Amanda and Garrison
Jun. 14th, 2026 04:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsA witch, a Mountie and a packet of chips. Garrison stops by to visit a recovering Amanda.
The worst of the dizziness had passed, but she was still restricted to the suite… and the couch, since Marie-Ange had put her crutch out of reach to stop her walking around any more on the bullet wound. New York had healed the immediate worst of the impact she’d taken from the Stepford, like the broken jaw, but Amanda couldn’t help but be a bit disgruntled that it hadn’t managed to fix the whole thing.
She was slumped on the couch, bandaged foot on the coffee table, flipping through various television channels and bored out of her mind.
“Knock knock.” Kane said, coming through the door without a pause. He had a cooler bag slung over his shoulder and a paper bag in hand. The Canadian had disappeared for a few days, spending them with Jean in the Box, but it seemed that period was over.
“So, MA says it’s a concussion and a bullet wound in the foot because Wade, even evil, remains a ridiculous clown.” He said.
Amanda tossed aside the remote, pulling herself up slightly, glad for the distraction. “Apparently being sucker punched by a diamond fist rattles the brain,” she replied. “As for Wade… next time I see him, I’m hanging him by his nutsack from the Brooklyn Bridge.” She waved at the armchair. “Thanks for coming by. I’ve been going balmy - ‘m not allowed to read anything or use a computer.”
Kane passed over the bag. “Fish and chips from Harry’s. Don’t tell Namor. He’ll likely complain that you’re eating one of his subjects.” He reached into the cooler bag, pulling out a gatorade for her and a Moosehead for himself. “Also, no alcohol. Yes, I know it tastes like water with a green crayon dissolved in it. Trust me, it will help.”
She pouted at the gatorade, but accepted it and the food. As she unwrapped the paper, she took a deep inhale of the smell of fried battered fish and chips, and gave a happy sigh. “Just like my favourite place off the Brighton Pier,” she said happily, stuffing a chip in her mouth. “Jean doing all right?” She said, mouth full.
“Telepathy is back, but her shields and control is all messed up right now. Feels a little better and is starting to work with the other telepaths to rebuild everything. She’ll be fine - better than fine in a few weeks. I understand how fundamental a power like telepathy is objectively, but to hear her tell it, it was literally like suddenly losing a sense you use everyday.”
“Yeah, it must have been hard. It’s been, what, a year? More?” Amanda peeled a strip of paper from the edge of the parcel and wrapped it around a piece of fish so she could hold onto it.
“Ever since New Orleans.” Kane nodded. “I get my powers back the day she loses hers. As Alanis would say incorrectly, isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?”
“Is any of that song actually ironic?” Immediate need for grease and potato sated, Amanda cracked open the gatorade.
“No, it’s pretty much all coincidence, I’m told. I’m not sure. My degrees were psychology and criminology, not English. I was scarred by iambic pentameter as a child which closed off that field of study for me.” Kane said, taking a sip of his beer. “I know. Oh, the humanities.”
Amanda snorted, narrowly avoiding getting a mouthful of green gatorade up her nose. “Tell me about it - there’s a whole era of spell casting where a bunch of Shakespeare groupies wrote their spells as sonnets. It’s fucking brutal to remember. But at least it isn’t singing, like we had to for the Witches’ Road. Ugh.”
“So is there a reason you can magically woo-woo away your injuries? I mean, I can’t imagine concussions take a lot of energy to fix.”
“You’d think so, but casting with a concussion is really risky. Magic involves energy transfer, which means you get that energy churning through your central nervous system and brain; if your brain is scrambled and you can’t focus properly, that energy can go anywhere or do anything.” Amanda shrugged. “And as boring as this is, I’d rather not chance it. Clea or Topaz could probably help a bit, but healing magic isn’t as much their thing.”
“So you’re best off following the wisdom of generations of hockey players and just giving it a rest.” Kane said. “At least you’re in a mansion with accounts for every streaming service known to man. Throw on a Red Dwarf marathon and give your accent a quick refresher.”
“I’d throw a chip at you for that, only that would be a waste.” Despite her attempts to look huffy, a grin broke through as she tossed him the remote. “Go on, then.”
The worst of the dizziness had passed, but she was still restricted to the suite… and the couch, since Marie-Ange had put her crutch out of reach to stop her walking around any more on the bullet wound. New York had healed the immediate worst of the impact she’d taken from the Stepford, like the broken jaw, but Amanda couldn’t help but be a bit disgruntled that it hadn’t managed to fix the whole thing.
She was slumped on the couch, bandaged foot on the coffee table, flipping through various television channels and bored out of her mind.
“Knock knock.” Kane said, coming through the door without a pause. He had a cooler bag slung over his shoulder and a paper bag in hand. The Canadian had disappeared for a few days, spending them with Jean in the Box, but it seemed that period was over.
“So, MA says it’s a concussion and a bullet wound in the foot because Wade, even evil, remains a ridiculous clown.” He said.
Amanda tossed aside the remote, pulling herself up slightly, glad for the distraction. “Apparently being sucker punched by a diamond fist rattles the brain,” she replied. “As for Wade… next time I see him, I’m hanging him by his nutsack from the Brooklyn Bridge.” She waved at the armchair. “Thanks for coming by. I’ve been going balmy - ‘m not allowed to read anything or use a computer.”
Kane passed over the bag. “Fish and chips from Harry’s. Don’t tell Namor. He’ll likely complain that you’re eating one of his subjects.” He reached into the cooler bag, pulling out a gatorade for her and a Moosehead for himself. “Also, no alcohol. Yes, I know it tastes like water with a green crayon dissolved in it. Trust me, it will help.”
She pouted at the gatorade, but accepted it and the food. As she unwrapped the paper, she took a deep inhale of the smell of fried battered fish and chips, and gave a happy sigh. “Just like my favourite place off the Brighton Pier,” she said happily, stuffing a chip in her mouth. “Jean doing all right?” She said, mouth full.
“Telepathy is back, but her shields and control is all messed up right now. Feels a little better and is starting to work with the other telepaths to rebuild everything. She’ll be fine - better than fine in a few weeks. I understand how fundamental a power like telepathy is objectively, but to hear her tell it, it was literally like suddenly losing a sense you use everyday.”
“Yeah, it must have been hard. It’s been, what, a year? More?” Amanda peeled a strip of paper from the edge of the parcel and wrapped it around a piece of fish so she could hold onto it.
“Ever since New Orleans.” Kane nodded. “I get my powers back the day she loses hers. As Alanis would say incorrectly, isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?”
“Is any of that song actually ironic?” Immediate need for grease and potato sated, Amanda cracked open the gatorade.
“No, it’s pretty much all coincidence, I’m told. I’m not sure. My degrees were psychology and criminology, not English. I was scarred by iambic pentameter as a child which closed off that field of study for me.” Kane said, taking a sip of his beer. “I know. Oh, the humanities.”
Amanda snorted, narrowly avoiding getting a mouthful of green gatorade up her nose. “Tell me about it - there’s a whole era of spell casting where a bunch of Shakespeare groupies wrote their spells as sonnets. It’s fucking brutal to remember. But at least it isn’t singing, like we had to for the Witches’ Road. Ugh.”
“So is there a reason you can magically woo-woo away your injuries? I mean, I can’t imagine concussions take a lot of energy to fix.”
“You’d think so, but casting with a concussion is really risky. Magic involves energy transfer, which means you get that energy churning through your central nervous system and brain; if your brain is scrambled and you can’t focus properly, that energy can go anywhere or do anything.” Amanda shrugged. “And as boring as this is, I’d rather not chance it. Clea or Topaz could probably help a bit, but healing magic isn’t as much their thing.”
“So you’re best off following the wisdom of generations of hockey players and just giving it a rest.” Kane said. “At least you’re in a mansion with accounts for every streaming service known to man. Throw on a Red Dwarf marathon and give your accent a quick refresher.”
“I’d throw a chip at you for that, only that would be a waste.” Despite her attempts to look huffy, a grin broke through as she tossed him the remote. “Go on, then.”
