(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

[beenherebefore]

[Sorry, you're getting all the teens today.

Alex can't be more than seventeen - fifteen, actually, but he looks older - but the way he shifts uncomfortably and eyes the exits probably wouldn't be out of place in one of Sam's VA meetings.

What he says is too low to be easily heard, but it sounds suspiciously like no Official Secrets Act, probably.]

[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.]