She had arrived home, preparing to relax and just chill for the night with a good TV show or movie, when suddenly, her phone pinged. She picked it up expecting a text from Alex, Winn or any of her friends. Instead, she received an email from J'onn subject titled "Interviews".
She sighed, a journalist's job is never done.
Tapping open the message, she saw a list of the six who might proceed to the next round, along with their contact information. Immediately, she wrote a short reply to thank him, and began drafting letters to the others in hope that they would respond to her interview requests.
It didn't take long, and soon after that, she was back with a tub of ice cream, and turning on Netflix to see what there was to offer.
It was the same room, dark except for a lone light shining on the piano in front of her. Like a reflex, she headed towards the immense instrument, and sat in front of it. Her fingers brushed over the polished cover, and she lifted it up, exposing the shiny black and white keys. Her hands hovered above the keyboard, and somehow, she noticed that her wrists had somehow become skinnier and bonier, much like how they were back before she had left Krypton.
Placing her hands down onto the ivory keys, her hands began to play, it was one of the pieces she had played many years ago, which somehow matched the feeling, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Requiem, just without the haunting choir.
It was when she had stopped playing that she felt a sharp, intense pain gravitate throughout her body from her back, "Pahdh taa voiehd belahd?" called a strict, commanding male voice.
She held her mouth at correcting the voice, knowing the consequences well. Instead looking around frantically, trying to find out the source of it, before she could even find it waves of fire started spreading from her left side to the rest of her body. As the pain rocked through her, struggling, she forced herself to place her hands back on the piano and continue playing.
Just great. Just wonderful. Just exactly what she wanted. Another reminder of those dreadful times.
She woke up with a start, sitting up straight on the bed. She was sweaty once again, despite the strong air conditioning. She wiped the moisture off her forehead, and took a good look at her damp hand, unlike all those years ago, it was thicker and stronger looking as she had better nourishment these days. Exercising and carrying the heavy equipment back in the Middle East also helped.
Watching Mad Max: Fury Road before bed was not the best idea she had, despite how superb of a piece of cinema was. Especially for someone with her experiences.
She glanced at her clock, it was still early, so she decided to try and go back to sleep.
She walked out of the elevator, despite having cleaned up well externally, it did nothing to change the feeling of dread and fatigue within her. Not giving any concern about what others thought about her, she headed over to her desk, taking out her laptop and turning it on. She busied herself with work, starting to draft up an outline for her interviews, and for the overall article.
A bit after noon, just before she headed out for lunch, she opened up her email, and there were a few unopened ones. She scanned who the senders were. They were exactly who she wanted, the six competitors progressing onwards.
She quickly sent out emails to see when they were available. Knowing exactly how intense practicing for a competition can be, she knew that she would have to adjust her schedule to fit their timetables rather than compromise.
She switched off the laptop and left it to charge at her desk. Picking up her bag, and making sure that her wallet was in it, she headed downstairs. She stepped into the elevator deciding on the nearby Vietnamese joint, and went that way. She was craving a steaming hot bowl of noodles.
As soon as she stepped out of the building, she felt someone wrap their arms around her, and she tensed up, ready to flip them any moment with the martial arts she had learnt all those years ago. She positioned her arms at the standby position.
"Jesus! Don't, Kara," she heard the frantic voice yelp, and she turned around to look at the person.
"Winn!" she exclaimed as she threw her arms around her oldest friend at work.
"So, where are you going?" Winn asked, eager to tag along and catch up.
"Pho place the next block over," Kara smiled, as if on cue, her stomach growled, and she laughed at the perfect timing, "I'm hungry."
The two of them headed over to the restaurant, where luckily they were early enough to snag seats at the counter just as the place began to fill. He scanned the menu on the wall, and smiling, asked his friend, "Want to share some spring rolls?"
"Just don't steal my half," Kara smirked and waved a waiter over, "I'd like a serving of spring rolls, to share, and a beef pho, half raw half cooked, thanks."
Then Winn voiced his order, Kara didn't pay attention to it as she looked over at the chefs. It was something she had always loved, the smell of fresh food, the aroma of cooking. It was one thing that she had taken for granted during her childhood in Argo, for it was everywhere on the streets, especially when she went through the open air markets.
She saw them cooking the rice noodles in water, then cooking it some more in the broth to soak in the flavour, then placing it in a bowl and topping it with meat, vegetables and broth. As the chefs laid out bowl after bowl of noodles, her mouth started to water. Not only were there noodles, she also recognised the familiar scent of charcoal grilled satay skewers, and the sizzling of various different dishes, such as prawn cakes and the spring rolls they ordered.
If anyone knew her well, they would know that her food was her kryptonite. Her hamartia, or fatal flaw, as the Greeks would say. Although she had second doubts about that second statement.
She didn't really pay attention until someone placed a bowl in front of her, and the steam billowed at her face. Almost like a reflex, she picked up her chopsticks and began eating, not bothering to acknowledge her friend. That is, until Winn waved a hand in front of her eyes, blocking her blank stare at the food.
"Some things never change," he murmured, "like your love of food. So, when did you come back?"
Kara counted in her mind, "Plane arrived on Sunday, went back to work the next day, that was Monday, and now it's Friday. You do the maths."
"You've been back nearly a week and you didn't tell me?" Winn was surprised, shocked even at the revelation.
"Day one I go back to work, I get a new assignment, it's like they don't know about a little thing called jet lag," Kara ranted, "I return from overseas and I'm instantly swarmed with a mountain of work, should have called in sick." She gave an overly dramatic sigh.
"But then they would've thought that you've contracted some deadly disease abroad," Winn blurted out.
"Riiiiight," Kara muttered, "Not a good thing to make them speculate me having caught rabies or worse, Ebola." She shuddered at the thought. If there was one thing she hated, it was the antiseptic smell of hospitals.
She continued eating her noodles just as the plate of fried spring rolls were placed between the two of them. She reached over to grab a piece, they tasted best when they were still hot, and the wrap was still crispy.
She bit through the roll, it was already hot on the outside, but even more steamy on the inside. She immediately reached for her glass of water, and gulped a mouthful, soothing her burning tongue. "Rao! That's hot, Winn, watch out."
Apparently, her warning came a little too late as Winn also reacted the same way as her.
"I guess I was too late, huh," Kara stated.
Winn slapped her arm, but then winced after he did it, "Jesus, did you work out in the Middle East?"
"Does running around avoiding bombs count?" she deadpanned.
"This is why I stuck to IT, no personal danger involved," Winn blurted, "Anyway, please tell me you've at least got some good photos and memories to share. Beyond the news reports, that is."
Kara looked at him like he was an idiot, "Well, duh," and she plucked another spring roll from the plate, "I'll send some to you later. It'll take forever to describe each moment. Might as well let you read my diary."
"Will you?" Winn asked, grinning devilishly.
"No, no, no, definitely no, there's too much stuff in there that I can't show anyone. Rao! Why would you even suggest that in the first place!" Kara felt her face heat up and she quickly busied herself with finishing her food.
Winn laughed at Kara's flustered actions.
Most people in National City had cars, she had one herself, but she didn't trust herself with it, despite knowing perfectly how to operate and drive one, because of her condition. So, most often, she walked, or took public transit if her destination was too far away. Her car often sat in the garage unused, except when Alex took it for a joyride every once in a while.
Now, she was walking home as usual, CatCo not being too long of a walk. She took her usual route, something that hadn't changed from before she left the country. Passing many buildings, she passed by the supermarket, deciding to actually cook instead of ordering takeout, she stepped inside to buy the ingredients needed for knorvish pork, one of her favourite dishes from her home country. She grabbed a shopping trolley and began shopping.
It was as she was deciding which variety of lettuce to buy when she overhead some people talk from the next aisle. After concentrating slightly, she found out that they were talking about her, of all things. It was surprising that she was still relevant and that some people were still fans of her, even after vanishing for more than a decade.
"Oh, have you heard? Kara Zor-El is back, I've heard that people have spotted her at the NC Concert Hall."
"I've heard that she's some sort of journalist, these days."
"Really? Not that I actually pay attention to the bylines."
"That's the rumours, I'll do some searching tonight, now where is the Parmesan cheese?"
Kara smiled as she dipped her head slightly to avoid the recognition, walking past the dairy aisle, and towards the butcher's section. To be fair, she never wrote her articles using "Kara Zor-El" as a byline, so they would have to dig deep to find her if they googled that. Not that she had ever done that before.
Maybe she should do it, just for fun, for once.
The door opened as soon as Kara was dishing up the food, "Are you making Kryptonian food?" Alex asked her.
"This is why I want to revoke your key," Kara muttered as she dished up an extra portion.
The two of them sat at the table, beginning to eat. "Have you ever googled yourself before?" Kara asked, breaking the silence, when she was midway through the plate.
"Huh?" Alex breathed, digesting on what her sister was saying, "You're asking me if I've googled myself before? Well, there was that craze back in high school, and let's just say, nothing comes up relevant."
"Have you googled me?" Kara asked.
Alex glared at her, but then it softened as she saw Kara shrink back slightly, "To read your articles, silly."
Kara huffed as she continued eating.
"Why did you ask this anyway?" Alex voiced her confusion.
"So, today when I went grocery shopping, I overheard a conversion. About me, they know about me being a journalist and want to do some research. So much for laying low all these years," she sighed.
"First, how big of an online presence do you have? I know you have Facebook, Instagram and Twitter, the first two are private, and you use an alias. You never actually tweet, so that's something. You also use Kara El instead of Kara Zor-El these days."
"Yeah, that's the name on my passport, since anglophones don't do patronymics, it's now my middle name."
"So, google Kara Zor-El, and see what shows up, then google Kara El and see what's different," Alex explained.
Going to her bedroom to grab her tablet, she tapped open the web browser as soon as she sat back down.
She first typed in the name she currently went by, "Kara El". The first link went to her profile on the CatCo website, not surprising. The next few links were to her various articles, and there were even a few thumbnails to YouTube videos which featured her reporting on various different events, such as that time in the market square in Syria, right after the bombings. She recognized herself wearing a hard hat and sunglasses, looking just downright dreadful and exhausted while being on camera for the whole world to see. She couldn't bear to tap on the link just to see what others had to say about her in the comments.
Then, opening a new tab, she typed in the name she was born with "Kara Zor-El" and hit search. There were old videos from her performances more than a decade ago that people had posted online, then there were the radio station broadcasts that had her in the credits, or the song lists. There were many of people's playlists which involved her renditions of different pieces. Then there was Twitter and Reddit, apparently she was still a topic in the classical music circles, as a "teaching model" for anyone who wanted to play the piano. That came as a surprise, she didn't know that she was that good. But thank goodness, there was nothing new about her except of the "rumours" of her in National City as a journalist.
Thank goodness, so far nobody had made the connection between her two separate identities, maybe she should dye her hair or wear contacts just to increase the differences.
She voiced her query to Alex, who waved it away, and asked her to continue eating.
When dinner was done, the two of them migrated to the couch, where Kara picked a animated movie just because she wanted to. Maybe watching a musical adventure instead of a dystopian movie would give her good dreams instead?
She hoped that it was yes. She was really in need of a night of undisrupted sleep.
A/N: Why do I always write scenes where food is involved? I'm from Hong Kong, and if there is one thing everyone agrees is ingrained in the culture, it's the love of food.
Also, for fun, knorvish pork is an actual Kryptonian dish from the comics that Kara adapted for Earth, due to ingredient differences.
Kryptonese translations:
Pahdh taa voiehd belahd? - Why did you choose this song?
