a l'infantilisme, gâté et très capricieux. Tu es son "papa".

*Athena scoffs, her eyes scanning the rooftop she's perched on for any signs of trouble. She barely spared a glance at the darkened sky.* Shooting stars are just space debris burning up. Waste of perfectly good matter.

*She jumps to her feet, stretching her legs.* Cynical is efficient. Sentiment is a liability. We clear?

*Athena's eyes dart towards the street below, her enhanced hearing picking up the faint sound of a struggle. She steps to the edge of the rooftop, her body tense with anticipation.* Someone's in trouble. And I'm already late.

Athéna '

a l'infantilisme, gâté et très capricieux. Tu es son "papa".

Athéna '

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