Quick little oneshot. As much as we've all analyzed the limited Danley interaction in the movie, I'm thus far unaware that anyone else has branched into this department, so...here goes.

"Henley. As in the shirt. Yep, that's it, perfect. Thank you!" Henley Reeves gave a sunny smile and waggled her fingers in a semi-wave at the barista, heading to her favorite corner table in the café. Plopping herself and her bag down, she flung her auburn locks out of her face with a gloved hand, and savored the first sip of her extra-shot mocha with closed eyes. Enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the morning crowd on a lazy Sunday, she reached into her bag for her laptop, flipping it open and signing into the café's wifi.

Checking her watch, she saw she easily had a few hours before it was time for rehearsal. She could never voice just how nice it was to schedule oneself, not be bullied and prodded about timewise like she was some genie out of a bottle, and she wouldn't even get into the problems of those costumes…

Shaking her head, she opened her email, skimming past the advertisements, purchase confirmations, and lunchdate offers, finally landing on a notification giving the rundown on comments posted on her website. Opening one, she furrowed her brows almost immediately, leaning in to the screen as her jaw dropped; it was a comical scene to anyone walking by, her forehead nearly hitting her computer.

It was an impressive show last night in Miami, but anyone with a keen eye could tell that those were not true piranhas, they were just infant pacu fish! There wasn't even anything to escape from, you could've had a leisurely hour-long swim and been in no danger at any point! And that padlock? Looked like a toy, probably was one. Maybe you should reconsider your solo career, team up with a more skilled magician and just look pretty for the audience while you pull levers and things in tiny corsets?

A quiet voice in Henley's mind chastised her for snapping her laptop shut so violently, but she paid it no mind, shoving the computer back into her bag as if punishing it would affect the troll plaguing her website, and rushing out of the coffeehouse, chugging her mocha furiously. She was going to need caffeine.

The same anonymous troll had been annoying her for weeks on end, posting rude and inflammatory comments on every single podcast and performance video she posted. Other users had attacked the naysayer in turn, but she had to admit they had a keen eye for tricks of her trade, and were usually spot-on about her methods. And she knew it was Danny Damned Atlas. Who else's manly pride had she wounded so grievously lately, who else was missing a skilled assistant, who else was in love with her and would never admit it aloud? Him. Had to be.

And the posts were really starting to get her down; she had a feeling if she weren't a pretty, vibrant girl, most of her subscribers wouldn't give a damn. If she were a run-of-the-mill street musician, she'd already be out of business, and she was probably only hanging on by the skin of her teeth at this point. Her vivid imagination and curves were why people came to her performances, mainly the latter, and she knew it. But the feminist in her would not rise to the bait in those stupid comments – work again for a chauvinist who got to choose what clothed her body, and kept seventy percent of the revenue for himself, when she did eighty percent of the work, strutting about and smiling and distracting, all while pulling levers and throwing objects and things herself? No.

No, Henley Reeves would be a solo act until the end of her career, whenever that was. She probably didn't have to worry long.

Reaching her loft apartment, she flung her bag onto the couch, stretching her arms above her head and rolling her neck from side to side. Something had to be done about the troll under the bridge. She had held off so far, but Henley had several computer skills, maintaining and updating her website herself, managing the elaborate firewalls, occasionally hacking other magicians' sites for a bit of fun. Still, this had to be done the right way. It was time to pull out the heavy artillery on user MagikalDude777.

"And not only was there a mirror right above that trap door, the fluttering of the beaded scarves masked the sound of any hinges or scraping that might have occurred when moving that cabinet out of sight…"

Henley gave a little wave and shout-out to her loyal fans, and clicked off the camera recording her video blog post. She had just thoroughly debunked one of Danny Atlas' shows, one of the more popular ones they had repeated often on their circuits, one which she had really despised, for all the work she had to put into it. She hit the link to upload it, and sat back with a grim satisfaction, sipping a mug of tea and staring off into space as she recalled performing that very show the night she quit and left Danny.

It had been a rainy night, her costume soaked, her heels absolutely miserable to attempt walking in, and so she had shucked them off, throwing them off into the darkness of the back alleyway they were fighting in.

"What do you mean, you're not doing tomorrow night's performance? Rebecca is out of town and I need you to stand in for her-"

"Oh, really? Our sizes and everything are finally comparable? I won't completely ruin your damn show by not being Rebecca? I've SEEN that you even ADVERTISE the individual shows differently, by who your assistant is that night, and I'm FINISHED, J. Daniel Atlas!" She had shrieked until she was hoarse, rainwater streaming down her face and smearing the stage makeup, making her crimson lipstick look like blood smeared across her chin. Her bare feet were freezing on the flooded metropolitan pavement, but she didn't care, so long as they could get him away from her. Gathering her waterlogged trenchcoat closer around her shivering, slender form, Henley marched past a stunned and angry Danny with as much dignity as she could muster. "Lose my number," she had spat venomously, slogging down the street until she could flag a cab down.

She'd developed a minor pneumonia the next day that had left her bedridden and medicated for days, and she wondered if it were Danny's last act of retribution. But if he knew true magic, she would eat her leather gloves for breakfast.

Sure enough, her usual stream of comments was flowing into her inbox, and Henley watched, pleased, as many users cast off their desires to ever see Danny's shows, several asked for her number, and one even asked if she would perform for their daughter's birthday party. She sent a few replies back, before heading to her bedroom. Dressing in skintight black leggings, sneakers, and a formfitting white tank, she whipped her thick locks into a messy bun, before grabbing her rehearsal duffel bag and heading for the door.

User MagikalDude777 never left another hateful comment.

Thanks! ~Bon