Lexa froze at Jack's answer. Well [i]that[/i] was a red flag. He found the creep inspirational? Just like that, Lexa found her mixed feelings about Black Jack melt away in the warmth of her drink. Justice? What the shit kind of justice was Black Jack doling out? Her mind flashed back to last night, to the mockery in his voice when he'd heard the people screaming, the people [i]dying[/i]. 

[i]I don't care,[/i] he'd said.

And this guy was identifying with him. A murderous, self-centered, sociopathic [i]dick[/i], and he was inspirational for not giving a shit about anyone but himself and his own vendetta. Her gaze turned hard at the glass in her hand. Apparently she'd spaced out in her little mental tirade because Luca had managed to fill it again without her noticing. Her expression was cool, something turning icy in her. But her body was still relaxed, her hands unclenched as she sat at the bar. She lifted the glass and took another sip.

[color=crimson]"We're all different if you bother to look closely enough,"[/color] she replied, voice calm, if a bit softer than before. She still didn't look at him. [color=crimson]"But I'm genuinely curious. What do you think makes him different from any other hyped up murderer with superpowers?"[/color] It wasn't lost on her that as of that afternoon, she also fit that description. There was a bitter taste in her mouth that she wasn't sure was from the alcohol.