secrets and shadows

Who: Medea and Porter
Where: Porter's house
When: after school

Unlike most kids his age, Porter wasn't one to crank up the music in his room. Sure, it was his little sanctuary, and he hid there fairly often. But he didn't have any need to shake the walls, and he liked the fairly loose standards his parents held him to as far as things like curfew. As long as his grades were up and he kept the volume down? He had free reign. So he'd never regretted buying a good set of wireless headphones, especially not after days like today. Porter was lounging on his bed, headphones on and with his laptop and art tablet set up nearby on a chair. He didn't look happy, but who would? That Aaron kid was a pain already, and Porter wanted to believe he was only imagining mocking snickers from others in the halls whenever he moved between classes now.

But hey, school was over for the day, and he'd made it to the Fortress of Solitude. Leaning to one side, Porter was busy with his tablet, his eyes intent on the screen as he highlighted panels of a page he'd scanned for the comic, clicking at the laptop to blend in background colors. It was coming along, and he felt certain he'd hit his next update deadline, so long as he could resist the temptation to add Aaron as a victim, not to mention dodging potential distractions outside of school.

Medea had found Porter's house, remembering where it had been from before, and while she knew it might be construed as strange to go calling upon him so soon--she was willing to bet he'd be flattered by it at least somewhat. So, she had gone over, knocked on the door, and smiled nicely for his parents. She'd been a perfectly wonderful girl, effecting a curious if restrained demeanor, like she was very curious about things but was trying to hide that fact. She was led to his room, and she knocked, stepping back so she wasn't crowding the door.

Porter's stepdad disappeared with one last reminder to keep the door open, smiling to himself as he disappeared back down the stairs and left Medea in the hall. Inside, Porter missed both the knock and the parental warning, lost within the lull of his music and the draw of his art. Despite that, he hadn't shut the door fully, and Medea's light knocking sent it inward at a slow rate. The movement caught his eye, making Porter sit up from his bed with his tablet balanced on one knee, scowling a little. "Carter, I said I'm--" he started to protest, belatedly catching sight of Medea. Porter blinked and went wide-eyed at the sight of her, sitting up fully and scrambling to tug his headphones down. "Hey?" he greeted in surprise, grabbing for his art tablet as it slid from one knee and threatened to drag his laptop with it.

Medea smiled at that. "Hey...sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." she told him. "Can I come in? If this is a bad time, I can take off..." she said, glancing down to his laptop and sketch pad, since he looked like he was in the middle of something. But she was willing to bet that he wouldn't send her away even if he was.

"No! I mean... yeah, you can come in," Porter tried again, shaking his head and tugging his headphones free. "I'm not... it's not a bad time." Yeah, he was batting a thousand today for sure. Porter swung both feet to the ground, reaching out to drop his tablet on the open laptop and glancing around his room as he did. It wasn't too messy, thankfully. "Here, um, sit?" he offered, grabbing the laptop off the chair and bringing it over to his desk to sit next to the monitor of his desktop PC. Yeah, Porter's room gave the impression of a spoiled child: two computers, a TV, stereo, consoles, a book shelf crammed with comics, and a larger terrarium that Wade was currently slithering around in.

Medea walked in, and sat down, looking around his room with open curiosity. "Wow, you have...this is a nice room." she said. So, definitely a spoiled rich kid. That she could use. Her eyes fell on the snake, and she smiled. "Very nice." she told him. "I don't think I've been around this much cool stuff in my life...you don't mind if I just sort of...live here, right?" she asked, turning her eyes on him again with a grin.

Most of the stuff she was so wowed by? He'd bought for himself, though Porter wasn't saying so. Medea's request had him blushing as he moved to his stereo, popping out the headphone receiver to let the music come on over the actual speakers. It was a good stalling tactic, giving him time with his back to her to fight the heat in his cheeks. "Live here?" he repeated, looking back over at her with an incredulous smile. "I think my mom and Carter might have issues with that? Plus, wouldn't you miss your sister? Two people would already be tight in here, three would be standing-room only."

"But it'd be a really fun standing-room." Medea told him. "But, I suppose you're right. Can I just...come here and hang out from time to time then?" she asked. "Not that I would only be hanging out for your stuff...I wouldn't be. Since stuff is just stuff without decent company." she added, giving him a sweet smile.

Porter was somewhat conflicted; he liked Medea, she was definitely charming her way into his life. And hanging out more often would be great, but it'd also cut into his time spent working on the comic and make it harder to keep his burgeoning endeavor a secret. But for any and all artistic loves, Porter was a guy. And a guy who'd been severely starved for social contact at that. "Yeah," he agreed as he sat back down on his bed, "Any time you feel like, just come on by. Even if I'm not here? Sweet talk my mom, which is easy, and you can just hang out and watch a movie."

Medea laughed at that. "Naw, I would want to watch a movie with you." she told him, with a tone of 'silly boy' on it. "Would it be absolutely out of the question to ask if I could hold your snake?" she asked, looking like she was nervous he was going to tell her no, or possibly think she was strange. Which really, a lot of other people would think so, but she was thinking it was something Porter would appreciate. Another little in that made her unique, and suited to him personally.

"Yes, yes it would," Porter deadpanned as he rose from his seat, grinning at her, "But only because he's the cuddly type, and I don't want him to swoon over you and then spurn me." He moved for the tank, catching a glimpse of his mother peeking in from the hallway and shooting her a glare as he moved, then opened the lid. Porter laughed a little as he scooped up Wade, letting the snake coil its tail loosely, then bringing him over to Medea. "Medea? Meet Dead Man Wade. Wade? Medea," he mock-introduced, offering the snake over.

Medea made a little tiny happy squeak--purely for effect, and she pretended not to notice Porter glaring over at the door. "Thank you!" she said, and she took the snake carefully, letting it curl round her arm, and she smiled, holding it up towards her eyes so she could see it better. "Now don't you go making Porter feel unwanted." she told the snake. "And we'll be great friends." she finished, before looking up at him again. "I like him." she told him. "So...Wade, huh?" she asked. "Or...Dead Man Wade, as it were?"

Porter smiled warmly as he watched her, glad this was all going on in his room. He felt more confident here, less prone to stammering or mumbling, and she looked good with a snake twined around her. That was something to draw later, for sure. "It's a comic thing? Shocking, I know," he joked, watching Wade flick his tongue out to taste the air around Medea. "This... utter psychopath, Deadpool? Normally he has this hero complex, despite being a hitman. But there's this alternate universe thing where he didn't even have the little redeeming bits, and he's a shambling mess who's this evil slave." He realized he was rambling, blushing a bit as he moved to sit on the bed again. "I just liked the name, I guess. I mean, look at him. He's totally a 'Wade'."

Medea laughed. "My god, a comic thing? Surely not." she said, teasing, but it was good natured teasing. "And you know you're right. He does in fact, just look like a Wade. I wholeheartedly approve." she told him with a firm nod. "...because you were totally just waiting for me to hand out approval." she said, rolling her eyes at herself. "The character sounds interesting, though. Psychos in comics and evil slaves, huh?" she asked, in case he wanted to tell her more.

He was grinning down at his shoes when she set him up for more, and Porter nodded as he hopped up. his room or no, girls still made him fidgety, and moving around helped. "It was great when it was done right," he said, moving to his desk again and pulling a few bottles of soda from a six pack underneath. "Ruthless assassin who's always cracking wise, has a blind lady held captive who he calls Alfred and makes cook for him. And he's got this dream of being like... Spiderman or Daredevil? Being admired? But then he has these dark edges, like when Alfred pisses him off he locks her in a room full of broken glass and traps and just leaves her there for a while. The alternate universe thing is more like an extreme version of it?" Porter dropped back down, setting Medea's soda nearby for when she was done with Wade. "There's a lot of interesting ideas that people miss because they're focused on the capes and the super powers."

She watched him, and listened, sitting back in her seat as she sort of petted the snake, letting it sniff her out and explore. "Sounds that way. Sounds fascinating. Bu then again...I said before that I thought it was all interesting, and I'm a girl who appreciates concepts, and full exploration of them. It's part of why I like acting. It's that unique, personal take on everything. So, that's definitely interesting, even having a character involved like that. Especially if we're looking at things from concepts like good and evil, and the millions of shades of grey. In your opinion, where would you rate him?" she asked curiously.

He should've turned on his webcamera to capture some of this, her shift in posture was inspiration for another sketch all on it's own. "Depends on what you mean," he said, cracking his soda and taking a drink, "Like, where would I rate him in my favorites? Definitely top three. Where would I rate him in the black-white-grey scale? Close to black. He's dark, he's just full of self-loathing and these moments of realization that keep him doing what he does. But then he gets these little moments of hope? And they're just enough to edge him away from total black." Porter sighed, shaking his head. "Or he used to be. Then the comic switched writers, and he got turned into a constant one-liner with a pair of guns. They just dropped all the psychology entirely."

She brought Wade closer to her lips, and nuzzled the top of his head as she thought, musing over things. Or appearing to, she knew what she was going to say straight away. "Sounds like everything was a lot more fascinating when there was the psychology involved--says the girl planning to be a psych major, so I know I'm biased." she said. "But I meant the black and white scale. So...interesting. So here's a question too. Now I've read some interesting books, and there's one author that catches my attention--he wrote Fight Club? And generally, he writes about fabulously unlikeable people. However, he manages to keep one interested, invested in the story. So, do you like Deadpool? Or are you just drawn in by the facets of character?"

Porter tried to focus on the question, definitely distracted by Medea bringing the snake in towards her lips, but eventually he answered. "Classic Deadpool, I'm drawn in. He's this fantastically broken person who just wants to feel like a hero. But he can't confront the clash between that and who he is, if that makes sense. Like... he's fighting Typhoid Mary, classic femme fatale, the sex kitten with a sword. And she starts calling him 'hero', which hits him hard because he's got blood on his hands? So he snaps and just starts beating her worse and worse, and she just keeps saying it. And when he stops, she's nearly dead but she's smiling at him, she showed him he can't be one." Yeah, this wasn't, in any world Porter could imagine, what you talked about with a beautiful girl lounging in your room. But for some reason, she kept asking. She seemed interested.

Medea listened, indeed looking like she was hanging on his every word. "Wow, that sounds intense." she said. "What did he do after that? Give it up, or has that still remained a theme? Or...no you already says that the writers switched things and messed them up, that seems a huge shame. But I suppose that's what you get with a ton of writers all coming in, deciding to put their view on things. And from what I understand, they wouldn't have to remain true to what came before, right? Isn't that why no one's ever really dead? They keep coming back and everything because someone takes over and goes 'oh yeah there was this really cool fill in the blank...well i'm bringing them back so I can write them now!' or something?"

"Yeah, they actually did a gag where Deadpool had a bag that said 'everything that made this book work' and he threw it into a bottomless pit," Porter told her with a sigh, glancing at the crammed shelves that adorned one wall of his room. "You get used to it, if you're a fan. Some people are so obsessed with there being the same Batman that any change won't be tolerated. Not to mention the people running the companies, they like their cash cows. From what I understand, if you work for a comic company you have to accept that anything you do will eventually be undone." And that made him wonder about his dream job sometimes, but there was no point in worry yet. he had time before he turned eighteen, after all. "The guy who wrote Fight Club, do you have any of his other books? I think I'd like to try reading something that doesn't have pictures," he joked.

Medea made a face at that. "Ouch." she said. "And geeze, that just...that seems really sad." she said. "That all the hard work and everything you were building just gets crashed down, and turned into a punchline. But...I guess when things run for like thirty years, that's gotta happen at least in some way." Then she smiled and looked a little eager. "I have a couple...do you really wanna read one? OKay how disturbed do you want to make yourself?" she asked immediately.

Porter thought that over, considering the more disturbing things he'd seen in comics over the years and shrugging. "Bring it on. Seriously, hit me with your best shot... or your worst, I guess." He chuckled before taking another swallow of soda. "It might be hard to believe, but comics get pretty twisted sometimes too. I think I can handle it. And if not? Well, that'll just be one more distinguishing thing to associate with you," he half-praised, reclining on his bed with one elbow under him.

That made her smile, and she gave him an impish sort of grin. "You've got it then. I'm loaning you Haunted." she said. "That one...I mean the whole book is disturbing anyhow? But one of the first sequences in it...god. I still kind of get disturbed when I think about it. It'll definitely stay with you." she said. "Which of course means I demand a blow by blow from you as you read it." she told him. "And I'll be expecting you to come by and throw rocks at my window to tell me you're never going to be right again."

Porter laughed at the demand, cheeks coloring as he hopped up yet again and moved in close, gently disengaging Wade from Medea's arm. "Sorry to break you two up," he murmured, "But Wade probably needs to warm back up in his tank for a bit. And should I really throw rocks?" He smirked as he returned the snake to the tank, moving to his book shelf to pluck down a wad of bagged comics. "I could just, y'know, call instead and come over? Less likely to break something and piss someone off. Or get the wrong window." Even though she'd pointed out which one was hers, a fact that just begged to be misused.

She looked slightly disappointed as he took the snake back, and she gave it's head a pat before he completely took it away. "You could, but I still don't have a cell or anything. And I suppose you could come and climb up on the porch and knock on my window." she said, making a show of musing that over. "That could work." she told him, winking in his direction with a little smile. "If nothing else it would mean that I didn't have to get grilled by the foster parents. Who...are great and all, but they seem to think that because they're my guardians now, it means they have the right to know absolutely everything about every aspect of my life." she admitted.

"We'll have to do something about that," Porter suggested vaguely, smiling a little as he offered over the comics. "And I think I can handle some climbing if I need to. I get it, with the intruding guardians? My stepdad Carter's like that. He's a nice guy, never tries to make me call him Dad or anything, but he's a little nosy too." That wink she tossed out? That was dangerous stuff to someone like Porter, but he liked it all the same. It was encouraging, making him lean more towards the idea of clambering up to her window and knocking, maybe even crawling in if she was there. Gonna need my Spiderman hoodie.

She took the offered comics, looking at the cover through the clear plastic. "Sweet." she said. "And yeah...I...well, I was told twice that the door had to stay open." she said, glancing towards it. She made a tiny bit of a face, and leaned closer to him, to speak just loudly enough that he could hear it, but no one else would be able to. "Honestly, it was a little bit hard to hear...kinda says something about me without him even having met me before...y'know?" she asked.

That made him frown in distress, not liking the way her expression changed based on what Carter had said. Medea wasn't like that, not that he'd seen, why would his stepfather just assume she was because she was pretty? "That's... that's not cool," he told her, shaking his head and matching her soft tone. "I think he just worries? He's a teacher, used to work with highschool kids. But that's no excuse." And the set of his brow made it clear without needing to be said; Porter was going to bring this up later with Carter. Medea just wasn't... she was shy and smart and fleeting with her smiles, but genuine with them too. "Sorry, I don't want you worrying about him seeing you like that."

"It's okay." she told him. "I mean...he's just looking out for you, right? But it was just kind of a little..." she trailed off, figuring he'd supply a word himself. The more she made it into his own scenario, the better. People were great at filling in their own blanks if you let them. And, with her posture and the way she didn't quite make eye contact, she was presenting an image to him that should dictate how he felt. "It was kind of just 'Hi, I'm just here to see my friend, I'm not actually a huge slut'."

"Presumptuous," Porter said for her, nodding in understanding. And he got why Carter would be worried; his parents helped him manage his money, which wasn't a staggering amount? But it was a nice sum of money for someone his age to have made on their own. And if a girl knew about it and was pretty or charming enough? Well... Porter was already thinking he could spring for a phone for Medea. "He worries. It doesn't make it right though, and it's not okay. But I'll clear it up, I'll make sure he knows what your interests are." If Porter himself actually had a handle on her interests, that is.

She looked surprised. "Oh! Porter...honestly, you don't have to do that--I don't want to make anything weird between anyone, and I don't want to cause any trouble..." she started, even if that was exactly what she wanted. Rifts started small. And if she did get him more with her than having the support of his parents...all the better. But it all had to be his idea. That was the key to everything. She glanced down, fidgeting with the friendship bracelet around her wrist before she looked back up at him, holding eye contact. "It's fine, promise." she said, smiling--but she made sure it didn't quite reach her eyes.

He wasn't buying her protests, which was the entire point of them. Unfortunately, Porter wanted to live in a world where people like him stood up and defended others, which made him all too eager to buy into the image she was presenting. He reached out tentatively to still her hand from toying with the bracelets, loosely slipping his fingers around hers long enough to move them away, then releasing. "I don't have to. But I want to, okay? I've been here less than a week and you're one of the only people I've met, I'm not going to let things get all weird because of my folks." He smiled back, a warmer one than Medea had given with her promise, shaking his head. "Don't try to stop me from being a friend, okay?"

She didn't seem to mind when he took her hand, moved it. She smiled, in fact, a more genuine one, if it was slightly shier. Like it meant something to her--touched her on a deeper level than she wanted to show. Of course, that was what she wanted him thinking. "You know...I know I said you were sweet before, Porter, but...I think you're above and beyond the sweetest guy I ever met." she told him, sounding slightly halting, just a little bit hesitant about it, like it made her vulnerable to tell him how much that meant.

His cheeks darkened with the compliment as Porter looked down at his feet, smiling unabashedly for a moment. There was something about the lack of defenses in her voice, her eyes, the body language that made him want to trust in what she was saying. "Not really," he protested weakly, coughing and looking back up at Medea, "I just like this, y'know, hanging out with you. You're cool, and smart, and you don't deserve to be judged in advance like that. I think if Carter and my mom got to talk with you, they'd be fine with you coming over. We could even shut the door!" he suggested jokingly, meanwhile thinking that it just might provoke what his parents were worried about. "But, uhm... if there's not much competition in the field of sweet guys? Do you maybe want to go see a movie sometime or something? No parents around there to bug us."

She looked up, and brightened at that last question. That, and she looked shy, but she smiled. And she made sure it was an expression that appeared to blossom helplessly on her face, something that lightened her posture up, everything. "I'd love that." she told him, tone suggesting she was trying not to sound too eager, but failing just a little. "I um...I can probably get a few bucks from my foster parents...when would you like to go?" she asked.

"When is good for you?" Porter asked, thinking things over. He nearly had the updates for Thursday done, then there'd be one for the weekend and one for Monday. Maybe if he stayed up late he could have them ready in advance, which'd make it all that much easier. "Because I can do almost any night. And don't worry about asking for money, Medea. It's my treat." Really, it was the least he could offer to do after what had obviously been a subtly bad encounter with his parents.

"Oh, you don't have to---" she started, then looked slightly pained, and at the same time, flattered. "Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" she asked. "I could...do some slave labor for you." she offered. "Carry your books in the halls...shine your shoes...write 'I heart Porter' all over my books so all the girls in school start asking interesting questions about you..." she said, smile crossing her features again. She also gave him a little touch of a glance at that, like she was trying to see how he'd react to that last bit, without being obvious about it.

That? That left him flustered, and plainly so. It was good that he'd left his soda alone for the moment, or Medea would've been wearing some of it. As it was, he still gaped at her for a second, his eyebrows knotting and working furiously to process a rational reply. "What?! No! I mean... uh, you don't need to? To do any of that, that is," he struggled, smoothing out his thoughts. "My books are fine, I don't want you bruising on my behalf. And I think the girls would quit the moment they heard me singing the Spiderman song completely unironically." Porter took a deep breath and smiled, wanting to reach out for her hand again but opting against it as he came back to her first question. "Really, I'd like to treat you to a movie. It'd be fun, so I insist. As long as you're still saying yes."

She laughed a little, a natural sort of sound, good natured. "Then I'm still saying yes." she said. "So, just let me know, whenever you want to go--I'm all yours." she said, most certainly wording that deliberately. "Oh! I only have one rule!" she said. "Let's not see anything sappy." she told him. "So...deal?"

Porter almost gave an immediate yes, biting it back at the last possible chance and smiling in thought. "One condition? Let me try to pull your mask off, robot." He grinned widely, sitting forward to fold his arms across his knees. "Seriously? We could go see a horror movie or an action movie? And you're actually borrowing comics? And loaning me something you said is going to fuck me up mentally? There's gotta be a catch I'm not seeing.... but yeah, deal."

She laughed at that, then she shifted, setting the comics carefully off to the side, so she leaned forward, invading his space just a little. "Go ahead and look for rivets. Screws, dents in the metal, where the faceplate gets taken off so you can rewire me..." she invited, tone playful. "Go ahead, I won't mind." she invited, just to see what he would do. "I promise I'll even stay very still!"

Well, wasn't she just calling his bluff? Porter smiled bashfully, glancing down and shaking his head a little. "I was just..." he started to say, swallowing and working to steady himself. It wasn't hard to believe that she liked him, otherwise why would she have made the offer? He looked back to Medea, smoothing the anxiety from his grin and reaching out. He let his fingers drift around her neck to the back, feeling with a thoughtful grin. "Dr. Doom hid the seam back here when he built a robot double of the Invisible Woman," he murmured, brushing his fingers around gently as if he was actually expecting to find a seam.

She was true to her word, and staying very still. She smiled, though, eyes on him, watching him, and she let him feel around, her hair tickling against the back of her neck where he moved it. "How long was she infiltrated into the...it's the fantastic four, right? How long til they figured it out? Or did he just keep her around in weird, creepy capacities?" she asked, voice quieter because of the proximity, but she was still sounding interested and amused.

"Yeah, it's the Fantastic Four," Porter confirmed, slipping his fingers up into her hair for a moment, "Very good. But it was only for one issue. This was back in the sixties, it was harder to get away with multiple-issue stories back then." He laughed softly, aiming it downward just in case his breath stank. "I don't think he kept it? That's more along the line of thinking that wonders if The Thing has a... a you-know. Made of orange rock." Which, that? Well, talking about it in hushed voices in close with a gorgeous girl? That was enough for Porter. His cheeks flushed red as he sat back, removing his hands from her. "Okay, my curiosity's confirmed... you're not a robot. And you have great hair."

She smiled brightly at that, looking surprised and pleased with the compliment. "Th-thankyou." she said, reaching up as if she were slightly self conscious, touching her hair as if it might be out of place or something. "And hooray, I've passed the first inspection." she added, sitting back in the chair, eyes on him continually. "Annnnd...." she paused, thinking. "...does he bleed? The Thing, that is. Does he bleed, or have internal organs, or a heartbeat, or go to the bathroom?" she asked.

"Good question," Porter answered, shrugging slightly to say that he just didn't know. "I'm pretty sure he has internal organs? I'll have to reread some old issues, see if that ever gets brought up. There was an indie comic, Concrete? It got into all that. A guy encased in stone, and he's invincible and superstrong, but... he can't feel it when someone touches him? He can't go in his friend's house because he weighs too much. More about a superhero who just wants to be a person." Which was something he'd mused on before; life without the powers, without other things having to die for him to live. "Oh! speaking of things that don't follow the norm, did you still want to see Xombie?"

"That sounds interesting." Medea said. "I suppose, thinking about it, I would really like to read something that explored the downsides to everything. How being someone like that...the practicality of it...it would be hard." she said. That was actually slightly closer to the truth than she ever would have admitted. After all, the red splotches on her skin that she covered up with make up...they were spreading. One day she might be entirely splotchy red. And then what? Being different, being what she thought she was, that was different. But that? Would truly mark her as such. That wasn't a good thing. "But yes! I still want to see Xombie." she confirmed.

Porter grinned at that, hopping up and nodding. "okay then," he agreed, "But first?" He moved back to the bookshelf, plucking down another book and offering it over. "Fragile Creature, the first Concrete book," he explained, handing it off and flipping on his TV. He snagged a remote, switching feeds and popping up a wallpaper for 'Beware the Conduit'; a bright splash page of a hooded figure leaping from a rooftop, rainbow-swirling energy gathered in both hands. Porter blinked in shock, twisting around to his desktop PC and hurriedly trying to get a browser open to cover what the linked feed was showing on the television. "One sec!" he said with a rush of nerves, fingers drumming on his desk, "This computer's kinda old? It takes a while to load stuff. That's why I use the laptop more."

Medea caught on pretty much right away that there was something there to be interested in. She reached out to touch his arm lightly, as if to stop him for a second, though really she was reading his mood. "Hey...wait, what's this? Looks cool." she said, eyes on the screen instead of him. She could read eveything that she needed to know through the physical contact, she didn't have to be trying to read his expression.

His mood was pretty basic, mostly panic, a dash of awkwardness, and a rush of privacy all mixing together as his browser flooded the screen, replacing the wallpaper with his email inbox. "Nothing?" Porter tried, still working his mouse intently to cycle through bookmarked pages and pull up Xombie. "It's... this webcomic? I read it." Yeah. Now all together. "It's a webcomic I follow. Beware the Conduit? Pretty indie, but it's alright." Actually? That sounded casual, good even. It might've worked, if she hadn't been reading the mood washing over him. If he'd known about that? Porter would've rather been caught with porn on-screen.

Medea bit her lower lip, and looked from the now covered screen to Porter. "....Okay, don't get pissed at me or anything? But I don't believe you." she said. "Every other topic we've hit up even remotely to do with anything comic-related you've been more than happy to share with me, and even expand on, and go into... Why's this different?" she asked. Her voice was calm, but her expression and posture effected the impression that she was a little hurt to be being fibbed to. A little hurt, and trying not to show it, specifically.

"I..." What was he supposed to say? Porter had no clue. Keep lying? She obviously knew that he was hiding something, so his options were slim-to-none. If he denied it? He could just see his chances with her evaporating away. If he told her the truth? His parents wouldn't be thrilled, his secret would be out, but... maybe she'd think it was cool. She seemed into comics, encouraged him to share what he thought, so maybe sharing his talent would be the right thing to do. "I need you to keep a secret, okay?"

She looked curious, head tilting lightly to the side as she regarded him. "I'm very good at keeping secrets." she told him, lowering her voice, so it was just for him to hear. Just in case his parents happened by, or whatever. To check that they weren't making out or anything. Which was laughable. That wasn't in the role she was currently playing. He was going to have to coax her along on that, with some encouragment from her in the right places. But either way, she was giving off an air of being serious, and trustworthy. She gave him a light, tiny smile. "Promise."

Porter studied her intently for a moment, swallowing hard and glancing out the door again to make sure they were still alone. He moved over, easing it half-shut, then went back to the desk to grab his laptop. "Okay, I'm not saying I don't believe you. But seriously? You can't say anything. My folks would freak." Not to mention the fanbase, discovering they were supporting his Xbox habit with t-shirts and mousepads. Porter folded the laptop open, tapping the touchpad to bring it out of sleep, bringing up a half-colored page that depicted the same hooded individual, hands outstretched as streams of power radiated forth, rubble flying around him. "I... draw it. And write it. If you can call it writing. It's my webcomic."

Medea moved with him, and leaned over him to look over his shoulder, hand lighting on the back of his opposite shoulder, just to keep him of a mind of her presence. "Oh wow, Porter..." she gasped softly. "Seriously? You do all of this?" she asked, shaking her head. "I'm...amazed." she told him. "Can I see more?" she asked, looking at him, from close over his shoulder.

"Not of this one," Porter refused with a little smile, closing the open art document but clicking on a new browser window a moment later. "it's not done yet, and I don't do sneak peeks. But..." he trailed off, typing out the address and stepping away from the laptop so Medea could look freely, "...here's the site? Go nuts." And really, there it was. It looked professional, laid out like it would've cost a programmer a lot, with his last news post linked prominently. Porter handed the laptop off, pointing at the screen a little. "You can jump through story arcs? Or just check out the last page if you like. But it's mostly exposition." Yeah, all the disclaimers were necessary. Random comments on his site were fine, but having a real person here, looking at his work? Nerves were being wracked.

She eagerly took the laptop, and sat indian style, leaning over it as she started looking through things. "Can I say wow again?" she asked. "How long have you been doing this? And...is this why you've got like two computers and...everything else?" asked, not missing the 'store' links. "This is really...there aren't appropriate words. You apparently do it all, Porter. I'm..." she looked up at him and smiled. "Impressed."

He blushed behind her back, shaking his head a little and leaning in to watch what she seemed to go for first. Feedback on the website's layout was always invaluable, after all. "Since I was... fourteen? I did my first pages on Geocities? Then my mom bought me a little bit of webspace... and soon I was buying my own." He tried moving right past her question about the stuff he owned, just shrugging noncommitally and chuckling as she went on. Really, that was his parents' biggest fear; some girl sweet-talking him out of the money he'd been saving up. And Porter was with them in some sense, he almost had enough for a car. Not a used one either. "Well, I took some art classes? And I've been reading comics since I could read, period. So I know the material, I guess."

"It's amazing, I'm going to have to go to the library, and see if I can read through the backstory." she said. Which was going to be a lot, considering he said he'd been doing it for a few years. "But the artwork is awesome, and...yes. No other word for it, I'm just impressed." she told him, thinking that was probably the word that would mean most to him. It implied that he was above and beyond, that he personally had shone brightly to her.

"Amazing is a little strong," he argued softly, shoulders hunching in another shrug. "But thanks, I like doing it. I just have to keep it quiet for now. People hit me up once or twice to try and sell it, and it's impossible if they find out how old I am. And my mom thinks it's gonna do best on a college application, so yeah... do you maybe want a shirt?" He grinned a little, confidence bolstered by her praise. "I think I know a guy who could get you a good deal on one."

She laughed, grinning at him brightly. "Only if it doesn't cost you anything." she said. "Other than that, I'll just have to save up and buy one myself." she said, putting it like that so he knew she apparently fully intended to have one at some point. Also, she was trying to put in his mind that even knowing he was making money off of the site, and all, that she wasn't expecting him to give her a free ride on things. From the way he'd not quite answered her question before, she was thinking it might be something to be very careful about. Though it fit in with her plans anyhow--everything had to be his idea.

Porter sighed with a frustrated grin aimed at Medea, shaking his head. "They don't cost me much of anything," he insisted, "I have a couple in my closet, for crying out loud. But okay, for now." The grin didn't fade, just losing the frustrated edge as Porter stepped back a touch, putting more space between them. "But you can at least just give me the money for what one costs wholesale, okay? No sense in paying for shipping or anything, not when you can get one direct." And he had to admit to himself at least, the idea of a girl who looked like her in one of his shirts? Yeah, it was a nice mental image.

"So...how much is it costing wholesale?" she asked curiously. "And are there different styles?" she asked. "Do you sell like...those cute little baby-t's?" She was willing to bet he didn't have one in his closet. But she had to ask, winking at him.

"About four bucks," Porter told her without much consideration for guarding his enterprise. The secret was out, and for him? The comic was the secret, not the money he made off of it. "Shipping figures in for a few more, and I pay a tiered rate to the printers too based on orders, plus a storage and processing fee to a place back east." All told, he pulled a small handful of dollars per shirt, and when there were surges in popularity or new designs, Porter's bank account bumped up nicely. "I don't get much call for baby-tees," he told Medea with a laugh, shaking his head, "But we have raglans? Those shirts that hug the, um... female form?"

She had to laugh at the way he worded that. "I'll have to look." she told him, grinning. "But yeah, I'd like one. Four dollars, alright. I'll see what I can scrape up. I so need a job. I'm thinking of just looking around downtown and seeing if there's anyplace that looks interesting. It'll cut into my chances of getting into the plays, but...well, here's hoping. I like having y'know...four bucks to spend on an awesome tshirt."

"There's gotta be something part-time, right?" Porter mused, still more than willing to just cover the cheap cost of a shirt but recognizing her desire to actually buy one. "Maybe you could try the movie theater? Then we could do movies more often, you could just... sneak me in? I'm little, I could hide in your backpack," he suggested with a self-deprecating grin. "And if you get some applications? I could give some details for references? Like, the shipping company or something? It's in New Jersey, I doubt anyone here would follow up on it."

"Wow, you really are someone who's just willing to help a girl out if she needs it, aren't you? God, you're so sweet. I'd like that, honestly, if it isn't trouble...I just...I mean, back in Iron Mountain..." she let a shadow cross her features and she glanced away for a moment, before she appeared to force herself to clear everything away, and she looked back at him. "Thank you." she said simply.

Maybe he was that sweet all the time, but Porter figured it had more to do with the obvious crush he'd built up for Medea. "It's no trouble," he insisted, a line appearing on his brow as he gave her a concerned look. "Back in Iron Mountain..." he echoed, as if waiting for her to elaborate, then smiled reassuringly. "If it's something you don't want to talk about? You don't have to. But... I'd like to know?"

She made a little bit of a pained face. "Things just...sucked, basically." she said with a sigh, reaching up to tug her mass of curls back from her face, taking a hair tie from around her wrist that up til then had actually looked like a bracelet, with little wooden beads on it. "It was a bad time all the way around. There was trouble, hopping back and forth between foster families...I kinda would like to strike it from the record, if you know what I mean."

He didn't like to see that pained expression, though he figured it might be a good reference for artwork later. Which struck Porter as a little bit twisted, so he pushed all thoughts of his comic aside as much as he could for now, giving Medea a sympathetic smile. "I, uh, I doubt it really compares to that? Foster care and all? But I think I know what you mean about just wanting to... delete parts of the past, or rewrite them. There's times I wish life had retcons or parallel universes, or even just the 'it was all a dream' twist."

She smiled faintly, but there was sadness she put behind it for him. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'd really like that. Kind of just...wisk away some of the dark parts. I mean...like what happened with Isabelle and I. I know I told you that both of our parents died, and that's how we even met and such, but sometimes I remember it all like it was yesterday, even if I was younger. First my stepmom in a car accident, and then my dad..." she looked down, curling in on herself physically, not actually finishing the statement.

That phrase, those two bare words, were enough to make Porter flinch a little. Car accident. How different could things be without those 'accidents', for either of them? "You don't have to say," he told her quietly, leaving it at that and reaching out lightly to touch Medea's arm. "It's... unfair. How trauma becomes more memorable like that, overshadows good stuff?" Yeah, he spoke from experience as well. Porter didn't like to see pictures of his father for that reason, or to even see his mother around old photos. There was a sadness there he just hadn't ever learned to handle.

She looked up a little at the touch, and studied his features for a moment, expression and body language suggesting she was vulnerable right then. Very vulnerable. "What overshadows your good stuff?" she asked, voice light, barely above a whisper. Then she glanced down. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me." she put in right away, like she thought it was wrong of her to ask in the first place.

"No, it's okay," Porter reassured her, moving to sit back on his bed and folding his hands together. Even with that, though, the line in his brow only deepened as he struggled to keep his voice even, and when he spoke it was lighter, more vulnerable in response to the exposure Medea seemed to show him. "Carter... my stepdad?" He swallowed heavily, looking up at her fleetingly, then back down at his hands. "It, ah... it took my mom a while to get over my dad. He... he and my brother? They were in a car crash back home, I was pretty little. But not so little that I don't remember." He'd been eleven, as it happened, which was plenty old enough to remember plenty of it.

She watched him, putting concern, sympathy, empathy...all of it into her expression and posture, as she sat more forward, uncurling enough to open her body language towards him. It was all in the little things, the small cues people didn't even realize they picked up. "You had a brother?" she asked. "Or have...?" since he hadn't explicitly said that they'd both died.

"Had," Porter confirmed, missing her expression as he studied his hands. Thin fingers, knuckles white with how hard they were curling together, calluses on the insides from holding his pencils. Strangely, he wondered what his father's hands had looked like, if there was more resemblance there than in their faces. "He was about my age now? I was younger," he clarified, "And we were... different. I was always sick, he wasn't. So my dad would take him to games? Orioles, Cardinals, all that. And one day?" Porter didn't have to detail his statement; he'd already said what had happened to them, after all. "One day it was just me and mom."

"I'm...I'm so sorry, Porter." Medea said, voice soft. Light, full of all those things that made people think that they were supported and sympathized with. A note of truth that wasn't in any way real. She reached out then, and did much as he had, touched his arm, just a light bit, fingertips barely putting any pressure down. She leaned closer to him as well, in such a manner that it appeared she was hesitant, but she wanted to be closer. Just enough to suggest to him he could pull her in closer if he wanted to.

As much as he would've liked to in most moments, Porter felt exposed in that one. The idea of getting her close while sharing their grief just seemed weird, and he didn't feel right with it. But he still shifted his arm, grabbing Medea's hand to squeeze it lightly. "I am too, it doesn't sound like you had it any easier," he told her as he released her hand. "But... Carter's a good guy. He makes my mom happy. And... you turned out pretty great, despite everything?" And with that, his spirits lifted just a little. Enough to regret missing the opportunity but still smile gently at Medea, recognizing that it had been there.

She squeezed his hand back when he had hers, reading the emotions there while the contact maintained. Then she took it back, maintaining a middle distance. Not too far away, but not too close either. "I guess I did. I know...I'm still getting over some of the stigma that was attached to me back home." she admitted in a halting speech pattern. "There was some trouble for a while, and people just...they look at you different when they think your dad killed himself on your watch, y'know?" she asked, rhetorically. "I was home, I just...he came home from work, and went to bed like he always did...or like he did after Judy died. He just...never woke back up."

Killed himself? Porter wanted to ask for details, but as clearly as it was paining her? He also didn't. Maybe it was an aneurysm, a stroke, any number of things. Carbon monoxide. Radon. Someone like me. He didn't like that thought, but Porter had to guess that draining someone dry? Would leave a pretty strange mystery with the ensuing corpse. "Well, even if it followed you here? It didn't get all the way to Baltimore... whatever you think people see, or say when you can't hear? I don't. I like what I see."

She looked at him for a long, long moment, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. It was chaste, but there, and it lingered just a fraction of a second longer than it had to before she sat back again. "Thank you." she said simply, quietly, looking at him like he'd really touched her again. Like his words meant the world to her, like he was her hero. All of that, wrapped up in one. She made sure that there was lingering sadness--like of course it hadn't all been fixed with one statement from him--but that he'd made her feel better for the moment.

His eyes shut when she kissed his cheek, but Porter didn't miss the look Medea gave him. It was... well, everything. Everything he felt like he wanted to see when someone looked at him, aside from the sadness. he knew he couldn't heal that all on his own, but he'd helped. He felt like a hero for a moment there, smiling back at Medea with a confidence he wanted her to feel. "You're welcome," he murmured instead of leaning in to kiss her, not feeling quite that heroic yet. "So..." Porter went on with a little shrug and a lighter turn to his smile, "Xombie?"

She nodded, with a smile that looked a little less sad. "Yes, please." she said. "I've been dying to check it out since you told me about it, so lets." she said in a decided tone. This was going along so nicely. And they had a movie date as well, so that progression was just fine. Now, all she was thinking she needed to do was orchestrate a situation where she could be his little damsel in distress, and she was pretty sure she'd have a lock on him. It was all so easy...she should be ashamed of herself--but she wasn't.