(no subject)

[jink]

Morning, ladies, gentlemen, those who aren't.

[In slacks and a plain shirt, Samantha is Ms. Wilson today, having foregone the goggles and wings that characterize her alter-ego, the Falcon, which is a name nobody besides herself (and occasionally Rogers, to humor her) (Romanoff also, for a different take on humor) actually makes use of. She props her elbows on the podium and flashes a smile.]

This question's partly professional. I work at the VA counseling center, so booze and weird spycraft is off-limits.

What makes self-disclosure easier for you? Of personal problems, especially?

Comments

[jink]

What?

[Anybody who thinks psychologying is all about double-entendres and mixed meanings and super subtle manipulations is incorrect. Sam cranes her head at the young man, snaps her fingers and points at him.]

Pretty boy on the right. Yeah, you. What was that?

[beenherebefore]

[Well, that's... direct. Alex can't help a snort at pretty boy, but the tone he uses is deadpan and bland.]

I said that no Official Secrets Act would help a lot. [And then, because she's so obviously military or ex-military, he can't help but add:] Ma'am.

[jink]

[The ma'am would appear to be correct usage. Sam doesn't bat an eye at that, but her eyebrows had crinkled a couple words earlier.]

Can you tell me more about that?

[beenherebefore]

Just that self-disclosure about certain things would be much easier if it wasn't treason.

[Sorry, Sam, Alex is kind of a snotty teenager sometimes. He has reason to be.]