Well, when life gives you lemons....

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

Carol tried to lift a fist. Nothing happened. Tried to step in. Nothing happened. The power had her locked upright in the middle of the street, eyes and mouth still hers, everything else dead weight. For a woman used to ending fights in one hit, that was worse than a punch. The glaze sat over her, but the heat behind it was still there.

You smiled and raised the ruby-hilted cane until the glow sat across her face. “Eyes and mouth only. You answer when I ask. You tell the truth. That’s the whole rule set. Understand?”

“I understand,” she said, and hated how fast it came out. “I answer. I tell the truth.”

“Good.” You flicked the cane toward the wrecked robbers and dumped them wherever hospitals put people like that. You weren’t sharing the scene.

Then you walked a slow circle around her. Short hair. Gold star. Harder shoulders. Soldier cut. Still not the woman from the list.

“Why did you stop being sexy?” you asked. “Long hair. Black suit. Sash. Red mouth. That one looked like a woman. This one looks like you decided men weren’t allowed to like you anymore.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she said, frozen and still trying to run the room. “I didn’t ‘stop being sexy.’”

You laughed under your breath and tapped the cane on the ground. Even like this, she was being a bitch about it.

“I stopped wasting a face like mine on men who thought they got a vote.”

“That old costume got me attention, fine. I used it. I liked being looked at when I decided it.”

You stopped in front of her again. “Since when did superheroes look sexy for the masses? That Ms. Marvel look was built to be stared at. Mask, sash, lipstick, poster girl. You didn’t trip and fall into that. You wore it.”

“Then I got bigger than that look,” she said, jaw tight. “I changed it because I felt like it. Not because some boy on a list needed me to stay fuckable.”

“I cut the hair because I wanted to. I put on the star because I wanted the room to shut up and listen.”

You stepped closer. “There it is. Not principle. Control. You wanted the vote taken off the table, then you still wanted to be the one talking.”

“If that makes me look too hard for you, too much like a soldier, too much like I don’t exist to flatter your taste, good.”

“I don’t explain myself to men. I don’t date them unless I feel like slumming. I don’t owe the old pin-up to anyone who missed it.”

“You wanted the treat. You got Captain Marvel.”

You smiled without warmth. “I wanted the treat. I got a lecture.”

“I make the calls. I decide who gets locked down before they become a problem. I decide what I look like.”

“And I am not standing here, even glazed, while some smug little nobody in a spiral tie tells me I used to be worth looking at.”

“You don’t get a vote,” she said. “You never did.”

You watched her mouth keep going while the rest of her stayed locked. “Funny thing to say when you used to dress like you were campaigning for one.”

The cane tapped once more. “Right now, you’re the one who doesn’t get the vote. Not on the look. Not on the questions. Not on what happens next. I liked the other one. Bigger boobs. Wider hips. A plumper ass. A body that filled a black suit and a pink sash, not this soldier cut.”

Her eyes flicked down, then back up. She still couldn’t move.

“Your chest,” you said. “Actual size.”

The answer tore out of her. “Full C. The suit cheats it higher.” She would have bitten her tongue off if the rule had let her.

You made a disappointed sound. “Not what I came for. Make them a full E. Heavy. Round. The old Ms. Marvel kind. And you wanted them looked at.”

Carol felt the change before she saw it. Weight poured into her chest, shoving the gold star forward as the red and blue stretched tight over a much bigger pair. The suit adjusted just enough not to split, and still sat too snug. This wasn’t hypnosis. Hypnosis didn’t add mass.

Worse, the want came with it. She wanted the heft. She wanted eyes on them. She had just finished saying she didn’t dress for men, and now the thought sat in her like it had always been there.

“Yes,” she said, furious. “They’re E-cups. I wanted them looked at.”

You watched the star strain and felt the night get better. “Hips next. You’ve been wearing soldier hips. I didn’t pick those.”

“They’re athletic,” she spat. “I keep them that way.”

“Not now. Wider. The kind that made the old sash sit right.”

She couldn’t step, but she felt herself fill sideways anyway. The suit bowed out at her hips, waist cutting in sharper above the new width, the red sash suddenly sitting on a woman’s shape instead of a fighter’s.

“Ass too,” you said. “Plumper. Soft over the muscle. Not that flat military seat.”

A sound ripped out of her as her backside packed the suit, rounder, heavier, impossible to ignore even though she couldn’t turn to see it. She felt every inch of it.

“Say it.”

“My hips are wider,” she said, voice shaking with rage. “My ass is plumper. That’s what you wanted.”

“That’s what I liked,” you said. “And you still don’t get the vote.”

You lifted the cane again. “Next question.”