Owner	Pose
Lorna Dane	PREVIOUSLY... "She-Hulk, the dam--" Through clenched teeth and desperately marshalled will, a plea slips through the cracks. "-- if we can't keep it together, the West Coast'll go black-- the Cult of the Blood Red Moon will--" "ffFFEEEAAAASSSSST!" the nigh-feral nightwalker who lunges from the artificial shadows cloaking the Hoover Dam's control room hisses before trying to rip Lorna's throat out with his fangs-- and rebounding from the magnetic forcefield wreathing her body, just like all the rest have. Depleting her stamina just a little bit more-- like all the rest have. Like the unnatural distance between the Dam's electrical systems - not to mention the structure itself, cracked and threatening to collapse - does, each time she struggles to reach beyond it. ~ * ~ * ~ Doors three times taller than the average man slam open, heralding a surprise witness' arrival with thunder. "Your Honor!" rings through the court on its heels; a rapid chain of clacking footsteps rattles in the wake of Polaris' cry. "Ms. Walters' client COULDN'T have known what would happen if his hatch design were to be used under conditions it was never designed for-- and that INCLUDES Roxxon smuggling rare minerals through its illegal Negative Zone transport array." elicits a chorus of gasps. "Of COURSE it fell out of the frame: nevermind the dimensional shear, you need an alloy with at LEAST point-oh-six-two grams of vibranium per to even have a CHANCE at containing materials that hot safely. The company's attempt at shifting the blame is-- well, it constitutes-- I mean, it's BULLSHIT, Your Honor--!" is punctuated with an accusatory point up at the bench. ~ * ~ * ~ "... of a new era -- the SUBTERRANEAN ERA is upon you! ALREADY, the mighty maw of my Geovore devours your pitiful efforts at taming MY planet-- concrete, glass, asphalt-- even STEEL melts in--" "Please understand that I am saying this with, just, the utmost of altruism," Polaris murmurs, hunched out of the Mole Man's sight beside her fellow green heroine, "but if we could maybe stop this asshole BEFORE his pet eats the tapas bar over on 54th-- like, I will buy you enough little plates of things to make this worth your while, Jenn. AND wine--" TODAY The reinforced furniture has been set up in one of two spacious sitting rooms. A freshly stoked fire fills the marble fireplace, and platters of snacks have been arranged along a table. Despite surroundings calibrated for foreign dignitaries and heads of state, today's offerings include no fewer than three things that came from boxes in the community center's freezer-- not because the sole guest is unworthy of fine canapes, but because the Queen of Genosha doesn't feel a need to put on a show for her. After all, she's known Jennifer Walters - the She-Hulk, the Avenger - for years, at this point. And furthermore, the '''good''' pizza puffs were broken out. A quarter of them are filled with cheesesteak fixins, and at one point said fixins were even fresh, probably. Outside of official functions, appearances, and the like, Lorna tends towards comfortable and casual; the years she spent as Queen in exile among the people of Mutant Town helped remind her that regardless of the mantles that've fallen to rest upon her shoulders, the only thing separating her from the people was a handful of letters. Thus: the sundress. A light, black number spattered with bold green, deep pink, and vibrant purple flowers, its sweetheart neckline and gently pleated skirt firmly prioritize form and comfort over function on a chilly spring day. Black stockings stopping an inch or two shy of the hemline are her only outward concession to the weather, clinging jealously enough to create a gentle, meandering slope where restricting elastic meets soft flesh. Given that the hem stops well before it used to and the bodice struggles more than ever before, even a People's Queen might've picked something a little more current for a meeting at the embassy, even a casual one... but she knows Jenn.
Lorna Dane	And she ''likes'' this dress. And if she's going to test the boundaries of that friendship, she may as well do it in comfort.
Jennifer Walters	ERSTWHILE ON SHE-HULK - FRIEND AT LAW! "You don't have to tell me twice, old friend!" A frenzied nightwalker cracks against concrete pavement, shattering fangs and ensuring he'll never suck blood again. The situation is dire indeed. But SHE-HULK sports a glorious grin and an even more glorious perm as she rears back, frizzy hair bouncing as defiantly as her YB3 green skin gleams. "To say nothing about what MARY, QUEEN OF VAMPIRES is planning to do with that vial of my GAMMA-IRRADIATED blood she swiped!" The stakes have never been higher. Which is why there's only one response, as JENNIFER WALTERS reaches out to scoop Lorna up with the heft of one well-manicured hand! "So whaddya say about trying out the ol' FAST BALL SPECIAL, friend?" Jen winks. And then she pauses. "-- I have -never- talked like this, c'mon." It was a different era. "It demonstrably was not! I just saw Lorna using a smartphone! And Mary, Queen of Vampires wasn't brought back to public conscious until at LEAST Two Thousand El--"
Jennifer Walters	~ * SHE-HULK SMASHCUT! * ~                         "--even YOU have limits to your charm Ms. Walters, and I swear to righteous GOD above, one more outburst in my courtroom and I'll hold you in CONTEMPT--" Jennifer Walters is at the end of her legal rope when in bursts her dear friend and SURPRISE WITNESS, Lorna Dane! Everyone in the court gasps -- including Jennifer Walters, who hadn't expected her greenette comrade to show! Jen's smile at this unexpected, last minute twist could send a thousand cases to mistrial for prejudicing the jury. "I thought for sure you wouldn't come," Jen stage-whispers. "I'm so sorry for what I did when I was drunk last night; I swear I'll never hulk out in one of your favorite dresses ever again--" The judge strikes the gavel! "ORDER! ORDER! This is HIGHLY unorthodox, Ms. Walters, DOCTOR Dane........         "...... but I'll allow it. Case dismissed!" The courtroom explodes into cheers! Roxxon's fleet of attorneys all slam their briefcases shut in outrage at once! And Jennifer Walters laughs with her good friend, Lorna Dane! "Friends?" And just as she's about to go in for the freeze-frame high-five, Jen hesitates. "--Really? The case is just -- won? Just like that?" Just like that. "Well alright. Awesome! Things are looking up for ol' Jenho--"                         ~ * SHE-HULK SMASHCUT! * ~                         "--use, it's just no use...!" Jennifer Walters, dressed in her well-shredded She-Hulk unitard, has fallen to her knees before the prone form of the beaten GEOVORE. But her attention isn't focused on it. "We saved the tapas bar... But at what cost, Lorna?" No, she is focused on the devoured ruins of FANTASTIPIZZA, the one pizza parlor in New York where she got high quality pizza FOR FREE because she was a member of the Fantastic Four and they were desperate not to be sued. "At what cost...?" Jen Walters weeps openly into her palms. Mole Man bravely runs away while she and Lorna are distracted. "--Wait. I just had brunch at this place, like, two days ago." Not anymore you didn't. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
Jennifer Walters	TODAY                                   "OOOOOOO!" Jen Walters jolts upright in her bed. Her cat, a multi-shaded brown Maine Coon, looks up in mild annoyance from her spot on the king-size mattress. "Whoa. What a crazy dream. I thought I just got retconned...!" Her Maine Coon yawns, unimpressed. "Ah, you're right, Rainbow. It's probably nothing. I -- oh crap, is that the time?? I'm late to meet Lorna!" And with little but a blanket to protect her modesty, Jennifer Walters leaps straight from her big bed to the grander glories of -- her WARDROBE! "Crap crap crap -- ooo I _love_ this blouse -- crap crap CRAP!"                                     ---                                     The Genoshan Embassy is a familiar place to Jennifer Walters. Being old friends with royalty has its benefits. ... Even though she wished it was happier circumstances, in recent history. She's had an open offer to represent Lorna on any legal troubles her greenette-in-arms ever needs, but today -- today's not about that. Today... ... well, she's not sure -what- Lorna called her out to the embassy for today. All she knows is two things: 1) She's -thrilled- to have opportunity to talk to her friend, even if the pall of Genosha's cruel fate still looms large, and "Crap crap crap crap - hey Soft Serve! - crap crap craaaaap!" 2) She is very late. It's not her fault! She just -- forgot the date! (shut up) Regardless: this is Jennifer Walters, briskly speedwalking through the Genoshan Embassy's upper floors, the click of her purple heels echoing through the antechamber as she approaches the familiar sitting room. She dresses in what she very likely considers casual-to-impress, a purple suit jacket less worn and more draped across her broad green shoulders like a stylish capelet worn over a white wrap-blouse with a plunging crease of a neckline, decolletage tastefully emphasized by the gold necklaces that dangle around her neck. It matches the gold bangles and watch she wears at her wrists -- and serves as a nice color contrast to the very purple, waist-high, calf-length pants she wears, bound by a black belt. Long, dark green hair artfully swept to her right side, a touch of makeup to enhance glorious cheekbones, and of course a serving of dark green lipstick and-- Here is Jen Walters, dressed in her fabulous casual wear as she enters that sitting room with a smile that could yadda yadda yadda we've already used the metaphor before you get the drill. It blooms into a full-blown _grin_, though, as she sees Lorna -- _and_ catches a glimpse of what she's wearing. "Lorna! Look at you, you look --" she takes Lorna in, and draws in a sharp breath. "--wow." A second's all that needs to pass before Jen, ever-exuberant, beckons the Genoshan royalty closer. "C'mere, you." So that she can wrap her friend up in the biggest Hulk hug (that remains non-lethal) of her life. She even lifts her off her feet a little and spins once. "And you even got the pizza puffs I like. Someone's out to impress," she mumbles into Lorna's hair. Jen still isn't sure why she's here yet, but... Right now? She's just happy to see a friend.
Lorna Dane	By and large, Genosha does not advertise its recovery. Not openly; not to everyone. It isn't everyone's business, really. And those who '''need''' to know what shape it's in, know. It isn't a secret, of course: a country of half a million people whose leader just recently visited the UN in a bid to speak on behalf of the alien refugees recently stranded on Earth, only to be drawn into fighting Hydra-- these are things that do not go unnoticed. And obviously, there is a robust industry that's growing around tracking news, stats, and financial data from the island: keeping tabs on what was once a nation of millions of mutants ruled by one of the world's most notorious figures is a matter of fearful instinct and/or morbid curiosity for many. This does tend to lend proceedings at the Embassy - in many ways a memorial to what was lost and a promise to build anew - an indelibly mournful quality, regardless of context. Regardless of how many puffs are laid out. How tight the hugs are, or even how strategically Lorna projects a thin layer of EM force across her skin, allowing her emerald-skinned friend to make said hugs ''extra'' Hulk-like. Kicking bare feet behind herself, Lorna wraps her arms firmly around those broad, familiar shoulders and hangs on for dear life. "Leave it to you to come in all my favorite colors," she murmurs back, gripping purple fabric fondly. Whenever Jenn finally deigns to set her down, Lorna will hang on, letting her hands slide down the taller woman's arms until they find a place to settle and staying on the points of her toes-- at least, for a few seconds more, anyway. That recovery work means that it's been a while since face to face; accordingly, she basks indulgently in the singular presence of She-Hulk until it's time to peel herself away. "It's ''so'' good to see you again," she whispers just before her hands slip from Jenn's. Turning from the other woman, she paces towards a mirror-backed bar corner, squats behind it, and spends a little while rooting through a wine fridge before eventually coming up with a bottle from a Genoshan vineyard. After giving the bottle a brief, tantalizing shake, she fetches a pair of glasses and brings it all to set near the trays. "It's a red," she explains, pivoting to sit back against the edge of the table, "from designer grapes. There's a botanist who moved to the island from Alsace a few months ago, and she's been experimenting with-- ... honestly, I'd be lying," she lowly admits, "if I pretended I knew what ''exactly'' she's been experimenting with, but these grapes?" She recovers with a quick breath and flashes a broad, proud smile belied somewhat by her refusal to stop touching, stroking, ''fidgeting'' with the bottle. "This ''wine''...? It's '''adaptive'''-- it can even put ''you'' on your perfect green ass if you're not careful." Only now does she cast another look up at Jenn, after bouncing her eyes between the bottle, the carpet, the artwork... The smile widens, just a little. "How've you been?" follows, softer.
Jennifer Walters	An extra-Hulkie hug for an extra-greenie friend. This is the power of friendship. And superpowers. "Oh this? Just something I threw on," Jen -blatantly lies- in a show of faux-humility. "I guess we just go together, huh?" One spin, two spin; everyone's favorite gamma-irradiated gal makes sure that hug lasts good and long to make up for lost time before she finally sets Lorna back down on her feet -- but _not_ without one final, firm squeeze and a simple, sincere whisper: "Missed you." Hands drop down plush purple fabric until they meet bigger, greener hands; Jen clasps fingers around Lorna's in a fond squeeze, letting the Genoshan queen bask as long as she might like before fingers drift from fingers. "It's been -way- too long since the greenie gals (I swear I'll come up with a better nickname for us) got up to trouble together, y'know that?" she wonders as Lorna walks away, watching as the green-haired mutant goes. She looks around her, placing one hand on a chair and leaning into it testingly with her bodyweight. Ah. Reinforced furnishing. Despite the solemnity that soaks this place, Jen is at least grateful for just how prepared the Genoshan Embassy is to welcome the superpowered - and superheavy. Gamma-green eyes turn back Lorna's way, watching as she emerges from behind the bar with a nice, fetching bottle of Genoshan in tow. Lorna explains; Jennifer's brows lift. "Uh-huh. See, a girl hears something like that, Dr. Dane, and she takes it as a challenge. And I didn't live and breathe pure masochistic suffering in law school just to back down from a _challenge_." Brows a-wagglin', the resident green giant maneuvers her way to the stool adjacent to where Lorna parks her posterior on the tabletop. Shrugging out of that purple coat, she slings it over the back of the stool and then settles into her seat, one long, slack-clad leg hooking over the other at the knee as she looks just slightly up at her friend on the proverbial high ground. "You remember that time we busted an A.I.M. cell out in, god, Cleveland, and we found that little side project they were fiddling with of a beer that would self-perpetuate alcohol production when it got into your system? I think they wanted to... what, make the world drunk to aid in global conquest?" She pauses here, and sighs in reminiscence. How did She-Hulk defeat the self-perpetuating beer? That's a story for another time. "Best brownout I ever experienced, I'll tell you that much." Jen's fingers wriggle in a beckoning 'gimme gimme' gesture towards one of those wine glasses; it only pauses when Lorna follows up with that question. "Me? I've been great! Started up my own practice out in Brooklyn, got my first paralegal. Cute kid, very earnest. Pretty sure she knows absolutely zilch about the law." Jen: very good at hiring. "And the clientele are just rolling in!" FAR AWAY, a tumbleweed rolls past the brick and mortar locale of the Law Offices of Jennifer Walters, LLC. "Gonna be rolling in. It's gonna be great. It _is_ great." Jen clears her throat; silence passes for a second, before she looks back at Lorna. The upward glance is only slightly tentative. "... How about you? How've you been holding up, Lor?"
Lorna Dane	Jen's FLAGRANT LIES summon something awful and familiar in the wake of those warm words and drawn out embrace: Extra tension between the lips locked into a drawn-out sprawl across Lorna's face. Twinkling green eyes narrowing like a panther locked in on the tastiest of prey. Right brow drawing into a high arch like a longbow straining to fire-- Nothing escapes those gleefully spread lips for the next few seconds. Nothing HAS to, because Jen knows what SHOULD follow a game and harmless little lie: 'Leave it to Lawyer Hulk to bend the truth like a paper...' '... that you wouldn't even NOTICE your pants being on fire is a HUGE advantage...' '... for the clients-- I can't be getting the good stuff for ''free'', Jen.' It's ''pointed'', the way she elevates herself up onto her toes, and - in lieu of actually ''saying'' anything - gives the tip of Jen's nose the tiniest smooch. By the time they find their way to their respective resting places, Lorna's shit-eating expression has settled in favor of doling out exotic wine, and catching up. Leaning ever closer to the stool beside her, even if her eyes only manage to meet Jen's ''fully'' in flickers; nodding, enthusiastically, to make up for this. "No shit it's great," comes with a quick toss of verdant waves, a brisk bracing breath, and a firm upward tilt of her chin so she's looking ''right'' at Jen: "it's '''yours'''." As she tips her head back for a drink, her free hand seeks out Jennifer's for a firm squeeze. A long drink: her head keeps going ever further, fractionally backwards as the glass drains. A ''long'' drink-- long enough for reassurance to become something more like grounding herself in Jen. Long enough for a little red river begin trickling from the corner of her mouth-- "-- aah--" she huffs, setting the glass aside and swiping the dribble away in smooth, rapid motions. "I've been..." she starts, shifting in her seat. Murmurs-- -- hesitates--... "... I don't know, Jen-- have you ever felt like your dreams were trying to tell you something?" she finally whispers, by now looking up at her green gal-pal through just one hair-shrouded eye. "Every night, for months, it's-- I'm ''back'' there, on G-Day," the day of the Genoshan Massacre, "and it's-- it isn't ''worse''. It isn't better; it isn't ''different'' at all, it's--" Biting her lip, she gestures briefly, vaguely with her hands, "--it's, just--" until they wind up clawed in naked frustration, "-- it's so fucking VIVID. Like I'm being ''reminded''. Like--..." Like some part of her is trying to tell the rest something.
Jennifer Walters	Jennifer Walters is given The _Look_. You know the Look. And if you didn't, you know now. Because it's the _locked and loaded look Lorna is launching off right the heck now_. The 'HA HA YOU'RE A LAWYER' Look!! Lorna offers no words. She just gives a smooch to that mighty, Glamazonian nose. Jennifer offers no words. She just furrows her brows in direct answer to the arch of Lorna's, puffs her cheeks out like the mightiest of squirrels, and, after that smooch, "thhhhhbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbttttttttttttttttttttt" Exhales it all out in one long, mighty, tongue-jabbing raspberry of disapproval. "-tt-." It's like the nonverbal equivalent of "I know you are but WHAT AM I" because Jennifer Walters is not just vivacious and charming; she's also serious, classy, and extremely witty. (hey maybe shut up) Settled shoulder blades into the back of that wonderfully reinforced seat (her kingdom for Universal Hulk Standards in furnishing), Jen seems, at least, hopeful about her odds of success with her practice; it's that can-do She-Hulk spirit, after all, to never give up and never surrender. But as she receives words of reassurance -- as she receives a physical _gesture_ of the same -- the glorious green lawyer blinks. She matches Lorna's gaze for one second, two, three. And then she looks away suddenly with the bounce of rustling green locks. "Pfffft you're damn right I do," she proclaims, brushing it all off with that effervescent She-Hulk confidence of hers. "Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride! Nobody's gonna slow me down!" Inspirational Matthew Wilder lyrics are proclaimed. They cannot be denied. And yet for all that apparent self-confidence, Jennifer squeezes long green fingers around Lorna's gratefully all the same. Lorna's squeeze is a firm one. Jennifer's is a gentle one. But it's all relative. In the grand scheme of things, Jen exerting the control to be gentle is a normal person's firm... ... and it's just as much supportive as she watches Lorna gulp down that wine with a look of concern that etches itself deeper and deeper in her features with every gulp. She leans in. Her free hand stretches out briefly to rest on Lorna's knee. "Hey hey, easy girl," she begins, half-joking, "the day's just getting started..." Her words trail as Lorna breaks past her hesitation enough to offer that question. Jennifer, a savvy expert in reading the room and knowing the tone, does not offer the dream she -just- had. Instead, she says nothing -- she just waits for Lorna to be able to find the words she needs to say. So vivid. Like she's being reminded. Like--... "..." Jennifer's green gaze hoods. She looks aside for a moment, before both her hands fall away from Lorna... ... if only so that she can grab up that bottle of wine, to pour them -both- a drink. She lifts hers, and drains it. "What happened there was terrible and senseless. I can't imagine. I..." She's seen horrific things before. But they were always outscaled. The stakes, the proportions -- giant-sized. This. This was petty and yet all the more difficult to comprehend for how real it was. There one day. Gone the next. A thousand thousand lives being lived, and then... "It was unacceptable... and it's not your fault. You know that, right?" It's where her mind goes first, when Lorna speaks of 'a dream trying to tell her something.' ... Because she can imagine the alternatives, too.
Lorna Dane	"Haa--" It punches its way out because self-control is only saying or doing the second worst thing, because it's better than the first worst. A hard, sad smile flickers across her lips to go with that jab of--... Well. It's not ''joy'', is it? Not mirth, clearly. Nerves--? -- frustration--? "I know--" A beat. "... fuck," she murmurs, dropping her face into her palm for another moment to hide the grimace, shaking her head. She breathes, deeply; slowly. When her hand falls away it bares a neutralized expression, flat and tethered. "I know," she softly repeats, casting a brief look upwards and squeezing a purple-clad knee. "And I promise, I didn't-- just make you come ''all the way here'' just to wallow at you," comes with a purposeful tilt, gently bumping her side up against her towering friend. "There's a ''point'' to this misery." ''That's the great thing about it,'' or something like it probably would've followed if presenting a small, tight smile wasn't an EFfort. If rolling through hardship and trauma is a skill, then Lorna's been spending the lionshare of her life as a superhero doing her damndest to make Gladwell proud; she is only human, however. (By certain metrics.) Not every weight is so readily shaken off. "And it's that I'm-- I think-- that I need to start rethinking how We," Lorna and the crown, "approach certain things. Because that-- four years ago? That ''wasn't'' my fault; I couldn't SAVE nearly enough people, but I-- I wasn't RESPONSIBLE for it. I know that," she affirms, slowly. Softly. And gripping the inside of Jennifer's knee like a buoy in a storm until she just-- tilts, decisively, fully forsaking her refilled glass in favor of letting her head come to rest against Jen. "But I AM responsible for making sure that nothing like it ever happens again, and lately--" Hesitating on the precipice, she holds a deep breath for a long moment. "-- lately," she exhales, shifting against Jennifer. "I just wonder if I'm going about it wrong. "If it isn't time to grow up see the world for what it is," she whispers, clutching at the other woman's trouser leg. Soon, a forceful exhale bursts out. Lorna frowns, deeply. "... is how I'm doing," she groans, self-consciousness slipping in.
Jennifer Walters	''I know--'' "Lor, you don't have to--" ''... fuck.'' "... force it." She feels fingers gripping and squeezing her slack-wrapped leg. The warmth radiating from those fingers is infinitely more palpable than the tight smile that Lorna tries to force. The bridge of Jennifer Walters' slightly upturned, very green nose wrinkles. Dark green bangs spill forward as she cants her head a degree or two to the her left so that she can peer at her friend with an expression of naked concern. She doesn't want to come off as pitying. Not right now. But she can't help the worry. She's a canny Hulk, but she's still a Hulk. Some degree of wearing that gamma-irradiated heart on her fashionable sleeve is just part of the package. "Hey, listen--" she begins, but Lorna finds her words before Jen's thought can complete; the world's greenest lawyer cedes the floor to her friend, not wanting to discourage her as she works through that complicated cocktail of emotions. So instead, she turns to her own cups, plucking up the stem of her glass to drain that specially crafted tincture. She doesn't mean to drain it all; she feels kind of like a fool, after trying to preach restraint to Lorna. But, well. Some days, you just need to drink. It's a strong drink at that, just like Lorna said. But Jennifer tables that revelation for now in favor of the implication of that Royal We that Lorna just uttered. Glass -=clinks=- the countertop gently as Jennifer draws in a breath. Feeling that hand grip all the tighter, curling towards the underside of her knee in a steadying grip, Jen reaches out for the wine bottle, refreshing both their glasses. To full. To hell with decorum. "It wasn't your fault," she reiterates, to reinforce Lorna's affirmation. She slides the nigh brim-filled glass Lorna's way. "Okay. So, first of all," Jen begins again, and as she does, the Gamma-Irradiated Gal gently pushes Lorna backward. And here, she rises up out of her stool, pivots around with the smoothest of flourishes that could only be accomplished after years of having to relearn wearing high heels after finding pairs that can support her weight, and settles back onto that table top right beside Lorna, using one glamorously heeled foot to push her stool back enough to give her some breathing room. "First of all, even if you did ask me to come all the way down here just to wallow? I'd be there. In a heartbeat. So don't start with ''that'' nonsense, Lorna Dane. I'm a lawyer. I'll out-debate you, every time." One big strong green arm comes up, looping around Lorna's shoulders to draw her inward toward the warm comforts of Jennifer Susan Walters... Until the magnetic mutant can safely rest her head on the larger woman's shoulder. "What's the point of having shoulders this big and strong if I can't use 'em to support my friends?" Jen quiets after this, for a few precious seconds. She draws a breath. "Second..." Fingers squeeze Lorna's shoulder, and Jen looks down at her, that concern once more in bright Gamma-Green eyes. "I know how you're feeling. I know. I know you have obligations, too, and... I think you should do what's best for the people you're supporting. But you sound like you're talking Big Step stuff here, and... if you want to talk it out, tell me what you're thinking right now... "I'm here. Okay?"
Lorna Dane	''I'm here. Okay?'' For a while, outward acknowledgement is limited to Lorna's face shifting minutely in the crook of Jenn's neck and her fingers gripping finely tailored fabric. Jen knows how she's feeling, because she's a good friend, and listener; that big, great heart is as overwhelmingly powerful as the rest of her, after all. It's comforting. Comfortable. It doesn't do much to alter her slow, controlled breaths; or bring the distance she's been looking into for most of the pep talk any closer; or summon so much as a twitch from black and green lips. But it ''is'' nice. After a minute of next to nothing-- of bobbing listlessly in troubled waters-- -- Lorna finally-- well, ''moves'', anyway. After picking her head up long enough to give Jen a brief, warning look, magnetic waves suddenly lift Lorna from the table-- from Jen, albeit not far enough to avoid dusting the other woman's face with a flurry of green tresses when she does a tight pivot just a foot or two removed from her former spot. One arm loops around the back of those load-bearing shoulders; a beat later, the rest of her sinks into Jen's lap. The Emerald Arbiter gets another look - grateful; self-conscious - before Lorna's head returns to rest against Jennifer's body. Moments later, a wine glass slowly, steadily hovers until the bowl's settling in Lorna's palm; she tips maybe a third of it into her mouth before reaching up, gingerly, to touch the lip of the glass to Jen's mouth so she can have a drink too. "The way things work now," she finally utters, barely below a whisper, "where the collective reflex of ''every'' group that fights for mutant rights is to turn the other cheek and pray for a better tomorrow... I don't think it can last that much longer, Jen." Even though she'd rather they be anywhere else right now, her eyes are fixed upwards, weary and resolute. "I don't want to do anything rash, but just... being a symbol, and smiling, and going over reconstruction proposals-- I can't do, just. ''That''," she admits, brushing Jennifer's ear, "forever, and pretend like it's enough, can I...?" Just as the sundress suggested, there's a little more Lorna than there was the last time she wound up perched upon Jen, intent on burrowing into warm, strong arms too invulnerable to be breached by the world outside-- and just as carrying a little more Lorna is trivial for a Hulk, the green-haired monarch can only hope that a little more Lorna carrying a ''lot'' of pent up angst remains a manageable load.
Jennifer Walters	She's here, to talk. She's also here through silence, too. Support doesn't need to be just through words: the strong arm wrapped around Lorna like it could bear the weight of all her troubles through Hulkian might alone is proof of that much. Her thumb brushes back and forth from deltoid to bicep, a phantom's steady metronome stroke along fabric and flesh. Jen's green gaze tilts towards the rest of the room, digesting all the familiar sights of the embassy lounge. She thinks to how different it was, the last time she was here. ... Or maybe it wasn't so different, was it? Since way back when, that day Genosha fell to random cruelty of an unknowable, alien intelligence. Maybe then was simply building to now, one brick of of intolerance, hatred and ignorance at a time. She holds fast. But that support reveals how accommodating it truly is when Lorna starts to move. For as tight as she held, Jen's fingers slip from Lorna's shoulder with even just the barest of tugs; it falls onto the tabletop as the big green glamazon scoots back an inch or two with that wordless warning. Time and experience together tells her everything she needs to know before she even feels the little electromagnetic tingle prickle at the back of her skull and inspires little goosebumps to blossom along green forearms. Green hair brushes in a verdant wave along her chin up to tickle at her nose. To her credit, she doesn't sputter or sneeze. No -- she just finds her arms wrapping around Lorna's torso to hug her in close to all that fashionable, green-skinned warmth the second the smaller greenette finds herself settled into that familiar place on the lap of the law's strongest counselor. The rim of Lorna's glass is offered up to Jen's green lips, and she helps tip it enough to take her sip, but those Hulk-green eyes never shut or stray from Lorna as the other woman talks. And as she listens, her brows furrow. Everything Lorna says, Jen can't really fault her for. Everything she says is understandable -- justified, even. The need to do more -- isn't that part of what inspired her to open her own solo practice? And the scale of this is so much larger, and so much more profoundly personal. She can't fault her, not at all. She understands. Part of her feels the same. But... there's something about those words, and the possibility they hint at... "I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to do more," she says slowly, carefully. "Of wanting... wanting _tangible_ results from everything you're working towards." The preface to a but hangs tangibly in the air, even as the sensational arms of She-Hulk wrap Lorna a bit more tightly in that hug. "But..." Reticence etches green features. Can she manage all that pent up angst? "... it all depends on the shape that 'more' takes. Lor, there's a lot you can do. There's a lot _I_ can help you do. Not as -- not just as She-Hulk, but as an attorney, and -- there's so many ways we can take the fight to the problem and the people who perpetuate it. You don't have to turn the other cheek. You should never have to." She tries. She tries, in a way that tries also to carefully nudge Lorna at the crossroads she seems to linger at. Hoping she hasn't already picked the other path Jen knows is there, waiting.
Lorna Dane	'Green with anger' is a saying for a reason. Jennifer probably knows it as well as anyone, after years of carrying her cousin's rage: even in its more manageable forms, anger still stews over time. It can still melt the pieces of oneself trapped in its bubbling depths, no matter how contained it is. And when heated too far, too fast, it can still boil over, washing over everything in a burning tide. "... I know people on both sides, Jen," she whispers, a few moments after She-Hulk's reassurance, "and things are shifting." A warning; an admission. A prelude-- "I'll try ''anything'' if it leaves the bastards shriveling in the light," she swears, clutching at Jennifer's jacket, "including trusting a ''lawyer''..." Even though pensive weight of it all clouding her gaze -- the guilt, for having called her favorite Hulk over to vent, then be ominous at her -- Lorna manages just enough of a twist, just enough of a muted smile to show that there's a still some spark of life amidst the darkness. "... and letting her beat people into submission with books, or whatever it is she does all day." Lorna gulps another shot of wine down, then passes the rest back up. "But I'm gonna fight 'em my way too, Jen... I'm gonna do my ''damndest'' to find the holes they live in and rip them out to face justice, and I-- I just-- I need you to ''understand'' that. Okay...?" Pale lids lower, fractionally, as she tucks her head in firmly against the emerald pillar of support that is She-Hulk and draws her knees in close, gathering as much of herself as she can into this embrace. "I don't want any of this to go where it could-- so that means trying my ass off to stop it, for good." Beat. "Trying ''our'' asses off," she corrects, solemnly. Beat. "... trying--... my ass, and your, I don't know, your nose? It's gotta be ''valuable'', but there oughtta be limits--..." Beat.         Beat.                 Beat-- "I promise to talk to you about this stuff more-- and, hopefully, better," she swears, murmuring into Jen's neck.
Jennifer Walters	Jennifer Walters is surprisingly warm. It comes with the package of becoming a gamma-irradiated being of unfathomable strength: Gamma green is the warmest color. (but not -hot-, that's gamma RED (do not hug a red hulk (this PSA brought to you by the Society for a Green Tomorrow))) The point is: She-Hulk's embrace is the warm kind you can bask in like a cat in a ray of sunlight. It's the kind that makes you feel content, relaxed. Safe. The kind of hug that just lets your worries melt away... ... even as ''hers'' are starting to solidify. It's writ large on Jen's expression, though Lorna might not see it as she tucks her face against warm, fancy fabric and warmer, gamma flesh. The way her lips twist with uncertainty and her jaw sets and her stare briefly casts askance as Lorna talks about how things are changing. About how she'll do -- how she HAS to do -- anything to make things right. She manages a snort and a grin and a "trusting a ''SENSATIONAL'' lawyer" at Lorna's joke, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. How could it? This... it's an elevator pitch Jen's heard before. The kind with the best of intentions. ''I-- I just-- I need you to ''understand'' that. Okay...?'' Wine in hand now, Jennifer brings it to her lips and drinks. Can she? ... Shouldn't she? Lorna's a dear friend. She's suffered so much. Too much. Shouldn't this just be obvious? What's so damn wrong with wanting to take chunks out of the people who wrong -you-? ... Jennifer Walters gulps and draws in a breath. "... I'll... try, Lor." She wants to say yes, unconditionally. But - jokes about lawyers aside - she doesn't want to lie to Lorna, either. Not now. Instead, she just ducks her head down, and plants a kiss on the top of Lorna's green head of hair as she makes that promise. "You better," Jen mumbles against locks a brighter shade of green then hers. It's a nice match for that gamma-irradiated skin. It always was. "Lorna, I know the way you're talking, and I'm not gonna sermonize, but -- don't forget. Talk to me. Please. You..." Need someone to tell you if you're going too far. "... I'm just worried." A second passes by. One. Two. Three. "I'll try my entire ''face'' off, Lor," she tees up the beginning of a weak but warm joke. Wait for it-- "My ass is just too valuable. And don't you forget it."
Lorna Dane	Lorna's hand finds an exquisitely sculpted cheek, cupping it as she unfolds herself. Gamma green is undeniably warm-- the kind of warmth that could never go unnoticed with the way it rolls from Jen's body in persistent waves. Electromagnetic emerald is a subtler thing by comparison. The same thin, green shell that lets her wear sundresses in whatever weather she likes -- the roiling limelight that is more readily felt by extranormal senses than ''seen'', its magnitude is so paltry -- channels a fraction of the heat Jen's giving off. The thing about it is that it lingers. It seeps into what it touches and sits there, taking its sweet time before dissipating. It gathers; it builds. It sets atoms dancing and keeps the BPM spiking ever higher. At this low of an intensity, it would take hours to hit a point of discomfort-- if indeed it ''could'', Hulk or no. Jen's billboard-worthy face is safe, obviously. What it means to ''live'' in the soft, implacable glow of endless, mounting heat is another question, of course. *smk!* One which Lorna tries to banish from her green gal's thoughts with a fond, grateful kiss to her forehead, followed by touching her own brow to it. "I promise I'm okay, just... this shit is ''hard'', Jen-- it's ''nothing'' like being a superhero." Brushing from Jen's cheek to tangle her fingers in dark, deep green locks, Lorna ever so gently nudges her head against the Sensational Solicitor's, sighing low and long. "But that won't stop me from reaching out to you as much as I can while I do it..." ... Two... ... Three... ''I'll try my entire '''face''' off, Lor...'' After a small, contained laugh, Lorna shoots back, "Now that I'm good and close... this face is ''absolutely'' too valuable to lose. ... which I guess we're just gonna have to try so hard we keep all our bits, huh?" What matters is that: at least she ''tries'' to present the appropriate smile and lightness, and effort ought to count for '''something''', right? "Before we get too deep into worrying about our bits, though..." she tacks on, nose wrinkling ever so slightly, "maybe we should make sure this food doesn't ''all'' get cold."
Jennifer Walters	It's barely even there, but she knows it by heart. That electromagnetic tingle that feels like it can do anything. Like ''magic''. A kiss to the forehead tries to banish Jen's concerns; at the very least, it inspires a beaming smile capable of winning over just about everyone. Just not this one; not the way she wishes. Brow bumps brow. One scantly upturned nose nudges another. Bright-bright green eyes stare into emerald counterparts. And then they shut, as fingers glide through those bouncy green tresses. "That's what I thought when I got back into the law," Jen says, after a moment. "How superhero life was so simple and exciting, and working for a firm felt like I was being dragged through one mess after another having to fight for people I used to toss into the Atlantic." Somewhere, Stilt-Man bobs in the Atlantic Ocean, shaking his fist. (See "A Stilted Interview" for more, true believers!) "But... it's kinda all a mess, isn't it? Legal work. Superheroing. Running a whole darn country. One of them just feels like you can stop caring about the real world for a few life-or-death moments. You don't have to think about how people are twisting the law against you when you're fighting the Mole Man's latest Geovore invasion." Green fingers curl inward, gently scratching Lorna's back as those vibrant greens crack open again. "Just... don't lose who you are to it." She's still worried. She feels terrible that a part of her can't trust Lorna. But she also knows she needs to take the warning for what it is. ... And she also knows where she needs to stand. But for now, as Lorna laughs, she feels the immediate worries dull, just a bit, taking a back seat for the warm and familiar. She feels herself falling back into the familiar beats of waggling her brows and giving Lorna a buddy-buddy pat on her parked posterior. "Damn right. As the ancient legal adage goes: 'cover your ass, girl!' (Thurgood Marshall coined it)," she admonishes, and even clucks her tongue. She's mid-tsk when Lorna mentions something crucial. Something shocking. Something grave. Green eyes widen. "Oh no! Not the puffs!" At which point she hooks hands underneath Lorna's thighs and just -hefts- because Jennifer's hauling ass to the snack bar and she's ''bringing Lorna with her.'' She laughs all the way there. And for a few precious moments -- she can stop caring about the real world. Or how friendships are going to twist against each other.