POTENTIAL 1

Blink. Blink, blink.

“Wait, you’re trying to fake your death because you’re getting optioned by a super team? Because that’s what this is,” Sara says, perching on the hood of the kicked car in question. “Not the worst plan, except for the part where you leave all your friends behind and die alone in a motel room in Sicily, starving to death because nobody was around to poke you with a sharpened stick.” Oof. Harsh. Subtlety and tact have never been “on brand,” you know?

“Like, dude, I get it. I really do.” Arguable. “You’re kind of a mess. But, like... you don’t have to do it full time, you know? Except you’d probably feel all the guilt if Angel got hurt while you weren’t there, and then that means you have to be there all the time, so you burn out, and... woof. All this hero stuff is stupid high stakes, which, uh, probably isn’t good for the Big D?”

She makes an undulating shoulder motion of vagueness.

“Have you tried, like... talking to people who [i]aren’t[/i] me about it? Like, uh, the superfriends? They probably know a little bit more about...”

She stops and thinks about her fans. Angel. Bound Eagle. Ferraphim.

“Well, uh. Shit. Forget I said that. How about someone like... like a therapist, maybe? I can use some of my connections with the Union to get you in touch with someone who specializes in supers.”