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Cabot and Associates, 8/13

Thanks to Fashion class, Jennifer found herself unable to fit into her dress clothes. Obviously, she'd have to buy a suit that would fit her when she was all She-Hulky.

But, this didn't stop her from putting on some of her baggier clothes and come into work. She just hoped it wouldn't freak out her boss.
The Law Offices of Cabot and Associates
LEGAL SERVICES • LEGAL AID

[ooc: The OCD ran away in fear.]

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Alex liked to drop in on her employees, from time to time. Partly because she liked seeing The Law Offices of Cabot and Associates on the door.

"I've been wondering about jurisdiction lately," Alex said as she opened the door and sauntered in. "Whether Maryland laws are even a good starting point, which is probably moot since --"

It was at this point of the conversation that she actually looked at Jen.

And, promptly, dropped her briefcase.

Jennifer smiled sheepishly. "Hi, Miss Cabot," she said.

"Hello," Alex managed weakly. "That's ... that's a new look. For you. Morning paintball?"

Please, let that be paint?

Jennifer kept smiling. "More like... erm, this is what happens when I get angry?"

"Oh." That was totally normal, and not completely fucking insane. "You ..."

Turn green and get huge. Right. That made a lot of sense, right there.

A far more pressing concern popped up. "Who, or what, are you angry at?"

If the words 'law' or 'job' were anywhere on that list, Alex was going to fucking run.

"Oh, I kind of had to deal with crocodiles with lasers on their head this morning," Jennifer said. "In class."

"Right," Alex said. "Right. Crocodiles with ... lasers."

Blink.

"You know, I'm just going to start drinking now and see if I can block most of this out."

Jennifer bit her lip. "That might not be the healthiest attitude around here, ma'am," she said.

"It got me through law school," Alex said. "And prosecuting sex crimes and child abuse. Like the one where an NYPD cop raped his own wife, and then tried to charge her with assault for beating him up later. The world is a sick and strange place."

Jennifer fiddled with her pencil a little. "Well, if you're going to drink, don't go to the bar."

"Because of the zombies?" Alex asked. "Or is there some new abomination taking place over there? I've got whiskey in my desk."

Jennifer nodded. "The zombies. I take it you're not really used to this weird stuff?"

"I've ... accepted the zombies," Alex said. It was more-or-less true. She tried not to think about them and pretended they were people dressed up as zombies because of serious mental issues. Close enough? "And ... no. I'm from New York. I'm used to lunatics, stalkers, rapists, muggers, drug cartels ... not really the crocodiles with lasers on their heads."

"This has all been new to me, too," Jennifer said. Which had to sound odd coming from someone big and green. "But I think if I tried to drink it all away, my liver might give out."

"That's where I have the advantage," Alex said wryly. "Years of experience. You drink to forget the eight-year-old talking about how her dad's been molesting her, and the rape victim whose face was shot off, or the guy who stoned his sister for the family's 'honor.' Then you drink because you hope you'll sleep tonight. The law is not the easiest occupation on the liver."

Jennifer kept her little frown.

"...maybe you should see a therapist?"

She hoped she wasn't about to be fired.

Amazingly, Alex laughed.

"I'd feel sorry for whoever got stuck with that job," she said easily. "But I'll keep it in mind."

Jennifer was really glad that went over well.

"Some time, I'm going to have to ask more about your old job," she said.

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Cabot and Associates, 8/13

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