ArchivedLogs:Free Range Minds
| Free Range Minds | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-10-16 ' |
| Location | |
It is Tuesday evening and Emma has acquired an iced coffee. She's settled at a table in a park with her tablet on one knee, thumb gently sliding against the surface, turning pages and skimming the news. She pauses on an article about the situation in Harlem and starts to read with more interest, her eyes shifting back and forth rapidly, reading the compressed column. Eyes shift over to the pictures on the page and she considers, free hand idling bringing her drink to her mouth. Gaze shifts quietly to the time and then her mind reaches out. << It's time. Are you here yet? >> It's a quiet attempt at communication to one particular mind, name unspoken, but thoughts well known to her. Thoughts soft, only subtly shaped. Velvety and drifting, the powerful reach of Emma's mind will feel a gauzy gray twitch, then a flex, like a muscle constricting under fur. << (here.) >> Parley can't really tug, his passive mind barely capable of pressure - but he softly rasps, like the teeth of a comb, imbuing the far fringes with a flush of heightened alignment. He's sitting alongside a small fountain, on a bench where the faint water spray dusts past the tawny fur at the back of his neck. Though into autumn now, the sun affords some heat and his jacket is set aside, an open book in his lap. << (shall i)(pick a target?) >> Undercurrent, in a soft drift, he nudges at the mild attention she pays to her tablet in a secondary idle curiosity as he studies the people around him. << (what are you reading) >> << Current events. The sanctuary in Harlem and the raid. Don't suppose you know anything more about it? >> Emma does not look in his direction, but instead continues to sit as quietly as she did before, sipping the thick liquid in her plastic cup. << Pick your target, then we'll talk about what you'd like to do next. >> Her eyes glance toward a couple of mothers escorting a trio of babbling children, one barely able to walk while the others running to burn off energy, the oldest not more than six. Her mind reflashes the mothers' faces and then shows she's thinking about the balloon seller a few paces away. << (i'd been) >> Parley settles like a low-slung fog, less reaching out to minds and more letting them slowly seep into his own like tea leaves coloring clear water, << (inside once.)(before it was raided.) >> The bright, fiercely curious rage-joy of the young children ricochet off a million micro-mirrors through his center to feed off the other side into Emma's mind as a soft glitter. Beneath this lightweight reflection, his own sentiments are washed out and parched. << when (Luke Cage)(went on his first little)(mission of mercy.) >> Flashes of faces flit past; Kay's, Ion's, the young Jessica with her reptilian features, each identified by name, by flavor of their mind should Emma need to recognize them later. << (a marvel) there were (no casualties.)(two of them)(were from) >> a name rises up, one he's shared with Emma already, if briefly, phrased mild as he idly trails the different flavors of passing people through his mental fingers << (Prometheus) >>. The frayed rush of a woman trying to hurry to (work? << ? >>) without turning a heel. A homeless man amiably bumming a cigarette off a pair of skater kids at the corner. He allows Emma privy to his surface thoughts, having to consciously keep them together and tangible. << (so many reasons)(to be angry.)(self defense) is an (easy excuse)... >> But his mind is distant again, seeming to observe more of his present setting, the park, the dogwalker passing by him, the businessman watching a squirrel with some brief almost invisible neanderthal hindbrain swell of /territorialism/ over his Nuttybar. << (-so many lives...) >> << So many lives. The goal of this isn't to force anyone to do anything. I would rather see no results than to see you twist someone to your desires. The idea is to inspire. The twisting draws attention. Attention draws suspicion and suspicion limits what you can do without revealing yourself. >> Emma draws in the thoughts that Parley offers, letting them reflect upon the surface of her glassy shields far below what she is thinking. There's a pause, a milky stirring of thoughts and then something new bubbles up. << Do you have any connections with any of the Families in Chinatown? Perhaps a lead in with the local triad? I've done some work lately, undoing a telepathic influence (shame really, parents twisting their children into forms they prefer) and I'd like to know more about where this might lead. >> What follows is faces: Tag's, Tian-Shin's, Melinda's, though the last seems less important. << If you have no connections - perhaps you'd like to work to create some - if it tickles your fancy. >> << I can try looking into it. >> It's not really a promise, but then… it wasn't really a demand, was it. Tag's face is recognized, as is Melinda's, if absently; Parley flips through them like note cards, allowing this much knowledge through, though little else. Tian-Shin, unknown. Hm. << (it's the danger) of (free will)(i guess...)(anything we possess)(we also)(possess the capacity)(to misuse.) >> A young man in a hoodie is sitting back atop the brick edge of a retaining wall, pants cut off at the knees, black converse shoes and spiked hair. Leaning back, he wears the standard public-in-the-city face, hard jaw and hooded eyes, eating cashews from a can. But from his mind, there's a sense of easy open-ness. People-watching, communing, it's a pleasant petal-soft texture, soaking in his world and soon, Parley in turn soaks back. << (him.) >> He decides to Emma, licking a thumb to turn a book page. << Good. And what do you want to make him do? >> Emma turns slowly, subtly, toward the direction of the young man without looking at him, taking his location from Parley's mind. She glances up at length to see him with her own eyes for a few moments. She then returns to her tablet. In reference to Chinatown, she muses, << That's all I ask. I'm interested in all aspects of this fair city we work in, and if there's a group within that already uses mutants for their powers, I want to know - especially if the mutants are being used involuntarily. >> She finishes off her coffee and leans forward to set it down beside her feet.
Here, Emma will need to flex her delicate muscles, to keep tabs on his movements; they grow liquid and shift like a fog bank; the young man watches a squirrel lark partway across the green before it's set upon by a trio of sparrows. It reminds the young man of something (someone? a person? No, Parley catches a few distinct suggestions it may be a dog.) There are side-thoughts, though - unimportant and passing yet more present in the scope of linear thought; the young man is also thinking about groceries he needs to pick up; feeding the (cat? ferret?), excuses to not have to attend a party, and so many small absorbent observations made about the world around him - that man's beard, the brickwork in this path here, the little girl riding on her father's shoulders and smacking excited hell into his forehead. He's listening to snippets of conversation ("-but Ron's been out of jail for two months and-" "-but she said I should try Payless if I want to-" "-thirty-two and traveling the Continental-fucking-Divide-") << (...it's different.) >> Parley's voice, from beneath this vibrant dazzling flow, is so soft it could almost be forgotten. Idle-flat and somehow wintry-smiling. << (when the subject is)... (freerange.) there is (so much More/so much Less) on (their minds…) >> << I mostly wanted to see what it looks like when you try, >> Emma comments, her attention on her tablet, but her eyes are completely unfocused. Her mind is entirely focused on Parley's and that of his target's. She observes as he soaks into the young man. << Can you read what is important to him, what is going on underneath or can you only access the here and now? >> << (if I were)(talking) to him.(possibly.)(it's difficult)(to fully shield)(if you're intentionally)(communicating.) >> 'Communicating' seems, in this reference, to associate itself with a pair of mutually opened doors. << (but)(i can't) go (into minds)(to explore.) >> Parley hums, like the faint hum of a machine, around the organic, rich feel of the young man's coppery-coin mind; like a house of mirrors, it fills him up with a million little fragments, bringing in all their color, all their complexity. << (...)(though.) >> He runs fingers through the young man's mind, combing it neat. << (i can't create)(new)(moods.) >> It's a sign of an empath, that- it's not thoughts, it's /moods/ they reference, << (but i can)(cycle in)(ones that already exist.)(hmm.) >> He grows softer yet. His body is loose, lips slack and fingers loose - in mind, he lays softly down like a trap door, and torrents more pour in as he sighs, the weight seeming an odd relief. The electric dazzle of a pair of children, churning their chubby hands in the fountain water, is swallowed deepest, and then allowed to meet with the mind of the young man in the hoodie. The connection springs together like joining two droplets of water. The young man's interest has pricked in the direction of the children, rolling a stray cashew between his finger. Admitting pensively to himself that it does look fun, how they play... << Fully shield. Hmmm. >> Emma considers this, bouncing between listening to Parley's mind and that of his target. She watches his mood shift and the increasing interest in the kids. She runs across Parley's mind and reaches a little further into the target's mind, stirring up some memories of his past, trying to touch on the hint of nostalgia birthed in his emotions. As she does this, she examines the link Parley and he share, her mood growing more inquisitive. << What about your other talents? Can you lend him your camoflauge? Can you hide yourself and him from me? >> Physically, she takes a deep breath and looks around her at the group of people passing by her, gauging their interest or lack of interest in her presence. Her eyes shift once more toward Parley, perhaps watch him a little longer than she should. She's amused by his posture and the physical display of his concentration. Then she watches to see if anyone else is staring. There are a couple people who notice, but as it is New York, no one really seems to want to pay attention or to get involved. One woman, possibly not a native, or one of the few bleeding hearts that the city hasn't quite crushed, is starting to get close, with some concern for his wellbeing - but Emma quickly distracts her with a notion of leaving the kettle on, or whatever the equivalent is in her life. Ah, yes, the cats. They're probably tearing the apartment up because she hasn't bought food. Must get food. << Do you want me to come over and hold you up? A little (visual) affection might be a good disguise right now. >> << (hmmhmm)(would you like to?) >> Volleys a faint bemusement. It's a rare and watchful mind that would notice Parley on a passing glance, moreso when mantled deep in the many cloaks and colors of his environment. Thus saturated, he feels such notice as it arrives as well. One eye slips open to slide momentarily sideways, watching with interest as the direction of the woman's mind abruptly shifts. His feather-light fingers felt at the far fringes, following the faint streamers of intent back to Emma. << (you are)(incredibly nimble.) >> Absently, he muses on, shifting interest back to the hoodied man. << (camouflage him...)(they've tried.)(they had a)(psionic sculptor) >> This concept is complicated, but it suggests strong mental fingers, exploring the curve of a mental landscape, pressing into it like clay. << (my mind is)(fragmented)(thin)(strewn out.)(the subjects)(based off of me)(did not recover.) >> There is a long moment lost, beneath the cluttered surging waves of other minds. << (i am)(only a vessel.) >> It's said rote and blank. Emma considers, leaning back, a small smile appearing on her lips at the compliment. << I see. I was merely suggesting a projection of your fragmented nature. Did you ever try to do that? >> She inhales and sits up straight, tilting her head from left to right as she stretches her arms. << Maybe we should just go get some dinner. What do you feel like? Italian? French? >> She puts her tablet into her bag as she stands, and pulls the straps of her bag onto her shoulder a little tighter. << I'm hungry. >> The silence again is prolonged, but not empty. The hoodied young man has warmed into a vague smile, outwardly hard-city smirk, but there's a brief warmth brightening in him. It buoys up in a moment of shapeless inspiration, energy, where the lingering bright simplicity of the children gradually fades on to softer echoes. The thoughts are sharp and clear to Emma, full of a thousand small suggestions of identity, history, ugliness, shame, pride - so indicative of this stranger's personality, Parley's again sounds faded and misplaced, murmuring. << (i will)(think about it.) >> The matte grey of his substance grows slightly firmer as he washes the young man out of his channels, << (italian)(something with garlic?) >> It's a passing suggestion, /brightening/ hopefully? It makes the next comment idle. << (i need you) to (do something for me). >> << It's been a while since you've asked me for anything. You're not about to ask me for another computer, are you? >> Emma's mental voice contains her mirth, a good natured teasing amongst her attentive consideration. Drawing in a deep breath, she starts moving in the direction of the Italian restaurant, hinting at Parley that he should meet up with her course. << Joking aside, what do you want me to do? >> << (i have been)(eyeing) a (new Armani)(coat) >> Parley's mindvoice purrs, clustering up against her for a luxurious STRETCH of feline mental muscles. << (now that you mention it.) >> He folds down the page of his book and tucks it under an arm as he stands. An index finger is deployed, to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, rounding the side of the fountain to fall in at Emma's side, greeting, "Ms. Frost." << (it's earlier)(than i'd like.) >> he answers, more steadily, eyes set forward. << (but it's time)(Hive-san)(was made aware of)(Rasheed Toure's)(true alliances.) >> Emma reaches out and curls a hand up against Parley's free elbow, not sparing him a glance as they join up and match strides. "Parley," she replies sweetly, projecting the image of him in a coat she's seen recently - maybe it's the same Armani? And then it fades, her mind distracted by what comes next. << You want me to just drop that bomb on him? Why now? >> << (i don't think)(there's any)('just') to it. >> Parley admits wearily, opens his elbow for Emma to thread her arm through. That little mental image of himself in that coat is reflected back, reaching up to smartly tug straight his collar. Surrounding it are suggestions of Cinderella-esque pumpkin-shaped limo, smoky-dark glass dress shoes tucked beneath a pair of /spats/. << (i have)(reason to believe)(he may) be (recommending) a few (friends) to (the Good Doctor)(sometime) mmh (in the future.) >> "Lovely weather, today. Do you know. This is my first autumn in New York." He's murmuring gently. << (i don't know) if there will be (psionic)(friends)(among them.) but it could be (...troublesome.)(if they were to)(accidentally)(make him.)(if he's compromised)(he'll likely vanish.)(possibly, someone we don't know would move in.)(hmm.)(if he isn't)(murdered) first (i suppose.) >> Like a loom, pictures, concepts, memories are threaded string by string to form a tapestry of sewn-clean scars bending the curve of anonymous shaved heads; the soft warm tissue of the human brain, overrun with spiderwebbing wires, brain chips -- << (...the problem being)(that right now)(Toure)(is too useful.)(the only person)(that can do what he does.)(and of course…) >> Downtown New York expands ahead in a panoply of restaurant fronts, many tucked into old residential buildings, with stairs that lead down into the tightly seated and opulently furnished within. Parley scans these fronts as they go. << (while he does it)(the government) can (rest comfortably in knowing)(their fingers) are on our (...pulse.) >> It throbs like a vein, this concept, a gripped throat; so much steady deadly pressure constricting the soft give of the front on the neck. << (and for now) we, in turn (at least know which finger they're using.) ...or well. (one of them.) >> He points towards a small elegant little corner restaurant with outside seating inquiringly. << (i'm not fond of it.) but (the more people that know)(the more likely)(Rasheed)(will realize)(someone is onto him.)(...we need)(someone discerning)(on the inside.)(to help keep)(the Good Doctor)(installed.)(for now.)(for all of our sake.) >> << I will speak to him. >> Emma concedes. << I also do not like the idea of them knowing things, but taking him out seems to be out of the question. >> "That looks lovely, dear. Have you been there before?" Whether Parley has or not, Emma leads the way to the restaurant in question and leads the hostess to seat them outside. They are seated before the hostess has the chance to give them the menus, but returns momentarily with them. As they wait, she is quite content to look around the area, then pull out her phone, beginning to read over the display and poke around with the settings. "Damn new phones," she remarks quietly, looking up to give Parley a bit of a harried look. "I hate trying to get my settings back." << That Ion of yours destroyed it and my tablet. Not fully sure if it was conscious or not. >> << (i wouldn't say)(any of them) are (particularly 'mine'.) >> Parley demures, idly, as he knits brow at the menu handed to him. << (nor would they)(appreciate) the (sentiment.) hmm hmm. (you shall have to)(tell me)(why) he would (do such a thing.) >> It's a taunt, really. /What/ have you done, Emma. "I'm still learning what my own phone can do, six months after purchasing it," he admits with a slow exhale down at his menu, sitting back in his seat. Rolling back his head, he closes his eyes, taking in the smells of garlic and pasta and parmigiano reggiano being artfully grated over a lasagna at the table neighboring to their left. << (i don't like it either.) >> There are layers, stacked tomes of misgiving, and, oddly, it seems to contradictorily be cheering him. He returns to browsing his menu with a slight curl to the sides of his serious mouth, holding it up with one loose hand, head dropped languidly to the side. << (if i could keep)(the weight of this knowledge)(alone) i would. (i still don't know)(how deep it goes.) or whether (Saavedro himself) is (involved.)(or just)(ignorant.)(or if it matters, really.)(clinics, laboratories… )(they're getting so near to being)(the same thing)(aren't they?) >> He abruptly drops the front of his menu and announces, articulating /neatly/, "Let's get a bottle of wine." << And when they sell the general population the convenience of having their medical documentation digitized and freely accessible by other medical professionals - you know, in case of emergency when traveling - I don't think anyone realizes how terrible of an idea that is. >> Emma broods mentally, but her face is the picture of pleasant distraction, her eyes skimming over the offerings of pasta, meats, and cheeses. There are some vegetables to be had, but they are slightly harder to find. She settles on mushroom ravioli florentine, sharing the decision with Parley silently before the wait staff comes. << No, this will also be an opportunity for Hive to show how useful he is. Thus far, I've only granted him favors and I haven't pushed him at all to see his use. It will be good to see what happens with a situation that I am not actively involved in. >> She pauses for a moment, the topic giving her an itch inside, and perhaps causing the slight pink in her cheeks. << I attempted to take a picture of him near the church. I thought it was well framed and inconspicuous, but who am I to doubt the sixth sense of other people when it comes to things they don't approve of. I can only assume that I was caught up in what can only be described as 'fan-girling.' >> and she leaves it at that. "Of course, darling. I wouldn't have it any other way. White all right with you, or were you hoping for red?" << (it's a chance) >> Parley looks towards the window, the gloaming of the evening come. << (to see many things.) >> He turns back and smiles, worn, soft, eyelids lowering, "White would be perfect." | |
