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Lana sat on the bench in front of the Cézanne, engrossed in the fall of light across the scene, the mix of ivories and golds casting tender brightness upon the otherwise bleak world.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" the woman said, taking a seat next to her. She was dressed in black, as more than half the museum patrons were, but she was much older, much more stylish than the swarm of scraggly kids playing at neo-bohemia.

"Yes, it is."

The woman smiled. "You're American. I wasn't sure."

Lana blushed faintly. The woman had unusually large violet eyes and her full attention seemed to be focused on her. "Yes, I'm here studying art for the summer," she volunteered. "I'm from Kansas."

"Forgive me, I'm being horridly rude. I'm Selina. I'm from Gotham."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Lana."

"The pleasure is mine," Selina said with a smile. "Perhaps we could...I suppose I'm homesick for a friendly American voice. Would you care to come with me for a cappuccino?"

Lana stared at her for a moment, trying to read the subtext under the invitation. Usually there was a bit more smalltalk first, but Americans in Paris tended things in a way they wouldn't at home. Lana stole a glance downward, pretending to look at her sketchbook. Curvaceous, lush – 'beautiful' didn't begin to describe her. And the brightness in her eyes—

An answering smile spread across Lana's face, hopefully disguising any trace of the fluttering in her stomach. "I'd love to."