Gwen arrives back a little later than most of those who went off to handle the witch problem. But then she'd left sooner, too; by the time the witches were an issue she was already tangled in the familiar task of defeating one of her very own villains who'd been pulled in to cause havoc. Doc Ock had certainly delivered that, him and that... creepy, super-powered octopus that he was bonded to (seriously, why did she have to get the weird Doc Ock... she never thought she'd be so jealous of people who only had to fight mechanical tentacles).
Harder fight than it used to be, took longer than she would have liked, and Gwen wishes the weird sucker marks from the attempts to crush her would fade quicker, but it's dealt with now. He's gone again, and she's back at the pole. She even had the foresight to leave herself a sweater and comfy pants to pull on over her suit on her way to the bedrooms.
She starts with every intention of heading right back to her own room to crash for the next twelve hours, but she has to pass Miguel's space to get there and...
She can't help but stop, when she catches sight of him in front of that altar. As if suddenly rooted to the floor beneath those faithful chucks she still wears like they're part of a battle uniform, not just a pair of shoes stolen from a friend.
Her lips press together, her eyes squeeze closed, she breathes deeply, and says: "...sent good ol' Octavius home with his tentacles between his legs again. So that's one more problem off everyone's plate."
—as if making a report like any other report she's made before. A mask of familiarity. Structure. Easy to dismiss her from, if he'd rather she not intrude. For all that there's still those threads of tension, she knows a personal moment when she sees one and isn't going to just barge right into it.
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Gwen arrives back a little later than most of those who went off to handle the witch problem. But then she'd left sooner, too; by the time the witches were an issue she was already tangled in the familiar task of defeating one of her very own villains who'd been pulled in to cause havoc. Doc Ock had certainly delivered that, him and that... creepy, super-powered octopus that he was bonded to (seriously, why did she have to get the weird Doc Ock... she never thought she'd be so jealous of people who only had to fight mechanical tentacles).
Harder fight than it used to be, took longer than she would have liked, and Gwen wishes the weird sucker marks from the attempts to crush her would fade quicker, but it's dealt with now. He's gone again, and she's back at the pole. She even had the foresight to leave herself a sweater and comfy pants to pull on over her suit on her way to the bedrooms.
She starts with every intention of heading right back to her own room to crash for the next twelve hours, but she has to pass Miguel's space to get there and...
She can't help but stop, when she catches sight of him in front of that altar. As if suddenly rooted to the floor beneath those faithful chucks she still wears like they're part of a battle uniform, not just a pair of shoes stolen from a friend.
Her lips press together, her eyes squeeze closed, she breathes deeply, and says: "...sent good ol' Octavius home with his tentacles between his legs again. So that's one more problem off everyone's plate."
—as if making a report like any other report she's made before. A mask of familiarity. Structure. Easy to dismiss her from, if he'd rather she not intrude. For all that there's still those threads of tension, she knows a personal moment when she sees one and isn't going to just barge right into it.