Stark Industries, Sunday

[craftyladyparts.livejournal.com]

From missile-toe yesterday to mushy soup today, Jessica was just ignoring the weirdness now. She was focusing on the not-too-distant future at the moment. She knew that she needed to bring Miles back around on the Spider-Man thing if he hadn't yet gotten there himself. But the only real way for her to do that right now from over here was by reestablishing contact.

So yes, she was sending him a very careful e-mail aimed at planting the seed to manipulate him into taking on his legacy. For Christmas. She wasn't proud of it, but it was something she was willing to do.

Hey Miles,

I know times are probably still tough. I get that better than you might think. Here's hoping your first Christmas without your mom isn't too horrible.

PS What size full-body-suit are you these days? Just curious, no reason. J/K. LOL.

It needed work.

Speaking of work, if you needed any work done, Jessica was here to help!

il pollo ; sunday evening

[flickofthewrist]

Before tonight, the only places that Flick had eaten at on the island had consisted of the pizza place and the Chinese restaurant. Everything else seemed a little too upscale for him. It brought back memories of his time in Connecticut and the fancy dinner parties his father used to throw. Exotic (and Italian was exotic to him) foods were the norm there and he'd grown to hate anything that wasn't microwaveable and easily eaten on the run.

But, he'd stepped a little out of his box tonight and gone with Italian. He figured there'd be pasta, at the least, so things wouldn't be completely unfamiliar. When he got there, the waiter kept trying to bring him pea soup for some reason and Flick kept refusing it because gross. He eventually had to threaten to withhold a tip if the pea soup kept coming and that seemed to straighten the waiter out.

Now, he was at his table, legs stretched out and phone in hands while he waited. There weren't too many messages, thankfully. An email from Gwendolyn, still taunting him, and even one from Mandel though it was more form letter than anything else. His father was, lucky for him, still out of contact.

And yes, he was wearing something nice. He hadn't gone as far as a tie (no, thank you) but dark slacks and a button up long sleeved shirt had met the appropriate dress code. They hadn't turned him away at the door.

[Flick's there for someone but hey, it's an open place in town!]