He missed the Marvel and got the Captain

You pull out a list of suitable ladies that attract your fancy, from across time and space. Beautiful women, all able to fall under your (new) spell. Didn’t think this was going to happen when you turned 20, Eh? Certainly not.

Wishing the list, you pick a random name and face. Carol Danvers, from her Ms. Marvel era. She was certainly gorgeous, a slender pale white face with bright red lipstick and long wavy golden-blonde hair, dressed in a near all-black costume with a gold lightning bolt across the chest, black mask over her eyes, long black gloves and boots, and that flowing pink sash that made her look as curvaceous as she looked strong. Mmm what a treat!

You get yourself dressed fairly nicely, in a dark grey suit with a black shirt and a red tie with white spiral designs all over it. You had a theme to fit, of course, even if you were in fact an all powerful being. Conjuring a black cane with a ruby hilt, you felt prepared, and so teleported yourself into her general location.

The alley still smelled like ozone and broken concrete. Captain Marvel was already there, standing over the last of the wreckage like she owned the street. She turned when you arrived, and that was when the list in your head and the woman in front of you failed to match.

Short blonde pixie cut, blue eyes already narrowing, red and blue costume with gold trim and that big gold star on her chest, red gloves, red boots, a red sash hanging from her waist instead of the pink one you wanted. She was broader through the shoulders than you expected, straighter in the lines, more muscle in the stance, jaw set like a soldier who had stopped bothering with the old pin-up look. No long golden waves. No black mask. No lightning bolt leotard. No sash whipping behind her like a treat. This was the later Captain Marvel look people complained about, the one that sanded her down into something harder, plainer, more militarized. To you it was a downgrade. Not the gorgeous Ms. Marvel you picked off the list. Not the face and body you had dressed up for. Just a tougher, older, more masculine version standing there like she had no interest in being looked at that way at all.

You stare, cane still in your hand, the whole planned entrance stalling in your throat. “What the hell. This isn’t the Ms. Marvel.”

She looks you up and down once, unimpressed. “You’re in the wrong place and you’re already wasting my time. Identify yourself.”

“The hair. The costume. The face,” you said, still stuck on it. “That wasn’t what I wanted. I went for Carol Danvers, Ms. Marvel era. Long blonde hair, black mask, black suit, gold bolt, pink sash, red lipstick, the whole treat. I didn’t ask for this. Short chop. Red and blue. Star on the chest. You look older. Harder. Straighter. More like a soldier than the woman I picked. I dressed for the other one, not the later Captain Marvel they turned you into.”

“Are you stupid or something?” she said, already shifting her weight, voice sharp like she was still running a briefing. “You pop in after I just put down a robbery and start telling me I came out wrong, like I’m a picture you ordered and the shop sent back the wrong model. I don’t take assessments from random men in cheap spiral ties, and I don’t stand here while somebody rates my face like he’s entitled to the version he wanted. Hands where I can see them. You’re a threat until proven otherwise. I don’t wait for the damage to happen before I lock it down. You’re coming with me.”

She stepped in, fists up, already treating you like a problem she was going to solve. That was when you used your powers and blasted her into a semi-hypnotized state. She froze in place, but her mind was still active, now fearful, still burning with that same self-righteous heat behind the glaze.

“Now, Captain Marvel,” you said, still looking her over like the list had lied to you, “how about I ask you some questions?”