Emma was waiting for the inn to fix her bedroom. The rest of the suite was fine, but frustration over not having her powers, trying to control the magic she'd gained, plus worry about Jag – she'd heard a little about what was wrong, but knowing a little about what it could be like for empaths and barely having a handle on her own emotions right now, she wasn't going to subject Jag to that if she could help it – and the low and slow, everpresent anger she mostly ignored at being stuck in this cage of an inn... it had felt really, really good fireballing her bedroom. After she made sure Zoe was in another part of the suite.

So she was waiting. In the bar, because who couldn't use a drink with all this going on? She poured a glass of wine from the bottle Kitty had brought her before leaving her to her thoughts. The hand not holding the bottle rested elbow on the bar, a ball of flame hovering just above her open palm. As she focused on the flames, she made it smaller, drawing it in to the size of a grape, and then, as she breathed out, expanding again to grapefruit size. It wasn't the meditation forms she was used to, but it was calming and comforting in its own way.

Seeing, out of the corner of her eye, someone walk up, she closed her hand into a fist, the fireball winking out of existence. "Sorry," she said, as she turned and realized it was Captain Jackson.