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The advantage of being a knight was the ability to send and receive messages at any time of day, powered or not. She may not have had a normal-looking cell phone, but -- sitting in her apartment, waiting for Spaghetti-Os on the hot plate -- it didn't matter: she felt the familiar tickling inside her head that said she had a call to be answered.

The disadvantage, certainly, was the lack of a caller ID. With a voice-to-voice communication, she had no way of knowing who'd be on the other end when she answered.

Laney raised her hand to her mouth, bringing the ring close to talk into it. "Hello?" she greeted.

Laney's heart felt pinched, hearing the upset in Ida's voice. She was relieved, of course, to know that in body, Ida was safe and sound -- but if Ida was upset enough to seek a friend, she must've been very upset indeed.

Fortunately, Laney lived for opportunities in life to be of help and comfort to the people she loved. She felt, if anything, quietly elated that Ida had trusted her enough to call.

She didn't need the whole story now, before she even agreed to meet. She just needed to know that Ida needed her.

"Free as a bird," she said with reassuring ease. "Where can I meet you, sweetheart?"

"Just putting some saran-wrap on some leftovers," Laney said, which was vague and semi-true. She was fairly certain that half-cooked Chef Boyardee would keep for a few hours -- it was probably mostly chemicals and preservatives anyway. "I'll meet you there in a few."

Although she dutifully carried on with the jogging routine her personal trainer, Bethany, had once advised, it was fair to say that athletics were not Laney's primary area of interest. Having Vanessa to run with had been the only thing that made the undertaking bearable. Beyond that, she'd never exactly put much time into physical fitness.

Accordingly, once she was finished with the call, she unplugged her hot plate and threw a lid over her dinner, then hastily locked her apartment door and went about a block over to transform.

She hated ricochet jumping. It was exhausting and difficult, especially going upward, and she wasn't that great at it. Hvergelmir mentally groaned at Ida's selected meeting place: then, because she could -- because she was horribly lazy -- she summoned Eikthyrnir and forewent the whole rooftop parkour and ricochet jumping routine in favor of just teleporting to the place where Ida had asked to meet.

Hvergelmir dismounted, looking for Ida -- and spotted her by the roof ledge, peering down. The knight held our her arms in the universal gesture for let me hug you, and said, with a tender smile, "Come here, sweetheart."

Hvergelmir felt warm and content holding Ida in her arms. She was, undoubtedly, worried about whatever had gotten the other girl so upset -- but she felt pleased to be of use, pleased to be the one offering comfort instead of receiving it . . . pleased, most of all, that Ida had clearly decided she could trust Hvergelmir in her most vulnerable moments.

"Shhh, sweetheart, don't worry," she soothed, carding her fingers gently through Ida's hair so it wouldn't snag. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together. It's okay, you're okay. Just stay here as long as you need. I've got you."

Ida was warm and soft, and felt good pressed into her arms. She smelled nice, too. If she'd wanted to stay like that for another hour, Hvergelmir didn't think she'd mind.

Hvergelmir folded a hand against her chin, contemplative. "I don't know any senshi by that description," she confessed. "But I don't really know that many senshi yet."

She listened sympathetically to what Ida was saying. It sounded like it was more about how this senshi had made Ida feel -- which meant that this wasn't an issue of whether or not that other senshi had been a jerk, but an issue of Ida wanting to be reassured that her feelings were valid. Hvergelmir, who often wanted to be reassured that her feelings were valid, could understand.

"It would bother me too, if it were me," she promised. There was no point in saying that Hvergelmir was no stranger to strangers criticizing her for what she chose to do with her knighthood, or that she was considering getting YES, I KNOW IT'S PRACTICALLY SUICIDE tattooed on her other shoulder to try and forestall the inevitable commentary -- but she imagined that was part of why Ida was here. Hvergelmir could certainly sympathize on the subject of the unwanted opinions of strangers. "But whatever that senshi thinks is way off-track. I mean, what does the glow mean to you? What do you think it represents? Does it feel like something bad or wrong?"

Hvergelmir smiled and clasped Ida's hands in her own. "If it's good for you . . . for your connection with your power, your world -- then it's good. That's what matters. Your relationship with your power is your business. Listen to me . . . "

She paused, considering it. Planning her words. "Maybe -- maybe a change of scene would do you some good. Can I take you away somewhere, princess?"

It got easier each time, calling out to her Wonder. She held it in her mind, picturing her connection to it like a tether -- then she grabbed onto the line and pulled.

The world melted away. All its glass and metal an cement, all its water towers and HVAC units and antennae and high rises, gone; in their place, the stars came out, swarming in greater congregations than the pale shimmer of night in the Solar System. The silvery metal of the pier formed beneath their feet, sturdy and unshaking -- and far at the end of it lay her island, quietly waiting: its great, white Ionic columns the only thing that stood out against the sparkling sky.

Hvergelmir held onto both of Ida's hands firmly. It was always dangerous, arriving on the pier; there was a worry that someday, someone would take fright and stumble toward the edge. She watched Ida with a faint smile and a curious expression.