Bette Kane had wanted to be a superhero since…well, since forever, it seemed like. Some little girls had dreams of being a ballerina, and for a while she'd dreamed of pro tennis, but always, in the back of her mind, whenever she'd seen Wonder Woman on television, she'd wanted to be her.
It had taken more time and energy than practicing her tennis had – or maybe it just seemed like more since she couldn't take lessons and had to learn everything by herself – but she'd become Flamebird. A superhero, and a damn good one, all things considered.
How she went from being an adjunct member of one of the Titans' teams to being a member of the temporary fill-in Young Justice, she still wasn't quite sure, though.
It might have had something to do with Batgirl not being one for talking and that leaving Bette as seemingly the only one around with any adult sense, never mind womanly sensibilities.
Honestly, it seemed like Gar regressed in age every time she met him. And this 'Lagoon Boy' was even worse. She hoped she never had to work with him again after her stint heading these dregs of superhero society. It would be unlikely that she would; he lived in Atlantis, after all. Him wet fish, her fiery bird; twice as much separation.
If only she could separate herself into a better team, one where her teammates had actual brains in their heads, and used them. Like Nightwing, or even Arsenal. They were like her in that they had no powers, and they were good leaders…
A thought occurred to Bette, and she almost missed her landing as she swung across the rooftops on her jumpline. She quickly recovered herself, and no one but Batgirl could have seen her, and she wouldn't tell anyone.
The thought was that, of course, since she was the smartest acting one around, that meant that she was…in charge.
Bette grinned, forwent snarking at her own personal Beavis and Butthead as they capered through the sky, and decided that maybe it wasn't so bad being a pseudo den mother.
Leaders had to start somewhere, after all…
Beavis dived low over a pond and Butthead sent up a spray of water over a line of swimming ducks.
Bette sighed and prepared to let loose of volley of venomous vitriol at her two personal victims.
It could only go up from here, surely?