She was wiping down the table, her head pounding in irritation, her teeth grinding. The fellas in the corner were laughing too loudly and obnoxiously, and she wished she could give in to her wishes to make them regret they had even been born, but she had been trying to tamp down the whole… bitchy cheerleader thing.
(That had been why she had ended it with Santana, after all. If she couldn’t kill off that awful person she had been for all these years, there would be no justification for how she had had to crush her own heart.)
She wished she could have been out in the kitchen, cooking up the meals for the patrons in the restaurant, but the appliances were volatile. When Quinn had been in there yesterday, she’d seen three separate people get burnt, despite having worked there for years, and the kettle turned on and off randomly. She’d decided that her first day on the job would instead be spent taking orders from the customers.
The countertop would not be getting any cleaner, she decided, and she made her way towards one of the tables, which a couple of students had recently vacated.
Her glance caught on the television screen a few feet away, which was blaring in the background, stuck to one of the walls, adding to the cacophony of noise. (Men! Why were they so loud?)
A news reporter was gesticulating wildly, a video playing next to her.
It was of a young woman was standing on top of a building, her hair dark and falling daintily around her face in loose waves, remarkably unperturbed by the wind whipping around her, tugging at her clothes; just a deep blue, long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of blue, skintight jeans. Her outfit might have looked ordinary if it wasn’t for the shiny white band around her eyes, reminiscent of superhero movies; a thin mask around her eyes, obscuring her face but leaving her a space to see out from.
“WHO IS THE ENTITY NEW YORK HAS DUBBED ‘SUPERGIRL’?” the text beneath the video said. Quinn couldn’t take her eyes from her lithe form, as she collected the mugs with distracted ease.
The woman wasn’t tall, but something – some kind of… power or feeling - was emanating from her as she opened her mouth. It was impossible to hear what across the babble, but the same three videos of the woman had been circulating the internet over the two weeks, since the first sighting of Supergirl. She had been singing in all of them. A beautiful, ethereal sound. She didn’t sound like she belonged in this world.
Her face was lit up by the flames of the fire that was licking out of the windows in the building opposite her, illuminating her in a scary glow of red and golds.
Though Quinn couldn’t hear it, she knew the woman was singing now, and as she sang, it started to rain. Without fail, in every one of the videos, the rain began to gather as she sang.
Even without hearing the ethereal chanting, it felt otherworldly, to watch the way the skies darkened with thunderous clouds, the way the water was gathering. Almost sinister, but in a beautiful way.
The video flickered several times, clearly spliced together of several people filming. There was something to be said, about a generation who documented everything that happened, but Quinn just couldn’t think of the words to say, as she watched the flames burn lower and lower, choked by the water.
Some conspiracy theorists said that Supergirl – as she had been called by one woman with a famous Tumblr account - was the one setting fire to the places, to get the glory of putting them out. Technically, it could be plausible – Supergirl just showed up out of nowhere, and only at very specific fires. If it wasn’t for the fact that something seemed wrong about the fires she arrived at, it would have been believable that Supergirl was a criminal. The fire department had been present at all of them, and they’d reported that the fire had seemed to almost feed off the water and even the foam that usually extinguished any form of fire had only fed the fire’s frenzy.
Quinn absently watched a clip of a fireman who presumably was explaining just that, as she picked up another wet rag to wipe down the empty table
They had been unable to stop the fire, or even contain it. And then. Boom. There she was. Supergirl. And the fire went out within moments.
Even if you thought Supergirl had set the fires, it became unexplainable how she could make it rain. By singing. And Broadway, at that. Quinn swore she had heard several strains of the song For Good from Wicked when she watched the first video.
New York had had three sightings of Supergirl so far, in the last two weeks. The last one had been two days ago when The New York Public Library was burning.
Something smelled weird. Maybe it was just her headache – she felt like her head was splitting. God, couldn’t those men just shut up? She felt dizzy, weak.
She sniffed loudly, looked around – and then things happened almost too quick for her to comprehend.
Screams from the kitchen. Her eyes landing on the rag in her hand. Burning. Fire licking up the sides of it, the scent of smoke sickening. Throwing it away. The screams. The screams, never-ending. Of “fire, fire, fire”. A door slamming open, an arm grabbing hers. The screams. Running. Stumbling. Running.
Something flashed blue.