POTENTIAL 2

Let’s get one thing out of the way first, okay?

Yes, her hair’s turquoise now. And, yes, she is rocking the shaved sides and back, with fashionably spiky bangs. It’s eye-catching and stylish, and combined with the dangling chain earrings, the aviators and the grav-biker jacket with [i]GODDESS[/i] emblazoned across the back? She’s leaning hard into her image as the [i]cool[/i] @SARAHPHIM. Untouchable.

Sure, she vanished. Sure, there’s tabloid gossip about What Exactly Happened. Sure, the shipping wars are burning fast and furious in her more casual fan base, as the True Ending faction (Ferraphim) unloads full salvo against the Tragic Duelist faction (Eunaphim), while being stabbed in the metaphorical back by the newly resurgent Wincest faction (Sarastorm).

And Sara does not give a shit.

It’s refreshing as hell. She’s established! She doesn’t have to pander to [i]them.[/i] She’s receiving so many franchising offers, her agent is having to compile them into a daily update. As long as she doesn’t shit the bed in public so bad that nobody trusts her to be the hero this city deserves, she doesn’t have to worry about the future.

Isn’t that [i]amazing?[/i]

But blowing up this cafe is not a good look. So she sighs, startling the Shiny, Sharply-Dressed Representative of Asmodeus Fashions ([i]worth your very soul[/i]) sitting across from her.

“It’s not you, chill,” she says, rolling her eyes behind the tinted lenses. “It’s... hero stuff. Just sit tight and I’ll be right back. Don’t spill coffee on your tablet or anything, and I promise I’ll think it over while I work.”

Hot swig of her vanilla double caramel flavor-blasted cappuccino. Stand up, collar pop, stride confidently out the door to the sound of phone cameras, click click click.

Hands on hips, look up at the sky, ears sharp, muscles tense. Game face on.

“Look, can we reschedule?” Her voice has to carry, so that the alternate dimension version of herself can hear, wherever she lurks. Probably drawing a bead on her right now. Her hardlight generator flares to life under her shirt. “I’m kind of in the middle of a business meeting, but I’d be happy to pencil you in around 3:30?”

A pregnant silence. She stretches her fingers and visualizes her new [i]Prydwen[/i] defense matrix, a spinning whirlwind around a fixed point, silver as Euna’s... well, now her tips. But silver’s Euna’s color. A quiet way to say she’s serious. She really is.

“Hell, I’ll even get you a coffee. You take yours molten black, right?”