UnMasked Nomad

12

'Lex Luthor is currently valued at 3.26 billion dollars, -mostly in real estate,- down from 1.688 Trillion Dollars, a loss of approximately-'

"One Trillion, Six-hundred-eighty-four Billion, seven-hundred-forty Million Dollars, American.($1,684,740,000). Ouch. Someone's taxes will be rough this year." I chuckled, pulling up to the cafe and parking the bike in Kyra's spot.

I walked in the front, humming a happy tune, and sat in my seat, sliding Kyra's keys across the bar to her. She was sitting on a pillow, to my amusement, and she sighed, cradling her own cup of coffee between her hands. "You are incredibly hard to tire out, aren't you? Did I even have a chance?"

"Here's a hint: it usually takes thirteen people, two days, and several dozen half-hour rounds, only interrupted by food, sleep, and bathroom breaks." I whispered, as her sister was at the other end of the bar, making tea for the only other customer, an older woman in a shawl and dress.

She turned, apparently having heard, and looked over the rim of her glasses at me, then Kyra, who was now blushing and hiding behind her cup of coffee. She smiled a little, and returned to her tea after a moment. "Well-brewed, Σεληνόφως, but you have a ways to go to match your sister... has she made any progress in her cooking?" She asked in fluent Greek, calmly using the girl's full Greek name, 'Moonlight, Selenafush,' and glanced up when the doors opened again.

Zatanna waved at me awkwardly, sitting next to the old woman and speaking softly. "Baba Aster, how are you? You are healthy again?"

The old woman tsk'ed. "Aiyah, as healthy as an Old Woman can be, girl! You ask silly questions!!! Now, I shall ask my own! Who is this girl who has fucked Κυριακή so sore she needs a cushion? Is she Greek?"

I breathed in my coffee, pounding my chest and hacking up the brew violently. "Fuck that burns!" I hissed, coughing into my fist and drinking the water that Selene handed me quickly. 'Note to self: NOT IMMUNE TO HEAT DAMAGE!!!'

'Noted. Your armor is, however, immune to all but the most Extreme temperatures.'

The old woman grinned, nodding. "Ahh! She is Greek! Girl! Can you cook? My granddaughter has only a talent for brewing, and so needs someone to cook for her, once she no longer lives with her mama!"

I recovered from the scare, and grinned at the violent glare and volcanic blush that Kyra was sending at both of us. I spoke softly, in English, leaning over the counter. "What do you want me to tell her?"

"Can you cook?" She shrugged unhelpfully. I narrowed my eyes, and she blinked. "Oh that! I've got it. Baba, we're just friends, don't go planning a wedding or anything."

The old woman raised an eyebrow slowly. "Just Friends? Humph! You know, your grandfather and I had a few of those, back in the 70's, after Άνεμος was born, best friends I have, even to this day-"

"Mother, are you bothering the customers? You promised you wouldn't!" An exasperated-looking Ann came out of the kitchen swiftly at our universal sounds of disgust, addressing her elderly mother sternly.

"What? I'm not, there's hardly any people in this place!!!" The older woman frowned at her daughter.

Ann sighed, and smiled at me. "Ah, Erin, I'll have your food out in a moment, it's a bit rough with just me back there."

I smiled. "I can help, if you like? Your mother was wondering if I could cook, anyway, and I haven't touched a stove in a few months, I don't think. I still remember the recipes, though... any requests?" I glanced at the elderly woman.