It was a picturesque sight.

She hoped off her bike, tote bag in hand and was immediately greeted with the cool breeze from the river. It drifted through her floppy pixie cut, cooling her after such a busy day at work, cashiering at the town's local grocery store. She left the peonies she bought from the local farmers market in her basket along with a few pastries and baked goods she purchased. The short haired bookworm shrugged her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the rustic cabin looking coffee shop, just hidden off the road and next to the river. The birds chirped in the trees her reflection shined on the windows of the shop, she quickly admired her favorite outfit of slouchy jean overalls and tight striped crop tank. Perfect for such a nice day.

The rickety porch door swung open and shuddered closed as her shoes creaked on the wooden floor. She waved to the barista, recognizing their frequent customer as they strolled over to their favorite spot. A small cushioned chair with a round table right next to the large windows with a perfect view of the rushing river.

She placed her bag at her feet and dug out her laptop. Typing away at the essay for her online class she had to write for.

""Art today is anything and everything" Duchamp's 'Fountain' is one of my most favorite pieces. I learned about it about two years ago when I took my first art class and was completely shocked at the fact that something like that could or would be considered art. At first I was almost offended but as I learned more about the history of art and its movements I realized that there couldn't be any specific definition of what art is. I admired the idea that art should be taken seriously, but at the same time it was that rule that held me back for pursuing my full potential as an artist. This, to me, has a tie with my perspective on Impressionism when I was younger. Earlier, pieces such as JMW Turner or Monet I was confused as to why they were praised even though they didn't depict a specific or detailed image. It wasn't until recently that I started to have a new admiration for the style and the elegance of the pieces that now Impressionism and the Dada Movement are now some of my favorite things to study.

It was through this movement that I gained new perspective on art museums and popular to non popular artists in those museums. I contemplated what art really stood for. For a moment in an art history class I wondered about Jackson Pollock vs Rauschenberg, why Pollock was held to a higher standard than Rauschenberg (at least in my perspective).

I used to consider the art museum as the epicenter of art in my world; only because it was the place my grandmother had always taken me as a child (which I always had to be dressed nicely for). She brought me to see artist talks, we would walk each floor and spend hours just staring at the pieces there even though I wanted to whirl through the rooms until I found one work that caught my eye and just stare at it until I studied every inch of it. Though, she would always scold me that I had to sit and stare at each piece because each one was special and in the end she would ask me which piece would be my favorite. I would always just memorize the title and artist of a random piece that I knew my grandmother would be proud of, maybe toss in a few 'artistic' phrases here and there and grow bored of seeing the same images all the time. It wasn't until I got to college did I realize that the art museum wasn't the only place to find art and more specifically, for me, new art. I found a home in the Third Ward. I saw graffiti, sculptures, urban gardens and art projects to inspire community. I gained new perspective and that was all I could ask to learn from art."

"Hey, Ori," the curly brown haired barista smiled down at the coffee shops regular and placed the mug of coffee on the table. "How've you been?"

The pixie cut girl nodded as she submitted the small written piece, "Good, Beck. Just finishing up some homework…how about you?"

"Sick of coffee." He joked and rubbed his hands on his apron. "Let me know if you need anything else, ok?"

"Sure thing." Orion smiled in return to her barista and waved him off. She took to her computer again, scrolling through the articles posted on the online class's forum.

The second online class she was taking revolved around journalism, which meant discussing the most popular topic.

'Superheroes. Good or Bad? In relation to popular media and influence.'

Orion studied the topic of discussion, the most recent battle on New York. She thought back sadly to the event. Luckily she wasn't anywhere near New York, in fact she lived in the vast woods of upper Wisconsin so the news of a big city like New York was a bit of a shock. It brought the community closer at the loss some of the families had but at the same time tension hung in the air. A few older locals held grudges against the people with powers who think know how to defend our country, though the younger people idolized the super-beings.

"-damn near killed me!"

Orion glanced up from her computer to see the town board walk into her safe haven. The older ladies and gents stomped in, noses held high and attitude spilling out of their very being. Gilbert Glass. The right hand to the town mayor was a large man, almost like a stereotypical lumberjack, long beard, flannel, smelled of whiskey and smoke. He lead his lackeys up to the bar in a jittering heap. Beck's smile faded into a disappointed frown as the townsmen approached the counter and he held his pen and pad ready for order.

"One of those super freaks," he rambled on. "Woulda flattened the place if it weren't for me."

Ah, yes. The talk of the town that was now so over told that Gilbert was milking it dry and then some. He just happened to be in New York during the time of the event and, quote, 'had the alien freaks shaking in their spacesuits'. Anyone sane already knew Gilbert Glass was evacuated from city hall, where he was a part of an 'anti-hero' protest, and the one alien that he had 'shaking in his spacesuit' was already taken out by Black Widow. He just kicked him while he was down.

"Took his spear gizmo as a souvenir, though!" Gilbert grinned proudly and fixed his suspenders. "Have it hanging over the mantel in my office."

"Can I take your order?" Beck asked flatly. It was obvious Beck detested their presence in his coffee shop.

"Ah, right. Let's see." Gilbert stroked his beard. "What's with you kids and all your sugary drinks? What happened to just plain old black coffee? Back in my day that all we had!"

"We have a dark roast, if that's what you want." Beck sighed, ignoring Gilbert's comments.

"I'm just saying that you kids shouldn't have to fancy up everything, like to hideous graffiti on the side of Bill Thomas' hardware store! That's a disgrace to our town." Gilbert drug on with agreeing murmurs from his posse.

"That's a mural that was commissioned by Mr. Thomas." Beck raised an eyebrow at him. "In honor of the people from here that were lost in New York."

"It's worshiping those super freaks is what it is." Gilbert pointed an accusing finger at Beck, like the whole situation was his fault.

Orion growled to herself. The idea of speaking up was jabbing in the back of her mind.

Do it. Do it.

She sighed and her gaze fell back down to her computer screen as she tried to ignore the frustrating crowd.

"Are you going to order something, Mr. Glass?" Beck sighed and placed a hand on his hip, annoyed.

Gilbert let out a frustrated huff and ordered his black coffee and got the town's newspaper. His posse followed suit and they all took seats at the table near the fireplace at the back of the coffee shop. It was their weekly town board meeting just to gossip and judge everyone in the town that wasn't them.

Orion sunk into her chair, her mood being ruined by the presence of such negativity. She drowned herself in her computer screen, her eyes hurt and the coffee she barely touched grew cold.

"You ok there, Orion?"

The voice broke her out of her trance. She breathed out not realizing she had been holding her breath and looked up at Beck.

"Yea," she told him. "Yea, I'm fine."

"You sure?" he raised an eyebrow at her. He tilted his head over the counter and nodded to the wooden table. "Because you're gripping that table pretty tight."

Orion looked down, not realizing she had her nails digging into the wood. There were obvious fingernail wholes there now.

"Oh, oh my god." She gasped as her eyes went wide in horror and hid her hands in her lap. "I'm so sorry!"

"No worries." Beck waved her off. "You'll just have to order coffee from me more often to pay it off." He teased and walked to the back of the kitchen disappearing from her view. Once sure he was gone, Orion stared at her hands and noticed the blood at the tips of her nails.

She sighed and closed her eyes. The smell of coffee filled her senses and centered her mind back to a blissful state and thought back to the peonies.

Ah, yes. The peonies, baked goods, and coffee…

"Ok." Orion shook her head and returned to her computer. "Back to work."

She typed the title of her next piece:

"Social Influence of Super Heroes."