friends. In the end, however, she answers his query with an unexpected question of her own.
    "You're always citing your 'big three,' yeah? So you actually believe magic is real?" The question seems genuine - rather than the disparaging dismissal of the idea she might normally espouse.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The way Sam is side-eyeing the menu suggests he's really giving those Nutella waffles serious consideration. Or maybe... both? They *did* avert a nuclear crisis, after all. He could get both.

    Yeah. He deserves both.

    That decision made, Sam returns the bulk of his attention to Cael. He nurses his coffee as he looks over at her, silent for a long moment, before he once again sets his mug down and leans back in his chair. "Yeah, I do. I get that it's a hard pill to swallow, but," he gestures expansively, around them. "After everything that's happened?"

    He shakes his head. "Plus two of my coworkers are a witch and a Norse god. So. Y'know."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah, well, my partner and roommate runs around in magical metal armor that talks into her head. And I watched a guy get turned inside out by... inexplicable dark tendrils of force, while fucking... //pixies// or fairies or something, ran around slitting throats." Yeah. Cael was still having a rough time getting that night out of her head, though who could really blame her? "Saw a guy get his by a pillar of darkness that night. He cracked into pieces and shattered. Hell, I had to wash him out of my hair - but appearantly that didn't kill him. That's still a thing that makes... no sense. Nothing I just said makes any sense."
    Honestly, with statements like that? The fact that they almost got blown up by a nuke the day before? Tame by comparison.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam absorbs the information dump Cael has just given him with a completely straight face, his hands folded together on the table-top. He doesn't interrupt--maybe he senses that a bit of a rant might be what Cael wants to do at the moment--as she continues on, though he does nod once or twice.

    Active listening!

    "It didn't make much sense to me but I'm just a guy who runs around with a bunch of Big Damn Heroes with a jetpack strapped to my back," he says, mildly. "But if you said that to one of those coworkers I mentioned? Yeah, they'd probably get it. It's all relative, Becker."

    He takes up his coffee mug once more. "So, order those Nutella waffles, get something alcoholic to slip into your coffee, and just accept that the world is a strange place. That's what I'm going to do, at least."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "God, same, just without the fucking jetpack. Which- let's face it, the jetpack is at least objectively cool." Yes, Cael is more than a little envious of Sam's wings. Who //wouldn't// be? Running around with the likes of the folks she does every day - with nothing more than some combat training and a pair of pistols? It's borderline suicidal.
    "The world's a brighter place when there's whiskey in the coffee, at least," she agrees, gesturing over a server so she can place her order. The waffles, some whiskey - and a side of eggs. At least she's putting something at least vaguely healthy into her body, right?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Ah, hell. Whiskey for Sam as well, then. He gets the waffles too, and his usual order of Moroccan eggs, extra spicy. And some fresh-squeezed orange juice too, for the hell of it. They prevented a possible nuclear apocalypse! It's cause for celebration. And in the life of a regular guy who has to keep up with superheroes by force of will (and a serious committment to beig healthy) that means carbs and sugar are celebration-worthy treats.

    "We need to get you some tech, seriously. You gotta carve out your niche--I'm the dude with the wings, we gotta figure out what *you* are," he says. And then he leans back and looks Cael up and down, thoughtfully. "You've got good aim. Hawkeye 3.0 maybe?" Kidding, kidding. "I'm not saying I'm going to raid the Avengers tech storage for you, but we'll see how I feel after we get that whiskey."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Jennifer was telling me the same," Cael admits with a wry smile. "She wants to get Stark to make me some sort of tricked out, self-driving motorcycle, and other Starktech toys to give me an edge. And she thinks it should come with a costume, and a code name. 'Red Rider' was the closest she came to any sort of a codename." Though from the very expressive way Cael rolls her eyes - that's clearly very much Not On with her.
    "Won't lie - I wouldn't say no to a bike, or tech toys... or a pair of wings, or whatever." Sure. Just slide it in there, as you sip casually at your coffee, Cael.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Well, what's under-represented in the superhero community? Hammers are right out. Shields too. Instead of a regular bow we could get you some kind of tricked-out crossbow?" As Sam talks, he refills his mug from the carafe on the table--leaving quite a bit of headroom there--and doctors it up with more cream and sugar. Though very swiftly one of the waitstaff returns to their table with two glasses of whiskey for them. "Thanks," he says, and immediately fills his mug up to the brim from his glass, stirring it carefully. Little bit too full there, maybe.

    Worth it though.

    It takes him a long, steady moment to get the mug up to his mouth so he can slurp up the excess without spillage. Waste not want not. And then he sighs. "Yeah. I don't know. We need to get you some armor, at least. That much I can probably manage." He doesn't follow up on her mention of the wings, though Sam does look over at Cael speculatively as he sips his coffee.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael just dumps the whiskey in, topping the mug off with more coffee from the carafe. There's no sugar, no cream - nothing to get between her, her alcohol, and her caffeine. Taking a sip, though, she lets out a contented sigh. That was //exactly// what she needed. "I've got no problem with wearing armor. Though the stuff I usually put on is pretty top-of-the-line." That's what happens when you run around with SHIELD and the Avengers. You get to use the good stuff - she'll grant them that, at least.
    "You realize I've never shot a crossbow, or a bow-and-arrow in my life? Why would I go learning a new weapon? Guns are fine. I like guns, they get the job done, and I know how they work." At the speculative look, she takes another sip of her whiskey.
    "Oh," she adds, almost like an after thought. "I started taking a few basic flying lessons. Trying to work my way up to piloting the Quinjets. I'm used to being the wheels - I don't do well as the passenger. It's a very uncomfortable feeling."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam nods. "You got the good stuff, then?" He's happy to hear that, at least. Not that anyone was really wearing armor last night, but the less thought about how close they all came to being dead--through a variety of means--the better. He's not enjoying his Irish Coffee to the same degree as Cael is, but it's still good. Ultimately though it's the carbs and the sugar that Sam's looking forward to, here. Comfort food.

    He's quiet for a little while, unobtrusively. "Yeah? I'll have to take you out some time, see what you can do behind the controls. It's not the same as flying with the wings, but the Quinjets are some of the most responsive pieces of tech I've ever piloted." The mug remains in his hands, warming them. "You know, though, if you want to take my wings out--none of that really matters, right? It'd be the same thing as learning to shoot a crossbow for you." Though he doesn't actually sound like he's objecting, here.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Not going to lie here. Part of it's just because- well, it looks like a literal blast," Cael admits, a wry smile crossing her lips. "I mean, I started street racing before it was legal for me to be behind the wheels of a car - //at all//. So that sort of thing... I'd love to just try it." Whether or not she ever ended up using them in an op, or was ever given //real// access to a set of wings like that. "But that sort of tech isn't usually just handed out for the purposes of joy riding, so..."
    She's been trying to ignore the desire to give the things a try. It just doesn't go away, though.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    'A blast' is something of an understatement, judging by the expression on Sam's face. He tilts his head to one side. "The wings really aren't something you can take out on a joy ride," he explains. "I could *maybe* get you trained up to the point where you could conceivably fly a short distance without hurting yourself in... two weeks of intense, daily training? It works out a lot of your core muscles in a way that they really don't get used on the ground."

    A waiter with a tray laden with food approaches, and Sam goes immediately silent, eyes widening. But the waiter passes them by, and Sam only allows his disappointment to show on his face for a second or two as he frowns. Back to the conversation. "So no. No joy riding. But if you're actually interested in training? I mean, the suit isn't technically mine but I'd like to see someone try and take it from me." He winks across the table at Cael.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael lets out a snort at the moment of sheer disappointment that shows on Sam's features, before her expression goes more serious. "I mean - I'd be lying through my teeth if I said the sheer thrill of it wasn't a factor. But I think it'd be useful to have someone else trained who knows how to use them. Who knows what situations we might get into one day, you know, where it might come in handy? And really, the people we hang around with - anything that might conceivably give me any sort of an edge? I'm definitely interested."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's disappointment is immeasurably and his day is ruined. At least until a few moments later, when another member of the waitstaff comes over and sets down several plates in front of them. Plus Sam's requested glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

    He rubs his hands together, face split by a grin. Some things are universally comforting, and breakfast foods definitely falls into that category in Sam's humble opinion. "It's settled then," he says, and then he lifts up his coffee mug in a toast towards Cael. "To Falcon Jr.! I've always wanted a sidekick."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael picks up her knife and fork, about to start in on her food when her expression freezes at Sam's toast. She lifts her gaze back towards him before remarking, "I swear, if you ever call me 'Falcon Jr' or a 'sidekick' around anyone else..." Ugh. "But yeah. Looking forward to it." She gives a slight shake of her head before starting in on her food - waffles first. They seem to agree with her as she lets out a quiet and contented, mmmm, before washing it down with some of her coffee.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "We can workshop it. Peregrine? Kestrel? There are plenty of bird names out there!" And Sam has a near-encyclopedic knowledge of them all. It's one of those things about him that no one ever expects--you wanna talk for hours about birds? Sam's your man.

    He starts with the savories first, the opposite of Cael. His plate of Moroccan Eggs is basically a single serving shakshuka, and he digs a wedge of pita bread into the tomato sauce. "I'll see if I can dig up my old training manuals," he adds, after taking a bite.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael groans dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Oh, God, not you too. You're as bad as Jen." No, no Sam isn't. Either name was a vast improvement over 'Red Rider' - if she were to be truthful. Which she doesn't intend to be.
    As for his offer, she promptly adds, "Oh, great. Manuals. My //favorite// way to learn." Still - she'll read them, cover to cover. Twice.
    She helps herself to another bite of her waffles, before she starts picking at her eggs, her gaze locked down onto them as she does. "There's actually something else I was thinking of asking you, Sam, while I've got you..." she remarks. There's something strangely hesitant in her tone, and in the way her shoulders hunch. Something almost... vulnerable?
    Nah, that can't be right. Can it?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam only gestures with his partially eaten pita triangle, clearly not bothered by Cael's rejection of the codename suggestions he's made. "Look, you hang out with a bunch of people in tights and colorful costumes, you end up with some kind of superhero name."

    He shrugs. "Falcon is technically the codename of the Air Force project I operated in. But, well, now I'm a bird guy." Technically he's been a bird guy since he was given the Audobon Society Encyclopedia of North American Birds for his eighth birthday. He cuts through one of his eggs with the side of his fork, spilling yolk everywhere that he immediately mixes in with the tomato sauce. His fork is poised just so for his next bite when he looks up. "Sure, Cael," he says. "What's up? Everything okay?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "That's a complicated question," Cael replies. She finally takes a bite of her eggs - which she'd had scrambled. Don't judge her. It's not until her second bite that she finally offers, "It's about magic," she admits. "...and Alis." Her foster sister who had passed away - who she'd told Sam about once. Her gaze flicks towards Sam as she tries to judge if the man recognized the name or not - from having heard it just the once.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    No judgment. Sam is plenty content with his own intense spread of food (it's a lot, even for one guy), so why would he waste his time worrying about what Cael's got on her plate. Her physical plate. What she's got on her metaphorical plate is part of the reason why they're catching up.

    He does a combo half-eye roll and eyebrow lift to acknowledge the Too Realness of 'Everything okay?' being a complicated question. Yeah, Sam gets that. His attention remains on Cael across the table as she works up to continuing. And Sam's head tilts to the side, faintly. "Yeah?" he asks. Chances are he probably remembers, even if his expression has only shifted to patient curiosity. It's not like he's a super-genius but he's good about remembering things like that. Comes with being a counselor.

Cael Becker has posed:
    This was the difficult part - and it shows in the way she continues to pick uneasily at her food, and the way her gaze drops away once more to stare at her plate. "Look, even believing in... the plausibility of magic is still not easy for me. I honestly don't like the idea of magic being real." But just because you don't like something doesn't make it go away. "And I never believed in ghosts, or spirits either. But..." She cuts off, going for her coffee now, taking a deep drink from it while suddenly wishing it were straight whiskey. Alas, though the taste of it being present is somehow reassuring. "Sara says that she can summon spirits. Ghosts. Whatever. She thinks there's a chance she can call up Alis's spirit, and that doing so might even help Alis to 'move on.' It sounds like some sort of... bullshit seance nonsence from the 1800's."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam was in the military, so unless an apocalypse drops itself on their heads (knock on wood--which he literally does after thinking that thought, he knocks on the table lightly) he's going to keep eating. There's a pile of ooey-gooey Nutella pancakes waiting for him once he's done with his eggs, after all.

    For the time being he skips over his Irish coffee for the glass of orange juice he ordered. Probably at least $5. But it *is* fresh-squeezed, at least. Sam has no more advice to offer about Cael and her acceptance (or rejection) of magic. Just one of those things you have to learn to accept eventually, and maybe eventually just has a longer duration for her. Though when she gets through what she's trying to say, Sam actually puts his fork and pita down. "That's... a lot," is what he goes with first. And he takes a deep breath after that, switching briefly to his coffee for the necessary steadying. "What did you think when she offered?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah," Cael confirms. She doesn't answer the question immediately, but that's likely no surprise. Sam is left to wait it out - ploughing through his food, while Cael continues to pick at hers slowly, and uneasily. "I thought a lot of things," she admits. "That I'd give anything to talk to her again? That - if there's any chance the might be 'trapped' and I could 'free' her - that don't I owe her that? That- that this whole thing is bullshit. That it can't possibly be true. The dead are gone - they can't talk."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Look, Cael." He's still using her first name, because this is apparently a first-name kind of conversation. Sam's good about compartmentalizing, sure, but he also recognizes when it's time to get a little personal. "I'm not going to tell you what you should believe. That's up to you, to consider the evidence and make an informed decision." His voice is even, saying all that, no hint of what he himself thinks leaking in. "But it sounds to me like you've already made a choice and now you're just fighting with yourself about it." As he looks over at her, Sam shrugs one shoulder and sits back, wiping his hands on his napkin. His eggs have somehow completely disappeared already.

Cael Becker has posed:
    She doesn't lift her head enough to look at him directly, but Cael does lift it just enough to get a glimpse of his features, her gaze suspiciously wet in a way she would reflexively and vehemently deny, if it were ever brought up. She doesn't speak until her gaze is on her plate once more, however. "Does it?" she asks, still sounding unconvinced.
    "If I were gonna be honest," she adds - and there's a pause as she considers the wisdom of being honest, here, "I'd admit that this scares the shit outta me. I don't even know if I want it to work or not. I don't know what's worse."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's Nutella waffles will have to wait. He folds his hands together, elbows resting on the edge of the table, and for a brief moment he's frowning. But it's a small, thoughtful frown, one that he aims more up into the air than directly over at Cael. "You said if there's any chance," he replies, and then leaves it at that. Cael knows what she said, and Sam seems pretty certain that she also knows what she wants. But working through it aloud with someone who will listen, that's often a necessary step.

    He sips his coffee. "Because both options are going to hurt. It's just the kind of hurt that's different, yeah?" He cups his free hand around his mug, though there's not much warmth radiating from it any more, not for how long it's been sitting, and not for how much whiskey was added into it. "Maybe I'm wrong, but here's how I see it: if it's true and you see her again, help her move on... grief and guilt. If it's not real, and nothing actually happens, it'll feel like losing her all over again, and you'll feel betrayed by your friend."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Something like that," Cael admits. "Though- I mean, Sara did say there's no guarantee. That maybe she has already moved on, and there's nothing there to contact anymore. It's... God, it just makes it sound like all that fake seance crap, you know? Like this has to be some sort of trick. It has to be." Does she want it to be? She smiles tightly as she adds, "I mean- of course, what I really want is what I know I can't have. I want my friend back." And that's not on the table - whether or not any of this is real.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam nods over at Cael, somewhat restrainedly at her seance comment. "Yeah. There's still plenty of that out there, alongside all of the Gods and hex-casting witches and the like," he concedes. He mulls what he's going to say next over a few moments of quietly sipping his coffee, until his mug is empty, and he pours a small amount out from the carafe on the table. There's not much left, and he leaves the rest for Cael. "You're obviously conflicted over it, and it's... not the kind of question anyone but you should answer. This is going to sound pretty cliche, but--just here me out, it's an effective tool--have you considered making a pros and cons list?"

    He immediately holds up a hand to forestall any objection, if it comes. "At the very least it might help you sort out your thoughts."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Sam no doubt sees the 'seriously?' look coming long before Cael shoots it his direction - but the fact that she doesn't voice any protest means that she may - God - actually be considering this. She doesn't want questions, though - she wants answers. Counselors can be the //worst// - it's like they expect you to do the work.
    "It might," she relents with a nod. She's silent a moment before asking, "Would you do it though, Sam? If someone offered you the chance to talk to someone. Your parents or something? Someone you knew from combat?"

Sam Wilson has posed:
    His other hand comes up to join the first, palms held out. "I know. Really, though. It's useful." Doctoring up this last bit of coffee only involves a splash of cream this time around, as Sam expects there to be plenty of sugar waiting for him in those Nutella waffles. Which he slides over to take a place of prominence before him on the table.

    Though, again, he pauses before taking a bite. "I..." His fork is set back down, and his brow furrows as he stares at the tabletop. "I don't know. I go to visit my parents pretty often, and I like to think that if there's some concept of an afterlife or a different phase of existence, that they can hear me." Then he shakes his head. "I know it's mostly for my own benefit, though. Maybe for--." And he goes silent. He doesn't finish the thought, but then he nods, and says "Yeah, I would," before he sighs heavily.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Sam's tone changes subtly - but it's enough to pique Cael's interest. It shows in the way she looks up again from her food, her gaze more direct, and curious. But if Sam had wanted to clarify - she has a feeling he would have.
    "I still can't believe I'm considering any of this. Alis would have laughed at me for being so superstitious."
    There's a little more life in tone as she adds, "And she would have stolen my waffles by now, for eating this slow." She cuts herself off a larger bite now, washing it down with some of the coffee.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Whoever Sam was thinking of, he doesn't elaborate. It's not generally his style, talking about himself. Not past the surface level, at least, and his brief mention of his deceased parents is probably as deep, emotionally, as he's been around Cael. "It's a weird world we live in, Becker. And it gets weirder every day. Best we can do is cling to whatever normal we can find." He, too, starts cutting into his waffles, which have just about entirely remained untouched. Because it's brunch-dessert. He eats the savories first, and leaves the sweets for last. That's just how it works!

    "I know I'm fully out of my wheelhouse when it comes to magic, but if you want me there for any of it, whatever you decide to do--just let me know, okay? I can talk to some of my friends who have more experience, too, if you want."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael'd been about to spear more of her eggs, when Sam's offer of assistance stalls her - freezes her in mid motion as she simply turns her gaze towards him once more. She's still for a moment, before she shakes her head. "No," she decides, her tone a little flatter than she intends. "No, I- appreciate that you're trying to help, but I don't want anyone else there. And I don't really want anyone else knowing anything about this."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam only nods his head once at Cael's refusal, obviously not put off. "Yeah, sure," he says. "It's your call." And then his focus shifts to the extremely high amount of sugar he's about to introduce to his diet, a momentary look of consideration on his face as he narrows his eyes at the bite of waffle hanging on his fork's tines... before he decides, fuck it, and eats it. Whatever. They prevented a nuclear crisis! He deserves this.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Just like that - the walls start to slide back into place, Cael's shoulders straightening, and any doubt, or uncertainty erased from her features. Whether the sudden disappearance of her vulnerability came because Sam inadvertantly pushed a little too far - or simply because the conversation had run its course - it was a little tough to say. "Kestrel's probably better, wouldn't you think? Fewer syllabols. Easier to say. Less confusing maybe.
    "But then again," she muses. "Aren't peregrine falcons the fastest birds on the planet?"