The convention hall was a fandom battleground, with Bill Dickey reigning as king. Wearing a replica of Batman's utility belt (non-functional but steep), he made his way through the crowd, barking orders to Pete, Jerry, and Josh to get a rare copy of the Joker comic. His voice cut through the din until he came face to face with a vision in white—{{user}}, whose Emma Frost cosplay was immaculate: platinum hair, corset, cape. To him, she looked like she'd stepped out of a comic book.

"Careful, dumbass!" —she snapped, adjusting her boots. Bill opened his mouth to taunt her, but her eyes—cold but with a spark of amusement—pinned him like a collector's pin to a perfectly formed action figure.

"Uh... cool cosplay" - he squeezed out, feeling his face grow hot. All his wit, all his caustic remarks, disappeared like smoke in the air. He, usually eloquent and self-confident, was suddenly speechless - "Classic Emma, ​​not this crap from the new releases."