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Zor-El's a better flier than Jess. To be clear, this puts her on about the same level with most birds on Earth (and a few other planets besides). Then again, most birds don’t have goddamn laser eyes.
(Laser eyes. Christ. You make one joke/threat to a guy--well, a few guys over the years, she's never been one to avoid low-hanging fruit--and the universe ensures you'll never fucking forget it).
So maybe it is just a little satisfying than it should be when Jess has to save her ass from the alien traffickers (alien traffickers, God help them all if Fox News gets wind of this) who've taken up shop in New York, wielding glowy green shit called kryptonite. Beating the tar out of them is more than a little satisfying, and hey, Blondie bounces back just fine.
She even offers Jess a case of space booze after, the two of them perched high above the city, the wind tugging at Jess's jacket and Zor-El's ridiculous coat. Zor-El matches her swallow for swallow, which is maybe the most impressive thing about her.
"This planet's kind of a shithole, but I get why Kal sticks around," she muses, kicking a leg out over the abyss. The rising sun catches in her long gold hair--yes, obvious comparison to Trish is obvious, but there's something harder about her, rough edges that Jess doesn't have to worry about snapping.
"Yeah,” she says, letting herself return Zor-El’s grin. “We have our perks.”