"Well, obviously," she said with a snort and held her fingers up as a flame flickered to life in the center of her palm. "They don't lock you up in a super villain S.H.I.E.L.D. prison if you don't have the super part. The girl you were just talking to, she doesn't have anything." It was only Typhoid and the Bloody One that had powers, there had been others before with them, too, but they were gone now. The bartender shot her a look as he put down their drinks and she extinguished her flame with a roll of her eyes, squashing it between her palms and then drawing them apart again, one hand taking up her drink while the fingers of the other tapped out a restless rhythm on the top of the bar.
She drained her drink in one long gulp. Alcohol, Typhoid had missed that. Wasn't something you ever got when you were locked up and it wasn't something she'd had time to seek out since she'd got out of the Raft, not until now anyway, and being out again was only a lucky opportunity. If it wasn't for Rankin, she was pretty sure Mary would still be in control. Maybe she could come up with a way to thank him. She eyed him again, lips pursed. "How's life been treating you, Rankin?" Typhoid asked, with something like a sneer. He was well fed, so obviously not too poorly. It had been years since she'd seen him, once they'd got Mary fully sedated and pumped full of drugs and deemed her suited for the Raft instead of the Big House. Shame, Typhoid had actually kind of liked that place.