July 06, 2017:

Jessica Jones stops by Sally Stojespal's dorm long enough to pick up her EMP gloves. Also featured: Ukranian Swearing Lessons! And a brief respite.

Columbia University


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Sloane Albright, Peggy Carter, Obadiah Stane

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

"If you're going to test the upgrade on anyone," Jessica Jones says dryly into the phone, "test them on me. I don't want to take you to the doctor again. That scared the shit out of me, Stojespal."

And thus Jessica Jones arrived at Sally's Columbia dorm, concerned the girl wouldn't listen, concerned that she'd tase herself into oblivion again in her engineer's quest for perfection. She arrives looking almost like one of the students, in ripped jeans and a black tank top with a faded smiley face on it. Not her bulletproof wear, today. There's a spot of blood just below the smiley face, a splotch that looks fresh.

But pain or not, life marches on, and sooner or later she's going to need Sally's invention, and she needs a break from staring at some really hard-won files. Maybe she should have picked them up before she decided to issue a challenge in the heart of the Wakandan embassy. Would have helped. As it is, it's a supreme irony that she got some sort of freaking Star Trek levels of medicine there at that very Embassy that sealed a nasty cut on her back in seconds, only to find herself breaking up a bunch of idiot knife fighting kids in the park on her way to Sally's dorm because she made the mistake of taking a shortcut. None of them could have been older than 16. She got herself tagged, trying to be gentle.

Oh well.

She knocks thrice by virtue of kicking the door with a booted foot. The reason why becomes apparent seconds later; she's picked up two steaming cups of coffee. "I couldn't remember if you had a coffee thing or a tea thing so I got you a coffee," she says.

Thump thump thump. The sound breaks the mood, and Rusalka Stojespal - baroness-heir of Sokovia - gives the door a very dirty look. Some sorority yahoos, perhaps, or else someone who's just plain drunk. Not unlikely considering the holiday weekend and the general lack of classes, but definitely not something she wants to deal with this morning. The disturbance it's already caused to her beloved Debussy album playing is more than enough for her.

There's an aristocratic growl and near-yell when she throws open the door, expecting someone else entirely. So she communicates her displeasure at proper volume, just like any angered New Yorker. "SʹOHODNI VRANTSI YA VID…"

And then Sally stands there blinking as her recent acquaintance and partner-in-crime against the world-shattering doom of Decimux stands before her. Clearly she had not expected this visit, and after a second or two of shock adapts a properly abashed look on her face. "Uh…come in, Miss Jones. Sorry about that…"

She flashes a dirty look at whoever it was poked their head around the corner at her shout, which manages to scurry them away. 'Don't mess with the Sokovian girl' seems to be a rule around this dorm, at least. Then she looks back to Jessica, eyes widening as she practically drags the PI into her room. "Would you get in here! Bozhe miy, look at you…what the hell happened? Put the coffee down, I'm taking you to the hospital."

If Jessica doesn't stop her, she's grabbing her car keys and doing precisely that - once she puts the rapier down, the long slender sword something she'd grabbed as the first thing at hand when answering the door. Totally normal, that. Right? Right.

"No, you most certainly are not," Jessica growls firmly. "First of all, the wound will be gone in approximately 5 days, and the worst will be done in 3. Second, if I really need to get rid of them, I have a wizard I can call on who can heal them instantly. I just really want her to stay on other targets right now. If I'm feeling super desperate, I can go to Stark, or SHIELD Medical. I'm definitely not going to say, Metro General, because then a report gets generated, and then fucking David Archer gets a sniff of the fact that I got into some sort of fight, and then that fucker figures out how to use this shit against my friend. So put your god damn keys down and take this motherfuckin' coffee."

And then: "But you can tell me what So Doni Var Rantsi Ya Vid means, because that sounded kind of epic."

The joke is meant to take the sting out of her growling and stomping and general snappishness, aware, seconds after the fact, that the girl didn't really deserve that.

The tirade gets a long stare. A long, quiet stare as Sally is outright bitched out, for an instant angry at the snappish comments. And then it passes, as Jessica cracks her joke, and Sally just bursts out laughing. A little longer than she should, admittedly, but there's eventually a stunned nod of acquiescence as well as a direct compliance with Jessica's orders.

"Yes, alright. I'm not used to dealing with, uh…well, super-people, just yet. Everyone I know, even my friend, needs help healing." Especially Raisa. She just has this thing about rapid lithobraking that most pilots tend to avoid. "I'm sorry, look, uh…come on, sit down. And thank you for the coffee."

The cup is accepted, and sipped - bitter, and definitely not to Sally's taste, but it's alright. The caffeine is already palpable; maybe there's something to the American love of the stuff after all. Or maybe not, that harshness… She can enlighten her companion in the ways of the true brew later. Meanwhile, Sally settles the rapier back in its scabbard, in a holder by the door, and then tucks her keys back where they belong.

"David Archer…that name, he…he is the prosecutor, for the Barnes case? I heard a little about that, some of the basics. You are working on that, I take it." Less a question, more a statement, said with a quirked eyebrow over a deep blue eye.

She giggles a little finally, and nods. "It's…Ukrainian. And it's the first part of 'I do not have time for your bullshit this morning' or something close. It's a little flexible. And fun to shout at people who disturb you at the wrong time, I admit. Sorry about that!"

Jessica repeats it a few times. Having a handy Ukranian way to tell people she doesn't have time for their bullshit this morning seems awfully helpful. Maybe she'll just collect curses from around the world. Apparently Sally has nothing to be sorry for on the matter of yelling them at Jess. She does sit down, more than willing to, tired as she is. "Something like that," she says, on the matter of working on it. She clams up though, not wanting to talk about it. Ranting about him had been a slip.

Instead, she changes the subject. "So you think you got iteration 2 worked out? You seriously didn't nearly tase yourself again right?"

She is already drinking her coffee, apparently enjoying it very much. She didn't put anything special in Sally's, nor did she think to bring cream and sugar, but…it was a spontaneous last minute pick up.

Actually, there's a bit more to it than that, and I guess…I forgot what exactly I was saying. I didn't expect you! But, here we go. 'Ya ne mayu chasu na tvoyu nichyyu s'ohodni vrantsi!'" And she'll walk Jessica through each bit of it, amused at having a friend to share bad words with. Really, it's the 'tvoyu' that's the really bad part of it.

Once Jessica's got it, Sally grins and flashes her companion a thumbs-up. "And, thank you for the coffee. It's…a bit like high-test, I suppose? It's a lot stronger than I'm used to, admittedly, but. It's alright!" She gestures over to the wall; a ceramic and metal samovar sits awaiting the next proper tea party. "I'd offer you some, but," Sally grins, holding up her cup of brew, "you've already covered that."

To the mention of Archer, and the case, Sally lets it drop - it's a PI thing, secret investigations, nothing she needs to know about. "Iter-oh! Right, yes, the gloves. I've done some tuning. Hold on a moment…" She sets the coffee cup down and stands, stretching, before heading to the closet. She's casual today. Jeans, of course, fitted nicely to a slim and leggy frame, and a t-shirt advertising the 2017 Le Mans race. And barefoot, at home.

A box is retrieved, and Sally makes her way back to the PI and holds up…what looks like a new pair of gloves. "I made some changes, initially, and then started tuning things with Mr. Stark. What I want to do is put a proper arc-capacitor in it, since that seems to be the most effective means of stopping these…nano-machine things. Decimux blood. I'm still working on trying to arrange a proper capacitor for ARC-reactor energy, but for now these should do."

There's a pause, as she holds out the gloves. "Hm…okay, you know the difference between DC and AC right? Batteries, versus house current?"

"Tvoyu for bullshit, then?" Jessica asks, picking up the context clues. Her pronuncation is terrible. She sounds just like an American trying to pronounce Ukranian words. But it gets the job done.

"You can put arc technology into something that small? Jesus, how expensive would that be? Nevermind, I have a…some sort of a…thing now. Just make sure I get the receipts and I'll give them to Mr. Stane and he can just…yeah. Be all thrilled I bought myself power gloves on his expense account I guess." She's not really comfortable, spending other people's money, but…this is war. "You should ask SHIELD about getting you a sample of the inert nanites from Holmes' blood."

She takes the gloves, tugging them on. "Uh. I didn't till you said it," Jessica admits. "At least, I wouldn't have been able to name it until you did."

There's a bit of a headtilt before Sally nods. "Mmmore or less, yes. /Da./ It's a little bit hazy, not everything translates perfectly, but if you hear that word, usually someone is…upset. Same in Ukrainian and Russian, too. Good to swear with in general." Which, considering the makeup of Hell's Kitchen, might be something she runs across. Or gets to throw at people. "Try this. Yob tvoyu mat. Cut off the -t- sound at the end."

A hand is raised at the question, and she shakes her head. "Not yet. That's the problem we're - I'm - working on now. Mr. Stark is…doing ten things. Before breakfast, probably, which I doubt he'll eat until late afternoon. You know him," she adds with a smile. "But I'm trying. It can potentially help a lot of things, if we can do it. Mostly…I feel like I sit at his feet and play with blocks, like a toddler handling the leftover shavings from a master and pretending they are making things too."

She's not far off in that feeling.

"Mr. Stane should not mind too much. It is, after all, Tony's own technology, sort of. I did swear an oath to him to be his student, a family vow. What is mine is his." The mention of the nanite blood gets a pause, and a long moment of thought. "I should, yes. I was hoping to get a proper arc-power setup, but this will simulate it, I suppose. Perhaps this will be suitable to test."

A small shake of the head. "It's all about current flow. DC - direct current - comes from batteries. Think of a stream of electrons, shooting down the path, all the same direction. One direction, one flow, the whole time. AC is alternating. It switches back and forth, forward and backward, as it goes along. It's that switching, that frequency, that I'm looking into. Now."

Sally holds out her hands, demonstrating as she goes. "Feel the little pad on the palm below your thumb? Push it with your index finger, that will turn the gloves on. You'll see a little red light on the back of that glove. That means it's charged and active, and ready to transmit. It'll send current to the other glove - over here." She points to Jessica's other hand.

"Current flows from one glove to the other, like prongs in an outlet - one in, one out. Connect those prongs to someone, or something…zap. Touch the head and stomach say, any nanites between them should be paralyzed. Or any direct line between your fists, in their body. As well as a nasty stun to the person."

She looks around a moment, but there's nothing to really try it on right now. At least, nothing that she's willing to try dumping a lot of voltage into. "And the contact points, the polished mesh bits. I added some rubber to them for protection, but all the little openings where you see bare metal? Put that against your opponent."

"It would be pretty rad if you could, apparently arc technology does a fair job of hiding people from Decimux for reasons I don't have a hope in Hell of understanding. Yob tvoyu ma!" She says it like you son of a bitch! putting the empahsis on it like that even though she has no fucking clue what is actually coming out of her mouth. It's a good thing Sally isn't vindictive; she could be telling Jess to say anything and Jess would believe it.

She listens to Stojespal's feelings on Stark and snorts. "Please."

She hesitates, then says, "Look, kiddo. He's in his late 30s. You're in college. The shit you're doing is incredible. My Dad was a Stark Industries engineer back in the day, and he could not have done what you're doing right now. Not even close. And my Dad was smart. So don't be so hard on yourself."

But she listens, happy to learn all about electricty. She feels the pad on the palm below her thumb and pushes into it, letting the little light flow, feeling a tingle as she feels the other glove activate. "So don't let them connect, I assume? Don't cross the streams, like Ghostbusters?" She doesn't see anything she wants to risk hitting either, but she turns the gloves back off long enough to have a look at the bare metal openings. "Damn, this is cool. I mean it was cool before. And you built all this in your dorm room."

There's an enthusiastic nod. "That's what I'm hoping for, yes. SHIELD did have a report on that…mm, if you're not cleared I say you are. And it's Stark's technology anyway, which is something he'd learn and disseminate himself. So. Yes, Arc-energy does that - which is why I'm trying to miniaturize it."

There's a snortgiggle that comes from the Sokovian. "Very good! You speak as well as I. Now you know how to say 'fuck your mother!' in Russian and Ukrainian." Cheerful smile!

The pep talk gets a nod, as well as a bit of a frown. "He is, yes…and I'm still young. This…alright, perhaps it is impressive, but all I'm doing is adapting technology. Things that exist. …Mostly." The idea of the arc-capacitor is still a ways off, but she can at least simulate the effect. "There's just…so much to learn. And I am nowhere near Mr. Stark's capabilities, in all honesty. But."

She grins, a more determined look on her face. "Just because I'm at the back of the pack doesn't mean I will lose. It just requires effort and skill to regain the lead." The racing enthusiast knows her terms quite well, and knows what she intends - specifically, to make Stark proud of the day he accepted her oath. And proud to know a Stojespal.

Perhaps she's not so divorced from her family tradition as she might think.

"Well…I assembled it here. I did do a lot of research at work, and some testing, trying to 'tune' the current frequencies to something close to arc-energy. It's not perfect…but, I suppose even a momentary surge of an EMP, weak, would be enough to catch someone offguard. And…" She glances at Jessica's arm, and presses her thumb gently against a bicep. "If you're as strong as you seem, that moment should be more than enough."

And then she points to the couch once more. "NOW. Sit. And I'm getting you a change of clothes, because you're bleeding again - no arguments." The sudden change in the Sokovian is palpable, an aura of command just as strong as Jessica's had been when she'd ranted - only this one much more controlled. This is proper breeding, and being groomed for the station. "You will relax and rest and I will…ah. Hm, pick a band. Queen or Pink Floyd? And don't bleed on my chair."

The PI's choice of band is brought to her on a replacement shirt. She's not getting out of here with at least basic medical attention, and Rusalka's burned, banged, and cut herself enough times to handle giving it.

Jessica grins in delight. "Hell yeah," she says. "If any of those Russian gangster assholes running around in my neighborhood ever decide to give me trouble that's the first thing I'm saying to them." And she will, too, with great glee and gusto.

"You're also not an ADHD hamster," Jessica points out, on the manner of Stojespal's capabilities vs. Stark. "There is balance in all things, grasshopper. Or something. And yeah, it sounds like it will be plenty." Man. She really should have stopped by Stojespal's place before heading to the Wakandan embassy, but hindsight is 20/20 and all. She'd suspected she might need to engage in ritual combat. If she'd known that techo toys were apparently considered fine in that— up to and including miniature concussive bombs— she might have done just that.

"Pink Floyd," Jessica says, after a moment's thought. Was there really any doubt? She sits, looking amused. But if the girl wants to fuss over her, she'll allow it. "I won't bleed on your chair. But thanks." She hasn't yet caught on to the fact that the girl has decided she might want to fuss over the wound itself.

The grin gets a laugh. "Alright, yes. Let's see. Suka, blyad, pizda, mu'dak, all good words. Mix and match as you like, uh…otva'li is useful. Bitch, fuck, pussy, asshole. And 'fuck off.'" All of it in that singsong soft Sokovian; Russian is a great language to swear in. It sounds…so fluid, with just a sting of harshness with the right emphasis.

It's also the kind of language that would get her mouth washed out with soap, if she were back home. "Oh, mafiyat? Then, this. Dobro pozhalovat' v N'yu-York - Welcome to New York. Something good to add on, eh?" She smiles an almost evil smile; there's little difference among the Stojespal between the old Soviet rule and the mafia that sprang from the KGB's breakup. Men of power and will, and men of many secrets.

"Yes, yes. Balance indeed. I suppose…if I were, it would make life a little more difficult. When you are that rich, you can get away with more than I." Sally shrugs, but her words aren't harsh. Just an observation…though a curious one, on the heels of her thoughts about the Russian 'families' that set up shop. Power and money in different flavors, perhaps…but not so different.

The shirt's brought out to her, and Sally steps around behind Jessica - holding a small red plastic box. It's exactly what she might be afraid of. "Alright. Now, shirt off. I will certainly not accept a friend bleeding in my own home, and I will be thrice damned if I were to send you away without looking after this."

Her first aid skills are 'competent' at least, though she's no paramedic. At least it doesn't look like a bad slice…from this angle.

"Dobro pozhalovat' v N'yu-York, mu'dak. Damn. Makes me sound way more badass than I actually am. Like I'm quoting movie lines." Jessica gives the thumbs up. She probably would struggle with 'pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon' or other similarly civilized phrases in Russian, but boy can she pick this up like it's nothing. She goes on to say this like several different action heroes might.

Really. She's like a fucking 5 year old with a new toy.

She also snorts. Apparently Stark is so rich that even Sokovian nobility think he's beyond rich. That's insane. That's just an insane amount of money. Suddenly she feels a little less guilty about all the money Stark Industries has sent her way.

"Jesus," Jessica grumbles, seeing that red box. Such a gracious patient. But she sighs and pulls the shirt off. "It's gonna be fucking gross," she warns. She peels off the world's most slapdash and careless bandaging job. The woman apparently stopped in a public bathroom, found herself some of those awful cheap brown paper towels that like to shed everywhere, and used some duct tape she must have had on hand to take care of it before moving on to her destination, exactly like someone who just felt she did not freaking have time for this shit today.

Sally just cracks up. The sheer enthusiasm that Jessica shows for her new toy is infectious, and she can't help it. "Movie star! Yes, it does doesn't it? You learn all sorts of things from attending races as…a…n assistant. To the mechanics and drivers." Yes, assistant. That. Pay no attention to the bunnygirl costume and ears and stockings. Moving quickly right along, she continues. "When a car comes in minus, oh, a wheel, a brake, and a good portion of bodywork, there are many comments made. So, useful lessons!"

In fairness, Sokovian nobility isn't anywhere near as rich as Stark, not by at least a zero or two. And most of their money is locked into estates, infrastructure, and whatnot; the Stojespal treat their retainers in the old way - and care for them well. That's not to say Sally's broke; the white and black Lotus is errant spending money for proper transport, at a little shy of six figures. But she can drop that much change on a car.

Tony Stark? Drops about a hundred times that, or more, on a single suit of armor. And he churns them out like a hobby.

"Yes, Him. And I will not do much, I can - bozhe miy." She swallows hard seeing that deep wound in the PI's stomach. "Fucking gross. Da, you said it. Alright…" And then she just puts down her gauze and stares hard at Jessica. "How do you stand the pain? I mean…I would be screaming, how are you not…" How are you not doubled over and getting stitches done?

But she picks it up and begins to dab at the wound, adding a little disinfectant. And a little more, as she realizes just how big this it. "Alright, uh…this is a lot deeper than I thought." There's a long moment of breath. "You cannot go to a hospital, fine…but. You said this will take a few days to heal? I believe it," she continues, going back to work. Some alcohol, before a thick bit of gauze is applied.

"Alright, you at least need to rest for a while before I let you go out like this. At least it must set." Tape gets unrolled, and there's a few criscrossing strips that holds the gauze down. "If you're free today, and I know you are free today, then you're going to hang out and watch movies. Or something. At least until this evening, when I am sure that isn't still bleeding. Then I will drive you home. Good? Good."

Once she's done working on Jessica's abdomen, she'll let the other woman get properly dressed. "Meanwhile, I will take this, and scrub it clean. If you cannot be seen by anyone as having been in a fight, not having blood on your shirt is the first rule!"

"I took a handful of Advil before I came over. I've had worse. I screamed when it happened." That handful represented about thirty of those pills, but she figures to tell Stojespal that would only freak her out. She has quite the tolerance for Advil these days. It feels better, though, not to have it poorly bandaged and seeping. Much better, in fact, with everything put more or less in the right place to heal itself.

"Good point," she admits. "Thanks." She pulls on the Pink Floyd shirt, surprised to find it fits, and then just…flops onto the couch. She'll hang out and watch movies, for sure. For a little while. Just until she can think again.

She's tired. Really tired. She probably needs a few hours to rest and reset after a few days of hard revelations and hard choices. Even more than she needed the medical attention. She feels guilty— this is time she could be spending going through the Mizizi information…but she already stayed up all night doing initial prep work on it, and her head hurts.

"I might fall asleep," she warns. She smirks. "Though I suppose you're kind of counting on that. But yeah, seriously, it'l be fine in a few days. It's not insta-regeneration, and I've never put a number to it, but I heal pretty fast. I won't even have a scar."

"I'm sorry," she adds after a moment. "I know I'm no fun to deal with."

Part of her temper and grouchiness might in fact be due to the fact that yes. Yes, she is in some pain. She handles it by ramping up the Asshole Factor to 10.

"Just a scream, is that all. Funny, I did not hear an appropriate shriek." From the look of that wound, Sally's wondering if Jessica didn't run into a sword after all. "At the very least…that…should be good enough for now. If it gets worse, you will go to a hospital." Her face softens a little. "Sergeant Barnes, I suspect, needs your help. And would not be pleased to know you've neglected yourself that much."

When her companion flops, the Sokovian joins her on the other end of the couch. A button press on the oversized, overcomplicated remote control kills the soft classical music that had been playing, and fires up the television. "There's a number of movie and request channels, things for the drama and performance students. Communications students as well. Uh, let's see…"

She starts flipping through the channel guide and request list, looking for whatever might be appropriate for a day off, while she listens to the metahuman's explanation. "Mm. Well, I won't say I'll do terrible things to you if you do fall asleep. No drawing faces or silly makeup. But if you need your rest, rest." Or else. Besides, the couch is very comfortable; it's not the typical student fare.

It's also not the kind of overstuffed overdecorated monstrosity you'd find in a typical victorian home, but a more modern style - which kind of fits the dorm. A functional elegance in its simplicity, but also an expensive one - born out by the really nice and soft pillows behind the investigator's back. Ikea this is not, and it wouldn't be hard to nod off.

"Blyad. You are not 'no fun.'" Sally looks over at the black-haired woman, strangely blue eyes taking her in. "I have had much worse. Like the time Tony Stark had several ribs broken, and I had to play assistant nurse. That man is a terrible patient."

"I can imagine he might be," Jessica agrees, on the matter of Tony Stark, and patients. She only smiles as Stojespal says Barnes needs her help. It strikes her as a little bit funny, given everything. Maybe it's nothing more than grim, gallows humor, because she's got a lot of room to fuck up that 'help.'

"I like comedies, anything with explosions, but your place, your pick. And you won't draw or do silly make-up because you're a smart woman with a good sense of self-preservation."

There's no real heat to that threat. It is tinged with humor and amusement. "If it gets worse," she adds, "I will go get it treated." Not the same as a hosptial, but she did list out a bunch of alternatives that she might call on if she really, really feels like she needs to.

"I ended up with a car," she reports, after a moment's thought. "It's my sister's old one. I drove hers into a surprise pole. By the time we had it repaired she had her heart set on an SUV and so she just gave it to me. Though I was going to go with your advice if I wound up buying one. How's your friend, by the way?"

Sally nods. "At least I had … well, was help, for Ms. Carter. She did the real work. So far…I would rate you…mm, perhaps a seven. Minus a number of points for going around in the state you were in, but plus a few for being a quick lingual study." The smirk is a mile wide.

"You are most very correct," Rusalka admits with a grin - and still somehow aristocratic. "No pranks, and comedies it is. A good time for - huh. Look at this. Someone requested that Ghostbusters movie you mentioned. I've never seen it, in honesty." The joke was, sadly, lost previously. Not anymore. "Nineteen eighty four? This is an old movie." To be fair, Rusalka herself was born fifteen years later.

The mention of a car gets a surprised look - and a nod. "I see - and I understand. My offer still stands, though; at least to look over the repairs and make sure they were done properly. And Sloane is well. She's getting more used to her abilities, although she hasn't decided what to do. Mostly it's just…day by day. Next time you visit, let me know. I'll introduce you properly."

Sally gives a little bit of a smile. "I think she'd like you. She's…" A pause, then a hard laugh, watching the comic mastery and chemistry of the three leads in the film. "She has a sense of humor like yours. Not to mention good taste in music," Sally adds with a wink at the investigator.

"I'd like to meet her. And Jesus. Yeah. You gotta watch Ghostbusters." It has the advantage of being a movie Jessica has seen a zillion times, too, which means she can drift off, drift back in, and know exactly where she's coming back into the story. She gives it her thumbs up. "It's old but it's a classic. You'll miss dozens of American references if you don't watch that one, even as late in time as 2017."

"Who is Ms. — Oh. Peggy." Jessica shakes her head, chuckling. "I'm sure he gave Peggy less trouble than he'd give virtually anyone else on the planet. Even if he probably did try to build something right over her head while you two worked."

She's chuckling along with the film too, but is not so obnoxious that she will, say, speak along with the lines or anything. She just sort of comfortably settles in to hang out, sprawled out casually enough.

"Ghostbusters it is, then." As the hallowed Keeper of the Remote, Rusalka's word is law - but at least it's a word backed up by her partner-in-comedy. She's never seen it herself, but that's being fixed immediately. And, very, very pleasantly…as the film continues, Sally fishes out her phone from the tabletop. A few buttons, a swipe, and a bing, and she sets it back down with a smile - being sure to miss none of the film.

"He was, yes. What was it you said, a hamster with ADHD? A little harsh…but…not inaccurate." And then the movie has her rapt attention; the effects are wonderful for the era and the technology…

…if Jessica happens to look over at her friend, she'll see that same expression when she mentioned shock-gloves. The kind of expression that says 'an engineer is thinking the problem through, and the problem is how to make something cool.' This might have bad ramifications for the future.

Or it might not, because a pizza and drinks arrive soon after - bless dorm delivery. Lunch, movies, and chatter, and hopefully a day of rest for Jessica and Sally. Perhaps, even, a day to become friends.

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