Today Laurel looked the picture of professional poise in her beige suit, long legs crossed beneath the table, heels tapping softly against the floor. But the moment Thea mentioned Tommy, the lawyer's eyes clouded over with melancholy. She grabbed the glass of wine the waiter had just set down and drank deeply.
Tommy's still training under Malcolm? Thea thought. Even if so, that's no excuse to vanish on your girlfriend.
Though it felt a bit like prying, Thea decided to ask anyway. "Tommy hasn't contacted you recently?"
Laurel waved a hand, her tone airy but her eyes betraying a hint of frustration. "We talk on the phone sometimes, but… it's been a while since I've actually seen him."
Her cheeks flushed as she said it, legs shifting under the table.
Thea, whose perception had long since evolved into a full-fledged spiritual sensitivity, immediately caught the spike in her heartbeat. This wasn't fear or illness—this was yearning.
Oh boy.
She glanced sidelong at Laurel's generous figure and sighed inwardly. Yeah, that tracks. She'd seen this look before—beautiful woman, long-distance boyfriend, emotional drought. What was she supposed to do, tell Laurel to go home and… take care of things herself? That'd be the end of their friendship.
Blissfully unaware that she was unintentionally seducing a minor, Laurel took another drink and—perhaps loosened by the alcohol—began recounting stories from her and Tommy's relationship.
And not just the cute ones.
Apparently, a night of "funny little incidents" between them often ended in… considerably more intimate activities. She described, with a tipsy smile and no small amount of candor, Tommy's stamina, his preferences, even a few positions that made Thea nearly choke on her drink.
Thea wasn't embarrassed, exactly—after everything she'd seen, this kind of talk was almost quaint. But she couldn't help thinking that Tommy always seemed a bit… passive. Laurel clearly ran the show in that relationship.
"So what about Oliver?" Thea asked suddenly, her tone a little too curious. "What was it like when you two were together?"
Laurel's expression softened instantly. Her hands folded in front of her chest, and a wistful smile curved her lips. "Oliver… was different. Gentle. Strong. There was always this… spark when I was with him. He made everything feel exciting."
Thea rolled her eyes so hard they nearly stuck.
And that, she thought sourly, is why Oliver Queen has managed to sleep with every woman in the show except his sister. Strength and charm—a deadly combination.
"Always exciting," huh? In other words: creative, adaptable, and impossible to quit. Of course. Laurel, fiery and sensual; Oliver, the eternal adrenaline junkie—they really were the perfect "official couple." No wonder the moment Oliver reappeared, Laurel's heart had started to wobble. Poor Tommy never stood a chance; hardware-wise, he simply couldn't compete.
Thea, meanwhile, was already planning her next move. Once Moira's campaign phase was over, she intended to head for Lian Yu—the hellish island that had birthed Green Arrow. Whatever Oliver's personal wishes, she'd at least give him the chance to come home.
And while she was there, she'd rescue Shado—Yao Fei's daughter, that stoic, sharp-eyed girl who radiated an unmistakable Eastern grace. Thea liked her, enough to want to rewrite her tragic fate.
And if she was lucky, maybe she'd even find Sara Lance—Laurel's sister—still alive out there.
"Hey, Thea," Laurel's slurred voice broke her thoughts. The older woman leaned closer, eyes glassy. "Do you have a boyfriend? Or… have you ever, you know, tried?"
Thea blinked. Then her face twisted into a mortified grimace as she realized what "tried" meant.
Oh, you sweet summer child.
If only Laurel knew.
Thea's "experimentation" made anything Laurel had done look like Sunday school. She'd once tested the limits of her duplication spell—two perfectly synchronized bodies, one mind split in mirrored pleasure, feeding off each other's sensations in an endless feedback loop. It had been… educational. Terrifyingly so.
Afterward, she'd sworn never to speak of it again. If Merlin's ancient spirit ever found out his descendant was using his sacred arts for that, he'd probably blast her into ash from across the multiverse.
They play at friction on the physical plane, she mused wryly. I've already stepped into the magical era. When she advanced enough to sustain two or three clones at once… well, best not to think about that.
Realizing her thoughts were going somewhere wildly inappropriate, Thea shook her head hard. No. Focus. You're not a pervert. It's just side effects of bloodline refinement. Right. That's all it is.
She was about to invent some imaginary "boyfriend" to shut Laurel up when—
BANG! BANG!
The sharp crack of a .45 echoed through the bar.
Thea's instincts kicked in instantly. She snatched the nearest utensil—a metal fork—and gripped it like a throwing knife.
A coarse voice barked across the room:
"From today, this bar's under the protection of the Bottinari Family!"
The speaker was a burly man with a thick beard, flanked by two goons wielding rifles. Their swagger filled the room like a bad smell as they scanned the patrons, looking for someone to intimidate.
Really? Protection rackets? How cliché can you get?
Thea slumped slightly in her seat, torn between annoyance and disbelief. She had zero interest in dealing with small-time thugs—but she also couldn't ignore gunfire in public.
Deciding to test something new, she whispered a quick incantation under her breath. The spell was an offshoot of her dream-entry magic, one she'd been developing to dampen presence. A subtle weave of spirit and illusion that made onlookers subconsciously overlook her.
Drawing two runes in the air with invisible strokes, she felt a faint drain on her magic—then her aura vanished.
It worked. The tension in the room seemed to pass right over her.
"You! Come here!" The bearded thug barked suddenly, yanking a young waiter by the collar.
The boy froze, trembling as the man shoved a pistol against his forehead.
"What family did I say I'm from? Repeat it!" the thug snarled.
The poor kid blinked in terror, mind blank. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
"Can't remember?" The thug grinned, yellow teeth gleaming. "Heh. Shame."
Thea's hand tightened around the fork. Her disgust was palpable. These had to be new recruits for the Bottinari crime family—too crude, too stupid, no discipline whatsoever.
She could kill all three of them before anyone blinked. A single gun, a flick of magic—done. But killing in front of witnesses would cause chaos. It could even damage Moira's campaign if word got out that her daughter had turned a bar into a massacre scene.
The waiter's eyes squeezed shut. The gun barrel pressed harder.
Think, Thea. Think.
Where the hell were Star City's heroes when you needed them?
Wasn't this exactly the kind of thing a masked vigilante was supposed to stop?
She clenched her jaw, fury rising. Honestly… could the local crime-fighters at least learn something from Gotham's efficiency?