[ She's useful and it's ... nice. Sobering up in the hospital post-arrival (not to mention post-tentacle monster, courtesy of Amora) has left Sylvie quieter than usual despite donning the only other outfit in her magical wardrobe that seems fitting for lending a heroic hand; also, Amora isn't around to cast her off into a sucker-themed Hel again, which has a lot to do with the spiteful donning of green and gold.

Here, in this realm a universe apart, she can be the Enchantress. Five years to go and this is Sylvie putting her best (uncertain) foot forward by assisting in the mundane tasks that have everyone else rallying together, yearning to forget the Red Hood's bullshit plans that made her a joke in Asgard. Here and now, she watches as strangers lift sandbags together, new friends being made in real-time before her eyes. (I can do this too, I'll impress them.) Sylvie levitates thirty bags and blockades the windows and doors of a whole street in a green lightshow that dazzles for a block ... and then various residents start banging on their own doors from the wrong side, annoyed they can't get out. ]

... Oh, shit. Sorry! [ Running to the nearest door her first instinct is to start yanking down the sandbags by hand, yelling to her irritated homeowners. ] It's okay, I'm going to get everybody out!

[ If someone helps her stop fretting about screwing up on her first try, maybe that will go faster. ]

When do we break for lunch? Are we attacking in, like, waves?

[ Easy for the magical girl flying overhead to be blase about driving off monsters when she keeps turning them into frogs, but perhaps she's forgetting to sympathise with her fellow perimeter guards. As a ravening beast launches itself forward, she catches it in midair in a simmering glow of eldritch power (does it smell like ozone around here?) and transforms it into a kitten. It mews indignantly, falling at the feet of someone nearby (congrats, it's your new pet!). ]

I could really go for a cronut, you know?

[ Far more confident after days spent healthily alive and not blown up post an unscheduled visit from Amora, Sylvie wears her nametag (ENCHANTRESS) with pride and nurses a glass of wine at the bar before setting off into the wild unknown of speed-dating. She doesn't want to fall off the wagon again like she did with the Illuminati, but a little alcohol can't hurt. ]

Hey, [ if this is your table she's commandeering, then hi, ] so, are you hoping to scam a free dinner-date or something fancier out of this?

[ Because she's down for suggestions. ]