Walk The Line

February 08, 2017:

Trish Walker goes to visit her sister, but finds someone even less stable instead.

Jessica's Apartment

A hell hole. That's why the Devil lives there.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Jessica Jones, Silk


Mood Music: [*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Kx-ke9RKww ]

Fade In…

Trish got out of the taxi in front of Jessica's building and pulled her coat closer against the chill. She hurried to the front door, having her usual debate between the stairs and elevator. Deciding to be responsible and healthy for a change, Trish took the stairs.

As she climbed, she dug through her purse, making sure she had all the paperwork she wanted to give to Jess, including the schedule of upcoming meetings. The first one had gone okay in that they had stayed for the whole thing, neither of them choosing to share with the group. Trish hoped that she would be able to get Jess to commit to another one with this visit.

Trish stepped out of the stairwell at Jessica's floor and clicked her way down the hall. She was dressed in designer jeans, long sweater from the same label, short black boots, with her winter coat covering it all. When she got to the end of the hall, she pulled her keys out of her pocket, rapped twice on the door, and let herself in.

"Hey, Jess, it's me," she called out, closing the door behind her. Trish hoped that by knocking this time, she didn't startle Cindy. It never occurred to her that there might be anyone else there.

Is that… music? The only music that usually comes from this humble abode is the sound of retching and self loathing in the morning. Honestly, Azalea wouldn't detract from that, she's done plenty of both herself, but today there's actual factual music. It's low, lower than normal listening volume, but that's because Azalea is calling on a talent that she's had for far longer than she's been The Dark Devil. The scent of fresh paint fills the air as the lyrics to The Weeknd's collaboration with Daft Punk fly, and across the room The Devil Dances. Today it's grey sweatpants, a white tank top, and paint. Well, not to much, she's doing an okay job of keeping it on the wall.

"Tell me what you really like, Baby I can take my time, We don't ever have to fight, Just take it step by step! I can see it in your eyes, 'Cause they never tell me lies, I can feel that body shake, And the heat between your…"

'Hey Jess, it's me.'

The way she stops, the posture and tension in her diminutive frame turning to a muscle memory prepared to repel invaders, tells a feral tale. She slow-turns, one hand still on the paint roller, the other curling into a fist. But the sight of someone with keys in her hand gives her pause, and as those deadly, crystal blues take stock of Trish Walker, top to bottom and back up again, her brows rise in a far more tactful way than The Devil Inside does.


Her final thought, part of the song, completes, but she isn't singing anymore. Ever so gently the paint roller rests in the pan, and the long handle finds the plastic on the floor. Looks like someone's apartment has mostly been fixed up again. Except for, well, a small new piece of drywall that Az just put in today.

That's right. Brand new piece. For something Not Her Fault. Nope. Not at all. Bare feet advance on Trish, but she no longer looks the part of predator, even if her eyes can never quite shake the roll. It isn't until she's almost upon her that she stops short and some recognition from somewhere in the back of her mind.

"Holy fuck. You look just like Trish Walker. And also a little like that Australian girl from the first Transformers movie."

Her eyes narrow.

"I'm Az." She even extends her hand, doing her best to smile like a normal human being. It has all the signs of a wolf wearing sheep's clothing.

Trish stopped dead, just inside the apartment as the smell of fresh paint and music hit her. She didn't recognize the woman on the end of the paint brush, but assumed that Jessica knew she had another house guest. Delicate eyebrows took in the whole scene, complete with fresh drywall, and predatory stance. Trish tightened her hands on the strap of her purse, ready to defend herself or run, as the situation dictated.

She continued to be on high alert even though Az, as she introduced herself, seemed to have changed her demeanor to non-threatening. Trish eyed the hand, before taking it cautiously for a quick shake. Supreme effort of will kept Trish from taking a step back and a smile on her face.

"Might be cause I am Trish Walker. Nice to meet you, Az. The Transformers thing is a new one, but since she's kinda cute I'll say thanks for the comparison. Most people go for the 'It's Patsy' reference."

Trish made a mental note to rip Jess a new one for not telling her she had another house guest. Or at least added it to the ongoing list of reasons she kept. Maybe Jessica had hired someone to renovate for her but the bare feet and outfit had Trish leaning in the guest direction.

"H..holy shit." Azalea Kingston, starstruck. She looks ecstatic, and doesn't let go of Trish's hand for far to long. When she does, its with an apologetic lift of both hands, and then a snap of her fingers. "Right! That show. I never really watched.. all that. But your radio show! That's the bees knees." At least she's not aggressively shaking her hand anymore, right?

Once more, The Devil Inside pours over this new person with unwholesome scrutiny, and it shows in the ways her eyes wander, as if somehow the most prized fish in all the universe had showed up in it's pond. It isn't until reality filters back in, that questions from the very human host that is Azalea Kingston begin to chime in her head that she glances back up at that million dollar smile.

"So.. uh. Right. Trish Walker. Just stopping by the prestigious apartment of Jessica Jones. Newly renovated, with one hundred percent less rat. Which.. really though. What the fuck are you doing here? This is crazy. OH NO."

Her eyes go wide, again, breaking that ever-present sensation that something is off about Azalea, and replacing it with a momentary glimpse of her humanity on full blast. "Is..is your husband cheating on you? Does Jessica have pictures of them doing the deed? Look, in this sort of situation, you can't blame yourself. It isn't about you. It's about /him/ and his selfish insecurities. I mean you're a fucking eleven on a scale that stops at ten, and if a war needed stopping somewhere I'd drop you instead of a /bomb/, cause girl you're made of shock and awe. Seriously, /fuck/ that guy. Makes me so /fucking/ mad."

Azalea slams her first into her other hand with an audible smack, fuming around the edges at the various imagined slights Trish's non-existent husband is clearly so guilty of.

That's right, say the word, and The Dark Devil will totally go fuck that guy up!

Trish's smile faltered at the profanity laced barrage from Azalea, but never actually left as she appreciated the continued compliments from the other woman. She had provided Trish with incredible insight to the usual type of case Jessica got. So Alias Investigations wasn't all missing persons and superheroes. It was something she meant to ask Jess about, next time they got together. Trish cleared her throat before tackling the questions she had been asked.

"Well, ah, as to what the fuck I'm doing here, Jessica and I are sisters, so no cheating husband you need to be mad at." Trish raised both her hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. "I take it Jessica didn't mention that I may pop in sometimes."

Trish's head tilted to the side as she took in the woman before her. Az seemed to be very? passionate, she decided was the best word. "Remind me to not piss you off," Trish said with a chuckle.

There are few things that can cut through the near instinctual bullshit The Devil Inside forces Azalea to live through, but her sense of loyalty is one of those things. As much as her Dark Passenger wants to eat Trish up like a delicacy, the news that she is Jessica's sister draws a stunned blink, and further, a curling of one hand at her side, to dig her short nails into her palm.

A little pain could help with focus. "Sister. Right. No. Yes. NO. She didn't mention! I uh.. I'm sorry about the mess." She backs away, one hand filtering up and through her hair to sweep it back from her face as she turns and moves towards the 'living' area. They have a table at least, and some chairs.

"/Sister/. Yeah, /anyways/ I was just fixing up something that Cindy very clumsily did to the apartment. Jess is uh.. she's super cool. But I'm sure you know that. I just mean, she's helped me out. Kindof taken me in? I don't know. I'll probably never be able to repay her. Do you want coffee? There's some already here."

As the rambling small-talk and explanations go on, as the would-be vigilante slips out of view and into the kitchen her back hits the bridge and she buries her hands in her face with a slow shake of her head. "Jesus Christ Az stop being such a fucking weirdo."

The whisper will do little to help console her, and she peeks back out, finally, brows lifted. "Sugar? Cream? Jess is.. I think she'll be back soon. Honestly, if you want to wait."

The lies people tell to get out of some painting.

Trish watched Az retreat to the kitchen, mind racing at the incredible changes in Jessica's life. Taking in strangers, trying out the superhero thing again, and starting her own business, all while recovering from the mess Kilgrave made of her. Trish couldn't have been more proud, or felt more left out, had she tried. Yes, Jess had explained, and yes she understood partly why Jess had pulled back, but Trish still felt pangs of hurt for not being there with Jess the whole time.

"Well, adopted sister technically, but still family for all of that. I'd love a coffee, with a splash of cream please. Don't worry about the mess, I've seen worse."

Concern entered her voice and furrowed her brow. "I hope Cindy didn't get hurt, she seems like a very nice girl." Trish couldn't help probing a little, in order to better understand the people Jessica had moved into her apartment.

"Nice? Oh, yeah. She's a peach. Kindof.. dresses like a Ninja Stripper most of the time. I'm not sure about her dayjob so much." Oh shit. What if Trish doesn't know about all the.. the heroing?! It's one of those things that Azalea is simply not used to, and she freezes up in the other room as she contemplates a recovery.

"Because.. Cindy /is/ a stripper. Because her day job is a /night/ job. Yeah. Yeah but, you know, no judgement here. She's thinking about making her own line of undergarments or something for Japanese vending machines or… something. I don't know. It sounded far our and perverted. But that's /Cindy/."

When Az appears with the coffee she has some for herself to, and brings it over to their little table. One that is, absolutely, held up underneath with some of Cindy's webbing. She can only hope Trish does not drop something and take notice. "Here you go. Splash of cream. So… how does.. someone get adopted by the Walker family. Asking for a friend." She gives a smirk that could cut through the haze of all that is awkward, the kind of thing that could lure anyone in, at least for a talk.

For all the tricks The Devil Inside her knows, not all of them are obviously horrible. Some are more subtly so.

A serial killer's smile is always the sweetest.

"In all seriousness, I'm not sure how much of it is your doing but.. she's awesome. Really awesome. Saved me from a bad situation."

Trish's mouth dropped open in complete surprise as Azalea revealed Cindy's day/night job. A /stripper/?!? Not that Trish was judging either, she just wouldn't have suspected it of the woman she had found sitting on Jessica's wall. Trish managed to recover her smile and appear nonchalant as Az returned with the coffee.

"Thanks, looks just right," she said as she accepted the cup, but refrained from drinking right away. Trish grinned ruefully into the coffee at Az's question about getting into the Walker family. "Oh, well that's easy. Be conveniently orphaned at the same time a handy cover up for a fancy nightclub fire is needed." Bitterness caused Trish's mouth to twist for a moment, but she shook it off. Even though Jessica joining the family had been one of the best things Trish's mom had unwittingly done, there was still a mountain of anger, bitterness, and just a touch of hatred if she was really honest, for all things related to her mom.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't very nice was it. What I meant to say was we took Jessica in after her family passed in the accident. As for Jess, any awesomeness she has is all her own doing." Genuine affection replaced all traces of bitterness. "She's one of a kind and seems to make a habit of saving people from bad situations."

Trish was indeed lulled into opening up, but there were some things that were just not talked about. Jess's saving of Trish topping that list, so she didn't elaborate further on that particular topic.

As they dance the dance of 'hmm, what /do/ you know?', Az sips at her coffee and cuts her gaze sidelong for a moment, once again tossing a hand through her own mismanaged hair, perhaps a nervous gesture. "The accident." There's another slow look back to Trish, and the distance in her gaze suggests a certain unfamiliarity. Her voice is quieter now, and her ability to read people, that sixth sense about intention and body language is brought to bear.

"She didn't tell me about it. Not yet."

The self conscious way she looks down, fiddling with her coffee, suggests a certain vulnerability. Maybe she has trouble talking about this sort of thing. "That was nice of you though, whatever the circumstances. For real, it sounds like you took her in and made her family, right? The rest doesn't matter. She kindof did the same for me."

Finally she pulls one leg up to cross over the other, ankle resting on her thigh, one hand cupped over that ankle to keep it in place while she sips at her coffee once more.

"So maybe she did get that part from you and yours."

Man, did this conversation get heavy? Is there a way to lighten it up?

"So… what brought you over, anyhow? If it's your regular movie night or something I'm vetoing anything Disney."

Trish mentally kicked herself for sharing what happened to Jessica's family. It wasn't exactly like it was kept quiet; Dorothy had made sure of that. Oh well, too late to take it back now. Sensing the heaviness of the mood, Trish drew on her skills as an actress and laughed. Instead of telling the truth, to avoid spilling further secrets, she went in a different direction.

"No, not movie night, and there's no way Jess would let me pick Disney either so you're safe there. I just felt like stopping by and checking up on things. Typical snoopy sister stuff." Trish took a sip of coffee, and was pleasantly surprised. "You must have made this, since it didn't peel my taste buds off."

In the back of her mind, Trish noted Azalea's body language, and wondered what about her that made both of Jess's new guests so nervous. It must be the celebrity thing, she decided.

To be honest, some of it is that Azalea is sitting across from a famous person. Some of it is posturing, flexing muscles she hasn't flexed in awhile. A terrible truth about her Dark Passenger: It was not just good at butchery and debauchery, but all the things that used to lead to those things. There's a laugh there when Trish mentions the coffee, and then she taps the top of her mug.

"Believe it or not, Jessica made it. I know, right? The first time she made me coffee I thought she had accidentally strained charcoal through a bum's underwear. Not her fault, I'm sure. This place was.. a little different when I first got here. She seems super focused on her work, and I guess that means knowing how to make good coffee, or else."

Or maybe that's all Jessica is really drinking anymore, but Az hasn't noticed. She doesn't know all the terrible truths. She doesn't know about the addiction.

"So, any other vices I can satisfy while you're here? I'm sure coffee has to be a radio jock's lifeblood. I can make a mean pot of ramen too. Not that fancy stuff you see on TV, but straight from the /packet/." Her over emphasis on how /amazing/ it would be sells the little smile at the end, and she throws a thumb over her shoulder, as if to indicate that she can in fact whip up a meal if Trish wants.

Then the legend of how she took Trish Walker on a date without even /asking/ is born.

Trish laughed at Az's description of Jess's previous coffee making skills. An accurate, if somewhat picturesque description, that drew out a genuine belly laugh. She even had to wipe tears from her eyes, confident of her make up's durability. Ramen didn't actually sound half bad, now that it had been offered.

"That sounds good, if you were going to make some anyway. After, I can help you finish the painting if there's another brush to say thanks." Trish took a quick sip of coffee to wet her throat before continuing. "By the way, I have to agree with your description of how the coffee here used to be. I only fell for the offer of a cup one time and I still say nothing tasted right for about a week after, no matter how much mouthwash I used."

And if Jessica happened to show up, awesome. If not, it would give Trish the chance to get to know Azalea a little better. She was very interesting, and currently under her sis's wing, which put her firmly in the 'get to know better' category.

The way she laugh lights up the room, and it is not The Devil's desire that draws her eyes, but how much she missed making someone, a good friend, a casual acquaintance, /anyone/, laugh like that. It draws her smile a little wider. She can tell already how Trish must be the soul when Jessica is the strength. One has all the love, the other the hard truths.

Azalea stares a little too long, grabbing at her humanity with both hands through the haze of her reality, monstrous and grotesque and undeniable, but she has that moment. This one.

And now she has a moment where she can go make some fucking Ramen.

She won't look harrowed by that simple thing until she's out of view, palms to the counter, head hung and mind torn. But this is what she is: The simple things are the hard things. Beating criminals to a pulp, fighting sorcerers and Gods and Demons, no sweat. She just needs practice being a normal human, and as unexpected as it was, it feels good to do so, to keep her boundaries, if only just.

Maybe this is how she can pay back Jessica, if only a little.

Trish won't have to wait to long for the food, and when she returns it's everything she promised as an expert Microwave Chef.

The smile is back, small and confident, and she even goes back to get some bread for them both. Such a simple meal, but it makes her feel good to do the simple things.

"The food of college champions and Gotham's most disadvantaged is served."

When Azalea returns with the ramen, she'll find Trish had took her coat off and hung it neatly on the back of her chair with her purse, sitting with her left leg tucked underneath her. If Trish had noticed the lengthy look, it wasn't showing. Perhaps it was just years of being used to people looking at her, perhaps she truly hadn't noticed.

"This looks like everything you promised it would be, Az. Thank you very much." Trish lifted her fork and paused before digging in. "À votre santé, cin cin, and sláinte mhaith," she said, showing off just a little, waving the fork in salute to the chef.

Trish took a bite, then another, remembering how much she actually enjoyed the stuff. Sometimes simple was best, and it never hurt to be reminded of that. It helped to keep Trish grounded and not one of those typical snobby, entitled famous people.

"Next time I'll cook, and by cook I mean order something fabulous. I'm completely hopeless in the kitchen, and wouldn't even have coffee if not for the invention of the Keurig machine. Bless the genius who invented it." The last statement had the absentminded familiarity of something said rather regularly.

As quickly as the toast comes, so does her reply, spoken through a smile. Spoken without realizing, at all, what she's saying. "Un toast à ma santé peut être un gaspillage." There's a blink there, and she swallows, her mind racing backwards. The streets of Paris and the click of a cane. They never stopped Him in London. He only relocated.


It's good Trish is here, it lets her practice her acting. Practice not being freaked out as another fragment comes rushing back, practice pretending to know another language when she really doesn't.

/It/ knows. /She/ doesn’t. It’s in those moments that she most feels like a puppet.

Azalea just deals. Eventually she takes a bite of her food, giving only the tiniest of smiles. "I heard that somewhere, once. Maybe." Her gaze catches on Trish as she eats, watching the way she savors such a meager meal, and then offers something far better in return.

"That would be awesome. Maybe you could, uh.. come over some night. We could fire up Netflix. Order something. Just chill."

The noodles fill her mouth and she almost chokes when she realizes exactly what she just said, and she can only hope the reference is lost on Trish. "Like, you now. With Jess and Cindy, after Cindy gets off work at her stripper job, and Jess gets done watching people bang and taking pictures of them, we can find the perfect horror movie to have with some gourmet delivery. Also, you don't uh.. have to help me with the paint. It's mostly done. And…" She stares at the wall, her brows lifting. "It is absolutely not the right color. Fuck."

Trish quirked an eyebrow at Azalea's response to her salute. Why on earth would it be a waste to toast her health? She chose to not pry, as Az had seemed as surprised as Trish had been, if only for the barest of moments. The offer of 'Netflix and chill' caused Trish to choke on her ramen, resulting in a desperate gulp of coffee to hopefully avoid a major coughing fit. Trish understood that reference perfectly, after an embarrassing incident with one of her co-workers.

Her cheeks were slightly pink and her voice was a touch breathless as she managed to stammer out a response. "Oh, ah, ahem, yeah. With Jess and Cindy. When they aren't, ah? working. Shit." The last was for the blushes and stammering. Trish took another desperate swig of coffee, trying very hard to find her equilibrium again.

Safe topic, safe topic? YES! PAINT! Trish turned to look at the wall in question to avoid meeting Azalea's eyes for a moment. "It could be a focal point wall. It's very trendy now, to have one wall in your main living space a different color. Sometimes they even go really crazy with a bold red or bright purple depending on where you're tastes run."

This is her life now. Awkward moments separated by horrors not her own, and Ramen. So much Ramen. As her fork drops into her noodles she prepares for The Awkward to continue, or perhaps some sort of admonishment, for one cannot exactly expect to say such things to a celebrity and get away with it. Right?


Because Trish Walker is not just any celebrity, or any person. She is an extraordinary human being, something she proves with every misstep, once again another person who has a better angel just waiting to sidestep her Devil. The worst part is, she realizes it. Sees the deflection.

Trish couldn't know how happy she is to talk about paint in that moment. "I wonder if it's trendy for this wall to have just a small section of new drywall that's slightly off color. Just slightly. Probably not." She gives an exaggerated nod of her head and takes a long drink of her coffee after toasting the wall. "But, I do have enough paint to finish it. And then, maybe. Maybe I can get Jess to spring for enough to redo all the walls. Least I can do after Cindy had her accident while practicing."

When she looks to Trish here, it's with a conspiratorial bent, and she shakes her head. "Those pole dancing instructional videos should /only/ be used with an anchored, certified pole. Def not something you can tack down with a nail gun."

Cindy Moon, sweet summer child, if only she knew the lengths at which Az were going through to protect her crime fighting identity that Trish /probably/ already knows about. By completely ruining her reputation. Not as an exotic dancer, but as a /clumsy/ one.

It takes a long time before she can look Trish in the eye then, and by then she's just building up a little courage, and filtering so very hard. Just be a human. Just be normal. "You're pretty cool, Trish. Thanks for hanging out." It's the most sincere thing she's said in days. Outside of that bit about a homeless man's underwear.

Trish took a careful breath, wary of a sneaky cough attack. Coffee and what she considered a superhuman amount of will seemed to have cleared up any residual ramen trying to block her airways. In typical Trish fashion of taking care of things, she was already making a mental list of people to call for quotes on redoing the paint for Jess. Trish briefly considered discreet inquiries of having a proper pole put in, but decided that would definitely cross a line.

"You could always just hang a really big poster of some kind over it for now. Like one of those inspirational messages with a funny picture deals." She smirked as she pictured Jess's reaction to a poster with a cat dangling from a branch with 'Hang in there' written on it somewhere. Something spectacular, with multiple uses of 'fuck' for emphasis no doubt.

Embarrassing awkward moment aside, Trish had rather enjoyed hanging out with Azalea as well. It was very reassuring to know that Jess had two very special, and not in the short bus sort of way, girls living with her. Ironically, Trish had no idea exactly how special Cindy and Azalea really were.

"I really appreciate you not adding 'for an old lady' to that. You're pretty cool yourself, Az, and I've had a great time. It's hard to beat good food, good conversation, and great company." Trish smiled warmly, unconsciously pouring on her talk show charm in response to what she was reading from Azalea. "We'll have to make it a regular habit, if you're going to be sticking around for a while."

There is a moment there, a dawn that rises over the crest of her consciousness. An epiphany. Slowly the girl with a Devil on her back rises, and her eyes go wide with a wicked glee. Only a few times in history has the God-Soul inside her, forever masquerading as some fickle Devil, felt so very good about being bad when it did not involve some terrible sin or another. It's the kind of thing that brings a glint to her eye, the kind of thing that makes her look feral. Dangerous.

It might even give Trish second thoughts. Or it might call to the risk taker inside her.

Either way, she doesn't corner the talk show host, holding up a finger before she disappears, momentarily, into the living room. There are boxes, and out of one she pulls a tube that holds several posters.

At least one of them was given as an ironic joke. Time to pass it on.

When Azalea returns it is with a predatory confidence, and she blocks Trish's view as she tapes up a very special poster. A poster of a blind-folded woman, in the throes of bliss.

A poster for Fifty Shades of Grey.

A sharpie appears, as if by magic, and she scrawls something at the bottom in silver ink. 'Cindy, aggressively used copy of the book under your bed, XoXoX - Az.'

The slow turn of her head will affix Trish with all the blind heat in the world, but it's a mask of devious glee that covers her heart-stopping stare, the kind of thing she just can't barely turn off when a plan comes together.

"I can already see both of their faces. I need… I need to have a camera ready. Trish Walker, you and your ideas. You are a national fucking treasure!"

That dangerous look in Azalea's eye before getting the poster had Trish's hand tightening unconsciously on her fork for a second, before logic had her fingers relaxing. Obviously, she wasn't going to try anything violent, or she would have already. Curiosity flared as Az left the room and doubled when she hid what she was carrying.

Once the movie poster had been revealed, Trish stared blankly at it for a few moment, before her own gleefully wicked smile spread. Her lips twitched once, twice, and then Trish exploded with laughter. "OH! Oh god! That's fucking perfect! You /have/ to be ready with the camera, please, for me!"

Once again, Trish found her eyes watering from laughing. She held her sides and wheezed. "That's even better than one of those cheesy inspirational things. We could make life very interesting for Jess, between the two of us, if we continue to come with this caliber of amazingness."

The Dark Devil's heart pounds like it's on the trail of some escaping pray, the thrill of the hunt in it's headspace, but it's a hunt for the human condition, reflected on those around her. Trish's laugh is intoxicating, a balm for her tortured soul, and her smile lingers even as she teeters on the edge of her own, bubbling laughter.

"It's a promise. I bet Cindy looks for the book for hours." Oh what a mad cackle she'd have if she let it loose, but she keeps it down, and chances a glance at Trish, gaze lingering as she contemplates all the ways she made this day, otherwise boring, better.

A faint buzzing, far off, but familiar, draws her attention. Her back is to Trish as she stares down at something, blinking at the alert. It is not just any text message.

"I uh.. Trish? Hey, hang out awhile.. I am sure Jess will be here soon, and uh.. you should get a pic if I can't. I have to.. I have to make a phone call. It's a work thing. I'm kindof on call."

That's a word for it. Finding out someone she cares deeply about just uncovered the secret identity of her boss probably qualifies as something you 'step out for'.

And just when she thought she has a slice of something, for a little while, an escape to normalcy. An image of Jess joining them. Her expression of incredulity at the poster. Cindy coming by later and turning her room upside down for a book.

But no, Gotham has a way of pulling her back. /Batman/ has a way of complicating things.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License