[ Queen Mansion, Star City ]
Seeing Thea looking at him blankly, Malcolm, with his many years of experience, didn't know what to say to ease the awkward atmosphere. He couldn't utter a single word, and secretly hated his limited vocabulary at the moment!
He wanted to ask Thea if she had something to say—or if she had heard something. But looking into her dull, stunned eyes, he knew. She had heard everything—both what she should and shouldn't have. He regretted rushing to the Queen house to propose marriage today. Why hadn't he investigated it in advance? With all his intelligence resources, if he'd just used them, he would've known the truth! Then it wouldn't be so difficult to talk now.
At this point, Thea also felt that her life was completely safe. It was time to retreat. She kept her blank expression, her face stiff, and even tried to squeeze out a few tears. But as someone who had never acted a day in her life, it was hopeless. Instead, she snorted heavily, turned around, and bolted.
"Thea—!" Moira Queen's voice rang out at full volume behind her. For taking advantage of this woman who loved her so sincerely, Thea could only whisper sorry in her heart. She will treat Moira well in the future, to make up for what happened today.
She ran out of the house and found the most luxurious bar she could—a perfect stage for the second act of her runaway plan: getting drunk!
...
[ Bar, Star City ]
Thea wasn't worried about being harassed. A place this upscale had to have some connection to Malcolm. Small bars were risky; the fancy ones, oddly enough, were safest. And she was right. This bar was operated by one of Malcolm's loyal subordinates—very loyal ones. The moment the bar owner who is also bartender of this bar, got Malcolm's call to take care of a certain girl, Malcolm repeated the instructions three times, just to be sure. The bar owner was so terrified, he nearly worshipped Thea Queen on the spot.
He deployed several burly men with meaty faces to form a protective human wall around her—facing outward, lest they scare her.
The DJ was told to play soft music. He was confused but obeyed. Why risk offending that kind of boss? If anyone was disappointed by the slow tunes, they could leave! The owner had no time for customer complaints tonight. He even called in a few of his men, who gyrated awkwardly to the soft beats, trying to keep the atmosphere cheerful.
"Boss, what drink should we serve the chick?" the bartender's assistant asked.
The owner snarled, "Show some respect. Call her ma'am! Got it? Say it again."
The assistant blinked. He strongly suspected his boss hadn't taken his meds today, but seeing his murderous glare, he nodded quickly. "Yes, boss. What drink should we serve to that lady?"
This question stumped the bar owner. A strong drink? She might get drunk too fast, and that would hurt her body. If the Big Boss found out he'd mistreated his target of affection, would he be buried in a concrete pillar to serve as a bridge pier? That method might be quick—but so was cremation.
A mild drink? Then he'd have to stay with her longer, in case of harassment. Thea's looks weren't exactly earth-shattering, but she was beautiful and elegant—clearly one in a thousand. She was still young, so her features had yet to fully mature, but anyone could see she'd grow into a striking woman.
And in the U.S.? Hooligans were everywhere.
Looking again at Thea—her coloring, her cheekbones—the bar owner suddenly thought: She looks a bit like the boss...
That settled it. He was going to be loyal tonight. No strong drinks. No leaving her unattended. No fights between his mistresses tonight. He even ordered weapons prepared, in case someone showed up to harm her. If they had to fight to the death, so be it, they will fight outside—but Thea Queen would not be disturbed.
"Boss... who is she?" the assistant asked cautiously.
Thea had never been seen in nightclubs before. Not even once.
The bar owner didn't really know either. But judging from Malcolm's serious tone, even Superman couldn't save them if she got hurt. He had some guesses, but there was no need to explain.
So he just muttered, "That's my mother."
Oh dear God. The assistant started sweating. Not only was the boss manic, but his sanity had taken a hit. Should he be updating his résumé tomorrow?
Unaware of all this, Thea drank glass after glass, her mind buzzing with thoughts. The day's plan had been a success. Her life was safe now. Should she start preparing to strengthen herself next?
They said the poor rely on mutation, the rich on technology. As the only heir of Queen Consolidated and has connection with Merlyn Global, she clearly wasn't poor—but tech hadn't quite reached Iron Man levels yet. Malcolm's hidden fortune had been poured into martial arts, not gadgets. Even Batman had all his high-tech toys and still fought hand-to-hand.
The only one with a halfway decent suit was Ray Palmer—the Atom—and even his gear was more like Ant-Man's, not Iron Man's Mark armor.
Besides, even Iron Man trained when no one was looking. Didn't he go hand-to-hand with Bucky in Civil War? The Winter Soldier's combat skills weren't too far off from Green Arrow's. In the end, it all came back to one thing:
Training.
But Oliver's training path? Second-degree burns, 18 fractures, 20% of his body covered in scars? That wasn't her vibe. And apparently, his biceps were twice the size of Felicity's thighs. No thanks.
Maybe she could hang around S.T.A.R. Labs when it exploded and hope to gain powers? But that only happened with frequent near-deaths, and the lab was still under construction. It wouldn't blow for another six years. She'd already been there one time.
Perhaps she should just focus on archery—ditch the up-close melee stuff. Maybe Malcolm had a training method that wouldn't bulk her up. That is, if he was willing to teach.
Archery made her think of Oliver. Her brother must be on Lian Yu or Purgatory Island by now, catching birds with Yao Fei. Though, if you had dirty thoughts about that, you needed to sit in a corner and rethink your life.
Yao Fei was quite the character. He spoke Chinese to Oliver all day, leaving the guy completely baffled. His famous catchphrase: "Survival, survival!"
Thea almost laughed. But just then, she felt eyes on her. Her smile faded into something bitter.
The bar owner, once an artistic soul in his youth, happened to catch that moment. To any onlooker, it looked like a classic scene: a runaway girl in a bar, downing drinks slowly, eyes distant, a flicker of sorrow on her lips.
A silent performance of heartbreak—and a bitter, unspoken truth.
To Be Continued...
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[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]