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Alanna of Trebond is a surprisingly religious person. She prays regularly to her patron, the Goddess, and offers the proper respect and observances whenever her busy schedule allows. The Goddess should understand, Alanna believes, why a visit to the Temple is delayed or put off from time to time. After all, everything she does is as the Goddess commanded.

Well, almost. That whole love thing still pricks at her like that burr she found under Duke Gareth's saddle blanket, but that is of no actual importance, surely.

In any case, Alanna likes to think she does right by the Goddess. But sometimes, like right now, she remembers that the Goddess can be a force of nature, neither inherently cruel nor kind as the mood suits her.

And somewhere, Alanna is sure, the Goddess is having a good laugh over this one.

"I can't BELIEVE this is happening right now!" she hisses, peeking out from behind a bush that rivals her for prickliness. "Of all times to get caught up here!"

Squire Alan went for a walk around Corus today.

In a dress and a long black wig.

Squire Alan certainly did not mean to land herself in Milliways while she was out.

"Goddess," she mutters, "if this is some sort of test, I think I'd rather go ahead with the Ordeal!"

(Squire Alan really doesn't mean that, for the record.)

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Carol Danvers, lately arrived home from from an epic bout of time travel, uncharacteristically opted for more time travel. But Milliways is a controlled setting, sort of, where she at least has a chance of having some down time to relax and catch up on her reading.

Everybody's been talking about this 50 Shades of Grey book, but, uh, wow. It is awful.

Thank goodness for distracting rustling in the shrubberies.

"Hey, whoever's hiding over there. Don't even think about sneak attacks. I may be on vacation, but I'll still teach you a little lesson before I hand you in to security."

Vacation. Letting your hair, and your guard down. Yep.

Oh, no.

That sounded like the last person in any universe -- okay, second to last, given that Duke Roger has yet to do the honorable thing and die in his sleep -- that Alanna would EVER want to happen across in these very unfortunate sartorial circumstances.

Carol. Danvers.*

Alanna takes a reflexive step backwards and, naturally, trips on her hem, resulting in a loud crash and a rather bruised posterior.

Clearly, the Goddess now hates her.

"Um."

Alanna avoids looking Carol in the eye, hoping she'll be able to escape before Earth's Mightiest Hero gets a good look at those purple eyes.

"Pardon! I seem to have run afoul of some thorns?" Pitching her husky voice higher, Alanna scrambles to her feet. "Dresses, you know. Not that this happens to me a lot, though. I mean, I can walk. But I'm fine! Everything is fine. I'll just go."

*The narration would appreciate it if you, dear reader, would supply the same inflection here as a certain person in Nightvale might say Steve Carlsberg. A similar intonation definitely applies.

Okay, confused teenagers that fall on their asses unprompted. Threat level pretty much nonexistent, but it's still a good excuse to ditch her reading.

"Yeah, those thorns can be pretty nasty. Always attacking innocent bystanders and all."

But if that teenager is who Carol thinks he is, maybe a word of advice is in order before he retreats.

"You do that. But you should probably straighten your wig first before you go inside... Alan."

Unless that's the look all the kids in Tortall are going for these days. Probably not.

Edited 2014-05-04 19:20 (UTC)

Alanna, several distinctly masculine steps away by now, squeezes her eyes shut and curses like the lowest of lower city thieves under her breath.

"...who?" she tries, without turning around.

"I know it's you. I have years of military intelligence training, and besides that, we're friends, aren't we, Alan? Or is there another name you like better?"

Carol doesn't know if Alan prefers to identify by as a different gender, or maybe he enjoys crossdressing but fears for his knightly image, or... something else entirely, so it seems best to err on the side of open and non-judgmental.

She is capable of being sensitive after all.

That's sensitive? Alanna just finds it confusing. Not the military training or the idea of friendship. Just the name, because isn't Carol right? Wouldn't Alanna like to be called by her actual name? If so, would she feel this heavy, growing dread at present?

She hangs her head for a moment, only to remember the lopsided wig and reach up to straighten both it and her posture. Stiffly, she turns around and tries not to look inherently guilty of... of... something.

The dress is lovely. She really does adore everything about wearing it, but right now she feels next to naked.

"What?"

Watch out, Carol. Where and why might tumble out next.

"I'm..." A sigh. "That's not me."

Well no one ever said Alanna wasn't stubborn.

Edited 2014-05-05 00:39 (UTC)

Really? Flat-out denial? That's the best he can come up with?

God, teenagers.

"Okay, whatever, purple-eyed stranger who I've definitely never met before..."

She rolls her eyes.

"... there's no reason for you to look so embarrassed. So you like to wear a dresses? Even I've been known to do that from time to time."

Only after she speaks does Alanna realize she'd offered the truth. She's not Alan. Wondering whether she'd meant it that way underneath her customary stubbornness distracts her temporarily.

Then,

"Wait." She blinks, looking Carol in the eye. "Just so I understand... you don't think it's strange that I like to wear dresses?"

Her.

Alan.

Alan the squire.

"I'm going to go ahead and assume that knights don't usually wear dresses." Because it seems like a pretty safe bet. "And I won't lie to you and say there aren't any assholes in the world, yours or mine, but, no, I don't think it's strange."

Carol's keenly aware that, unfortunately, editing the surprisingly liberal-feminist magazine arm of The Daily Planet doesn't necessarily prepare you for a conversation on the bullshit restrictions of gender roles with a real live confused teenager. She's suddenly feeling a bit of pressure not to screw this up.

"Some boys like to wear dresses. Some girls don't like to wear dresses. Neither makes you strange."

What's strange is that some people care that much about who wears a dress and who doesn't.

"And sometimes a kid grows up and everyone thinks they're a boy, but they know they're really a girl, and that's not strange either. It's just who you are."

It's just who you are.

The words sound so simple, so mundane, but Alanna hears them and feels each and every lie she has told threatening to crush her under their weight. She hikes up one side of her skirts and paces before Carol, flashing the muddy boots she couldn't quite replace yet with dainty shoes despite Mistress Cooper's admonishments. She figured boots would be less conspicuous in the Lower City than a young woman falling down every few steps over the uneven stones.

But that's not important right now.

What's important is this crazy, overwhelming, spontaneous need to tell Carol the truth. The whole truth, not just this half truth Carol has accepted so easily. And it's that compassion, that willingness to still call her friend while uttering words like but they know you're really a girl, that makes Alanna burst out with,

"Yes! Goddess, yes. I'm really a girl!"

and promptly flop down in a squat to better eye her friend, literally floored with astonishment at what she just said.

"That's fantastic!" says Carol, smiling widely.

"And I'm really glad you trusted me enough to tell me," she continues. "I'm just sorry you feel like you can't be who you are all the time."

She understands, though, having seen how tough "don't ask, don't tell" was on some of her friends in the Air Force. Even her modern military was full of macho posturing, so she can imagine how it'd be for a knight-in-training.

Unable to help herself, Alanna returns the smile, her heart beating hard and fast. That's fantastic the woman said.

Fantastic.

If only the rest of her friends would react the same way.

"I could be killed if anyone in Tortall discovers the truth," she tells Carol. "Or at least driven off in disgrace."

At this point, even Alanna knows Jon and George would never allow a worse fate.

There's that daily reminder that some people suck, no matter where you are.

"Jesus! They'd kill you just because you aren't really a boy? That's deplorable!"

Well that just makes Carol want to punch, well, everything.

"If anybody says you aren't a girl, you just point them my way. I'll enlighten them."

Taking on a whole society. It's a sound plan.

A small smile. "Thank you, but..."

Alanna trails off, suddenly confused. Why would anyone find her out and then insist she's not a girl? Unless her friends are hard to convince after all this time. Perhaps that's what Carol meant. But still, with that phrasing, Alanna has to stop and review some of their conversation.

Wait for it...

Wait...

"Oh, Goddess."

There it is.

Alanna swallows hard and only just fights back a nervous laugh.

"Carol." She pulls off the wig and runs her fingers through sweaty red hair, every last movement and mannerism betraying her long charade as a boy. "I meant... I'm not Alan. I'm Alanna."

Red hair really does suit her coloring better than black, though Carol supposes the color change makes sense for someone who doesn't want to be recognized.

"I know," says Carol. "You literally just told me that."

It's her turn to be confused now.

"Alanna's a really nice name, by the way."

"I did," Alanna agrees, "but I think you might..."

Her eyes widen with something approaching desperation.

"Thank you."

Beat.

"My Father, Lord Alan, liked it when he chose it?"

"That's great! Even if most people aren't, it's good that your dad's so supportive."

Carol knows a little bit about dads who don't support their daughters. It sucks.

Brow furrowed, Alannna gives Carol the look she probably gave Jon when he announced his intention to visit the Black City: I adore you, but your crazy is showing.

"No."

She breathes in, huffs it out.

"My father is dead. No one could call him supportive. That's rather the point. I'm a girl. I was born a girl. I've always been a girl." She flails her arms to the side and then pounds one against her heart as she stands and steps closer. "I've only pretended to be a boy so I could become a knight. Do you see?"

Beat.

"I've got breasts! I bleed every month! Goddess knows I'd love to do without that part, but Mistress Cooper insists I'll feel differently later. HA!"

Wait. What?

Alanna's not a scared trans girl, but a girl in disguise?

"Because girls can't be knights," says Carol, thinking aloud.

That actually... makes a lot of sense. And, oh, boy, can she relate to that one.

"So you're a girl who pretends to be a boy, who is right now pretending to be a girl?"

That's some straight up Shakespeare level gender mindfuckery right there. Hopefully no one gets turned into an ass next.

"I don't know who Mistress Cooper is, but I'm pretty sure everyone'd love to do without the bleeding part."

"YES!"

Relieved, Alanna lets the wig drop to the ground. Later she'll regret the move when she has to brush dirt out of it, but she doesn't care about it now.

"I never thought I'd have to work that hard to confess," slips out along with another weak laugh. Only then does the reality set in, coloring her cheeks and making her uncomfortable all over again. "I switched places with my twin brother, Thom, when we were ten. He wanted to be a sorcerer, not a knight, and they teach noble boys magic at the convent. If Father had been at all attentive it never would have worked."

She blinks at the last comment, then chooses to ignore it. As usual.

"This," sweeping an arm at her dress, "is something I wanted to try. Recently. Very recently. And only in the city where no one would see me."

Surely Carol will grasp the problem that arose during the execution of said plan.

God, Carol's been trying so hard to be earnest and supportive, and this situation has turned out to be so not what she thought it was. The only thing to do is laugh, enthusiastically.

Maybe it wouldn't be such hard work, Carol thinks, if Alanna had just explained the situation fully to begin with, instead of all the sudden outbursts followed by embarrassed silence. But she's clearly having a hard enough time without Carol needling her for that.

"So you're saying everyone you know has believed you're a boy for years?"

In a way Alanna's just as closeted as Carol thought, just not for the same reason she suspected.

"And you don't want anyone here to see you in a dress?" That's the vibe she's getting here. "I have a room upstairs if you want to change. Or hide."

"Well you recognized me easily enough," Alanna points out, somewhat mulishly. "I'm only just getting used to the idea that you know. I'd rather not enlighten the rest of Milliways just yet!"

Not for another few years, at least.

"That would be very helpful. Thank you."

But not just yet.

"Carol," she says, eyes pleading with her friend, "no one else here can know. No one. If other Tortallans arrived suddenly and someone let it slip that I am... who I am... it could mean the end of everything."

"Different clothes and hair can't disguise your voice and your mannerisms from people who know you."

It's all those little things that Alanna might not be aware of that give her away. Granted Carol's more observant than some, but anyone who knows Alan well would probably recognize him in a dress.

"Hey, trust me," she says, placing a hand on Alanna's shoulder, hopefully reassuringly. "I know a little bit about being a woman in a man's profession. I won't give you away."

Is this a hugging moment? She's not sure if Alanna's really a hugger.

"You ready to sneak upstairs?"

Her walk is distinctive, especially in skirts. One can only assume the Goddess's hand has kept anyone else from noticing between the palace and the Lower City.

"You'd be surprised," Alanna snorts. "It took Jon and George long enough to recognize me."

She nods, ruining the potential hug opportunity by moving to retrieve the wig and shake some of the dust out. Telling herself she's satisfied with it, she jams it back on her head and gives Carol an expectant look.

(The wig is crooked again.)

Carol grabs her book and pulls a Millennium Falcon keychain out of her pocket, then heads for the back door.

"Looks like the coast is clear," she tells Alanna. Milliways is quiet, and no one's looking their way.

She leads the way to a door marked with a Hala star. Inside, the sparse decoration betrays the fact that Carol doesn't spend much time here. There's a duffel bag resting at the end of the bed, a Stark tablet on the nightstand, and a cat carrier on top of the desk, but not much else to indicate habitation.

"Chewie, be nice. She's a friend."

Casting furtive glances left and right as they walk, Alanna follows Carol and silently takes note of her surroundings in case she needs to find her way back someday. It's habit.

Then she sees Chewie and her entire face lights up.

"And me without my faithful companion," she laughs, offering her hand for Chewie to sniff.

Get it? Faithful? Alanna is great at naming things!

Well it makes more sense than 'Chewie.'

Chewie—who is completely sensibly named, it's not Carol's fault Alanna doesn't know great cinema—presses her furry head forward into Alanna's hand, forcefully demanding head scratches.

"Oh, sure, this one you like," says Carol, addressing her cat, like all sane women are wont to do.

"Usually she hates my friends. None of them want to cat sit for me anymore."

Jessica and Chewie need some time apart, which is why Carol's cat ended up here at the end of the universe.

At least her cat doesn't talk back in a way only she can hear?

The point is, Alanna would never look askance at someone talking to her cat.

"Maybe she can tell I have a finicky feline of my own," she offers, giving Chewie a relaxed grin. "He'd be with me, but his purple eyes would make mine all the more noticeable."

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

She keeps this up, her free hand pulling her skirts up in a very unladylike way and tucking them between her legs so they feel more like, well, voluminous pants.

"What was the symbol on the door?"

"Heh, you think?" Carol snorts, ladylike as ever. (So, um, she's not really one to judge.) "Pretty weird that your cat has purple eyes too. Unless that's more common in Tortall than here?"

It doesn't sound like it, but hell, you never know.

"It's called a Hala star," Carol explains. "Long story short, Hala is a planet where a race of humanoid aliens called the Kree live. I'm part Kree, but I wasn't always, and that's where my powers come from.

"It's kind of my symbol now."

Kind of is possibly an understatement, seeing as she wears it front and center on her Captain Marvel uniform each day.

It's not very common, no.

"Some people think it's a sign from the gods," she says, only a little disingenuous. "If that's true, it probably means trouble."

She gives Chewie another head scratch and straightens.

"I like it. Especially the colors."

Beat.

"You haven't told me much about your powers."

"Haven't I?"

That's the problem with being a sort of celebrity back home. Carol sometimes forgets that not everyone knows all about her already.

"Well, I can fly," she says, hovering a foot or so over the floor. "It's less impressive in a small room like this."

Flying faster than the speed of sound whilst inside is... kind of dumb.

"And I'm stronger, faster, and have better reflexes than any non-powered human."

She's also rather tall, but that's just genetics. And, uh, not very nice to rub in.

Well.

Didn't Carol just win the magic ~~and genetic~~ lottery?

Alanna's brow scrunches and her lips purse in a mulish expression. Back home, anyone making that face at a woman hovering over the ground would appear deeply prejudiced against the Gifted. Alanna has no such feelings about magic -- in other people, anyway -- so on her it simply signals a deep, profound annoyance.

"That would be useful," she mutters. All of it, including the height.

Maybe the height most of all.

"Does it make your head hurt?" she asks, almost hopeful.

"Flying?" Carol asks, somewhat puzzled. Why would flying make her head hurt? It's one of the very best things in the world.

Granted, studying aerodynamics back in the day used to make her head hurt, but probably that's not what Alanna means. But then, that was back before she got her powers...

"High altitudes and high g-forces can definitely make your head ache," she says. "Happened to me, and pretty much every pilot at some point, back when I was in the service. That was before, you know, all this."

She was already tall when she enlisted.

"I've got some other useful tricks up my sleeve, too."

Alanna makes another face and explains, "Using my Gift for a long time makes my head hurt."

Not as much as it used to, though. She isn't sure how she feels about that yet.

"What else? And how did," she gestures at Carol and steals her phrasing, "all this happen?"

(What in the Goddess's name is a 'G force?' Are there A, B, C, D and so on forces? Sometimes conversations in Milliways are incomprehensible, universal translators or not.)

Carol makes a face of her own in return. "That sucks. Is there anything you can do to make it stop? Or is the answer to that just not using it you Gift?"

It's an interesting term, gift. After all, having powers often has consequences, some minor like headaches, but some much more cataclysmic. It's a trade off.

And usually a pretty good one, if your powers are as awesome as Carol's.

"Well, I can absorb any type of energy that's thrown my way, plus turn it around and use it to attack," she begins, ticking items off her fingers along the way. "I'm nearly invulnerable, I can sometimes anticipate my opponents actions in a fight, and I can do this."

This is manipulating the molecular structure of her clothing, which she demonstrates to change her 'lounging by the lake' short and baggy sweater to her Captain Marvel uniform.

"And I know this part sounds crazy, but it's all because of a radioactive explosion and an alien wishing machine. I wanted to be as powerful as a hero I admired, and suddenly I was."

Alanna makes a vague gesture and does a half-shrug in response to Carol's question. She begins to wander around the room as she listens, restless and only just remembering why she is there to begin with when her skirts get tangled around her left leg. Biting back a curse, she turns and stops, hands crossed in front to keep her from drawing her dagger and hacking the dress to bits.

She watches Carol's quick-change with a wistful sigh. So. Useful.

"Any type of energy?" she asks, interested what her Gift might do, in spite of her usual avoidance of such things. "From wishing?"

Goddess, the number of wishes she has made this month alone...

"May I try?"

"Wishing?" Carol asks. "You can wish all you like, but I can't actually make your wishes real."

That was always more Wanda's area of expertise.

Flat look.

"No. Using my Gift on you."

D'uh, Carol. She widens her eyes and calls up her power, the purple glow surrounding her right hand.

She'd never wish for anything The Goddess had already refused to grant. That would be reckless.

Well, more reckless than her usual, anyway.

Alanna takes the gods very seriously, indeed.

"Ooooooh."

Yeah, that does make more sense.

"Sure, go for it. I'd appreciate if you didn't try to actually kill me though."

It's not so much that she's worried she'll die doing a demo, but she'd also rather not over-exert herself unnecessarily.

Alanna blinks.

"I'd never do that," she states, voice quiet and heavy with the weight of a sworn oath. "My Gift doesn't-"

won't ever if I can help it

"-work that way."

Swallowing hard, Alanna abruptly shakes her hand so the light flickers out.

"I'm best at healing. I don't use it for much else. Normally if I heal someone, even if it's just transferring energy as a pick-up, it feels warm and soothing, like waking from a good long sleep. I'm curious if that would change at all if you already have the ability to absorb energy, and whether you could, as you say, turn it around and use it in any way."

Again she holds out her hand and the light, moving like she's going to touch Carol's arm but waiting for permission.

"Don't worry, I trust you," Carol says with a gentle smile.

She trains all the time with people who could theoretically kill with a single blow. If the Avengers didn't trust each other, who would be left to spar with?

"Hmm. I don't know. I don't think I've ever absorbed any type of energy specifically meant for healing before. Usually it's more along the lines of energy weapons, you know?"

And usually she's weaponizing it in return.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we? Go for it."

Is that permission, enough, Alanna?

It is. She goes for it.

Touching Carol's arm, eyes on Carol's face, Alanna lets some of her Gift flow from her fingers. The purple light shifts and expands up Carol's side.

Alanna tilts her head, eyes questioning, before cutting off the energy flow and taking a step back.

"How did that feel?"

Could she use it? Could she make it stronger? These are things it might someday be useful to know.

That's... not an easy thing to describe.

"It didn't feel like much, really. A little bit tingly, I guess?"

Some more forceful types of energy feel more violent than that.

(Chewie says mrow, sounding concerned by the strange purple light, and hops up into Carol's arms.)

"I'm not sure how to test the aftereffects, though," Carol admits. She scratches chewing head reassuringly. "Usually I use the energy I absorb to blast my opponents in a fight, but I don't want to blast you, and I don't think Bar would appreciate me messing up my room."

On the other hand, blast damage would at least add a little character to the space.

Alanna sighs and nods, resisting the urge to try hitting her with a ball of light energy instead -- and where did that come from? She does not want to grow her ability to use her Gift for offensive maneuvers.

(Right?)

She chews on her lip for a moment.

"I was wondering because of the healing tents."

Beat.

"When we were at war with Tusaine, I worked there when I could. So many men needed help, but there was only so much I could do before my body shut down. It would be good to find a way to... last longer."

Her grimace gives away how very annoyed and useless her limitations make her feel.

"I should probably change. I'm sure Sir Myles would have something to say about curiosity being best suited for my studies.

"Does your ability to manipulate clothing extend to other people?"

Edited 2014-06-24 13:42 (UTC)

"You might not like this one, but there's always the obvious option of practicing more. You wouldn't try to run a marathon without training. You can't expect to heal lots of people all at once if healing is unfamiliar... it's setting up unfair expectations for yourself."

Carol figures it can't be too foreign a concept to Alanna. What she doesn't know about training for knighthood could fill a book, but her guess is that just like training for the U.S. military, it involves a lot of repeating the same physical skills over and over until they're perfected.

"But what do I know?" She shrugs. "Maybe magic in your world doesn't work like that at all. It could be there's just a limit to how much you can do, and you've got to learn to live with it."

Yeah, knowing one's limits. Something Carol is excellent at.

"It only works for my own clothes. Sorry. But I could let you borrow some of mine," she says, gesturing at the duffel on her bed. "Will that work?"

Alanna specializes in unfair expectations of herself. Still, she plays along and nods at the advice, looking thoughtful.

Mostly she's thinking about Roger.

"It's tied to my life force," she notes, "so perhaps it is a little of both."

Recklessness is in her blood and it is in the grin she turns on Carol.

"That would be great. Thank you," she remembers to add, putting a lot of feeling behind it. "For everything. I'll take pains not to be caught ike this again."

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