Profession

Things keep going 'splody

By the time Jon got home from his meeting, I'd pulled the pups' beds and bowls out of storage and we took the big pod to the pet store to get fresh food and treats. And some new toys, things like that. He found us in the game room, where they were curled up on my legs as I was bringing them up to date. They'd said that they had enjoyed Asgard a lot, seeing how the dog-people lived there, having fun with the pack, but that life was a bit boring in comparison to New York, and when Thor had come to tell them what had happened to me, they were eager to return. My heart felt warm, especially when they said they were going to stay for the long term. The cats were somewhat scandalized by the huge newcomers, and the pups were interested in them but were willing to wait on the cats' acceptance before getting to know them. Abigail was pleased to see them too, and she went out to the market to get them bison steaks, which they loved. Jon was glad to see them even though he had to hang over the back of the couch to give me my kiss. I was thrilled that they were back. They looked good, as I expected, but an after-dinner grooming pulled a lot of loose fur out of their coats.

"How was the meeting?" I remembered to ask, smoothing Thyra's soft ears.

"It was good to be back," he said with satisfaction. "But there will be some difficulties going forward; not all the heroes are coming back. They feel, not without reason, unvalued and disinclined to help the people who were so excited to be shut of us. And those with secret identities, which let's face it is like most of the League, are really displeased about you guys being outed, even if it was Diana's arrogance that led to it. It's about half the League. And Dad said that the Avengers are looking at a similar staffing problem." We discussed this a bit more, then Jon did some work on his book in the game room with us; I was 'talking' to the dogs to help fill out my memory and his presence was soothing. Better than anybody, Thyra and Langley understood how much detail to give me and viewed some of the gaps--which included the 'sweet' 16 birthday party and its immediate aftermath but regrettably not the crushing of my ankle, the SAT incident, or the kidnappings by the Joker--as a gift not to be questioned. My friends and family had to ask how much detail I wanted for the missing memories, and that all depended on the trauma involved. And they made sure to describe the good stuff in outstanding detail. I was also looking at photographs, both ones I'd taken and ones that had been taken of me, to help.

The next day, they stayed at home while I hit the hair salon. Gina winced when she saw me, and there was nothing she could do about the shaved areas of my scalp beyond recommending gentle massages to keep blood flow high around the follicles to help grow the hair faster. She gave me a mohawk, which made me laugh remembering Iris's attempt, and cleverly sculpted the edges with curves to make it interesting, and although she took off a good eight inches of length, sculpted the hair so that it graduated up the sides to the final height of about five inches and fixing it at that height with special spray. It looked like a fantasy horse's mane. Getting into the spirit of the whole thing, I had her redo my color, choosing lilac, lavender, dark purple, and purple-indigo with shining white streaks. I was reminded of the old saying "growing old is inevitable. growing up is not." And Gina curled the ends. It wasn't my style by choice, but it did look smashing and was so much better than the pathetic shaved spots. I was in a creative field so it wasn't totally out of line, and screw anybody who tried to make me feel weird about it anyway. I dropped by the Valkyrie to show off my new look to my grandma. Iris saw me on the way in and laughed.

"Your head is better shaped for it than mine," she said admiringly, touching the curls that weren't fixed with the superspray. "It's so pretty, and you can see how growing it out will be easier because your stylist sort of carved that ramp on the sides up to the top of the mohawk." She went with me to Grandma's office.

"I like the look, Lys," she said, kissing my cheek and examining my new 'do. "You've always worn fun colors well, and you're making the best of a bad situation. It's uncharacteristically bold for you."