She has, but not by much. Kate arrives a moment later, soon enough that it's a wonder they didn't end up awkwardly riding the lift together. Thanks, Tranquility, for that small mercy.
She wouldn't go quite so far as mad dog but there's something in that Kate could sympathize with. More like a kicked dog, maybe, one that's been teased and taunted and left for dead and is ready to start lashing out. It's not a feeling she's proud of; she'd gotten past the whole 'only one on the team without powers' thing years ago, come to terms with the knowledge that no matter how hard she trained she'd never be invulnerable or a sorcerer or able to vibrate matter until it exploded. It hadn't mattered. She'd been good enough to make sure it didn't.
But Mitchell threw that back in her face, reminded her how vulnerable she was, how vulnerable she'd always be no matter what she did. And then Johanna, talking about ripping her hair out like he'd almost done. Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck everyone who thought they could push Kate Bishop around.
She stalks into the gym, minus the swagger she'd left with when Johanna saw her last. In its place is a cold, furious confidence. She tosses her bag aside, strips out of shoes and t-shirt, and steps up onto the mat. With her hair up and no sleeves the new scars are angry pink masses, impossible to miss. "Let's go," is all she says.
does not catch them
She wouldn't go quite so far as mad dog but there's something in that Kate could sympathize with. More like a kicked dog, maybe, one that's been teased and taunted and left for dead and is ready to start lashing out. It's not a feeling she's proud of; she'd gotten past the whole 'only one on the team without powers' thing years ago, come to terms with the knowledge that no matter how hard she trained she'd never be invulnerable or a sorcerer or able to vibrate matter until it exploded. It hadn't mattered. She'd been good enough to make sure it didn't.
But Mitchell threw that back in her face, reminded her how vulnerable she was, how vulnerable she'd always be no matter what she did. And then Johanna, talking about ripping her hair out like he'd almost done. Fuck her. Fuck him. Fuck everyone who thought they could push Kate Bishop around.
She stalks into the gym, minus the swagger she'd left with when Johanna saw her last. In its place is a cold, furious confidence. She tosses her bag aside, strips out of shoes and t-shirt, and steps up onto the mat. With her hair up and no sleeves the new scars are angry pink masses, impossible to miss. "Let's go," is all she says.