The Next Generation of Marvel Heroes

What did one feed a boy who could turn into various turtles? Brooke Wyngarde wasn’t all that sure, but internet research had pulled up many different things that a turtle ate or could eat - including greens, shrimp, cuttlefish, and pellets and flakes specifically created for the diet of a turtle. Dairy products, though, apparently weren’t one of the healthiest things you could give a turtle.

It was with this list that Brooke had created a pizza that she was sure would get Pete Eastman to open up to her, minus any of the empathic manipulation that Rachel Grey-Ramsey had expressly forbidden her to use on Pete. She looked down distastefully at the shrimp and cuttlefish mixed with butter lettuce, pellets, and calcium powder, and pushed the box away.

She’d already sent a missive an invitation for Pete to meet her in the kitchen, and was patiently waiting for him in what she considered to be one of her most approachable outfits.

Certainly the green would put them on some sort of even standing, no?

Fashion porn.

That's what it felt like to Brooke whenever she entered Lanvin's New York flagship store. Everywhere around her there was just fashion. The young woman reveled in it, her high heeled basic black Prada pumps digging into the plush zebra-striped rugs as she slowly walked around the three-story shop. She wasn't looking for anything specific, mind. It was simply that the weekend had come and as per Brooke's agreement with Rachel, weekends could be spent in the city, at Brooke's own apartment, doing whatsoever she pleased.

This usually included shopping, with Brooke's maid Sharona accompanying her with all of Brooke's necessities for the day.

Brooke's raspberry-lacquered lips curved into a triumphant smile as she came across a sleeveless white blouse with a cute little bow-tie collar. She reached up and touched the tie on her own peach coloured sleeveless blouse - a Lanvin creation itself - and snapped her fingers. The blouse, she decided, would pair beautifully with the black textured pencil skirt that she'd just picked up at Opening Ceremony. Sharona reached out to pluck the blouse from where it hung - there was only one left in Brooke's size - when another woman reached out and grabbed the same size, giving Brooke a particularly catty grin as she did so.

Brooke recognized the girl immediately. Candida Archer. She'd been a former student at the Spence School, one of Woodbridge-Robillard's chief competitors and a girl that Brooke had particularly despised for a perceived slight done to her at her debutante ball.

Wordlessly, Brooke gave Candida that look. One which she'd perfected in high school, but one which she hadn't yet gained the ability to add her empathic powers to back then. Today, that was no longer the case. Brooke raised her chin ever so slightly, and her eyes narrowed just a little. She stood a little more taller, maintaining eye contact with Candida as she effortlessly manipulated the other girl into terror and subservience. The blouse was hers and Candida inexplicably felt inferior to Brooke. She rushed past the empath and out onto Madison Avenue.

Triumphant, Brooke handed the blouse to Sharona, who was already saddled with many other clothes that Brooke was purchasing from the shop that day. As she made her way to her favorite salesperson to make her purchases, Brooke faltered just a little bit. This is what Rachel was telling her about, what Rachel was warning her about.

A sociopath. Manipulating a girl's emotions for a blouse.

She froze for a moment as something akin to guilt started wriggling its way into her heart. No. She suppressed those feelings. It was the last blouse in my size. I was absolutely justified.

Still, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that it was true, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that it wasn't.

Brooke was pretty sure she knew why she had been summoned into Rachel’s office. She waited outside, dressed in a floral-print Dolce and Gabbana dress and blue suede Christian Louboutins, both freshly delivered from Barney's. She wanted to appear mature, adult, and demure, projecting the image of a young woman who was savagely attacked by a little blonde monster from the ninety-nine percent who was hating on Brooke for no reason other than the fact that Brooke owned shoes that the mangy little snow rat could never afford.

Or something to that effect.

Would Rachel buy it?

Brooke doubted that. Granted, given the history between Rachel’s family and Brooke’s, it was hardly likely that the red-haired telepath would ever take the brunette empath’s side on anything.

Meanwhile, Bobbi was probably getting taught how to make ice cream with her powers so she could give herself a treat whenever she picked on someone better than her.

She sighed and continued waiting for Rachel, reading out of a book of short stories by Edith Wharton. At least Edith Wharton could always be counted upon to bring some class and sophistication, if no one else could.