ArchivedLogs:Escape Route

Escape Route
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Iztali	18 May 2013 So, a lot of /stuff/ has gone down in and around the stairwell at the Lofts...which is overwhelming to experience /all at once/ via psychometry. Tali flees to the roof and encounters a Jackson.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. It's evening but early enough the sun is still out -- insofar as it can be seen behind a layer of grey clouds. Jax is not here to tend his rooftop garden, for once; he's just /here/, perhaps to soak up the last of what sun remains. He sits perched on the edge of the roof, legs straddling the wall that rings its edge. He's partially focused outward on the city below, partially focused on the phone in his hands. Today he is brightly coloured as usual; a sky-blue skirt, silver-and-blue platform sneakers, very brightly patterned mismatched socks. A tight sleeveless top in metallic gunmetal grey. Chrome nails, glimmery blue eyeshadow and lipstick. His hair is a similar gunmetal shade, a lot more shiny-metallic than hair dye should be able to manage. Tali does not disturb the quiet of the rooftop scene so much as /shatter/ it. The door flies open violently, admitting the form of a young Hispanic woman in a pair of slim jeans and a long-sleeved leaf green blouse with a stylised Green Man stitched at the base of its shallow V-neck. Her corduroy shoulder bag slides down her arm and nearly to the ground. She shoves the door closed behind her and leans against it as if blocking the entry of a monster that has chased her to this point. Her head thuds back against the door, tousled hair falling every-which-way out of a bun that had been sloppy to start. Black gloved hands scrub at her face, over her tightly scrunched eyelids. She mutters half under her breath in a foreign language. It has all the hallmarks of a rapidly fired-off prayer. Jackson has perhaps been a bit too lost in thoughts. He squeaks at the sudden violent entry to the rooftop, startle-jumping and only belatedly remembering, oh, yeah, perched on the edge of the roof. His hand drops to /clamp/ down on the railing to keep his balance though -- with his hand already otherwise occupied this sends his phone tumbling. It has a looooong drop that he watches with something too resigned to be properly dismayed. His head tips down. Watching. Wincing. His hand stays curled tight around the railing as he turns his head to look at Iztali properly. "-- Miss? Is something -- you look -- are you aright?" Tali startles as well with the sudden voice, snapping to attention, her eyes shooting open. She hadn't had the presence of mind to even consider the possibility of there being another person up here. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have... This isn't... I..." She moves as if to open the door and leave, but studies the doorknob. For some reason this study causes her to abort the action. Her eyelids press closed again, briefly, as if fighting tears, before she regards Jax once more. "I'm sorry," she offers again, softly, as her fingers grip the strap of her bag to pull it back up on her shoulder. "Well, thanks," Jackson says, in answer to the apology. His brows are creasing, his leg swinging back over the railing to the inside of the wall. He slides down, standing squarely on the roof. "'cept that wasn't what I asked, I just -- you /OK/? You look -- spooked." Tali’s tongue brushes over her lips, to moisten them and buy time before she speaks again. She is managing to compose herself as her heart stops thundering so loudly. “I’m…nothing happened to me,” she responds after a pause, though there is slightly more emphasis on the personal pronoun than she had intended. “I will be fine. I just needed a place that was quiet. And not…” Her gaze tracks to the door. Jax's gaze flickers over Iztali for a moment, his brows slightly creased. He looks away, down over the edge of the roof towards the little spot far below that is probably his phone. Or used to be. "Quiet," he repeats, and his nose wrinkles slightly. "Oh, gosh, sorry. Um. I can -- you sure you don't need no help or something?" “Hmm…not unless you can get me back out of the building without going through that stairwell again,” Tali muses in a somewhat bitter tone. She follows Jax’s glance over the edge of the roof. “Are…is everything okay with you? I am sorry, I probably interrupted and just... I was extremely distracted.” Understatement! It is an art form. "... probably could," Jax decides after a pause for thought, "though maybe not so easily without my phone. What's -- wrong with the stairwell, is someone --" His brow creases deeper. "-- ain't nobody bothering you, is there?" He glances down towards the ground again, but then just looks over towards Iztali. "You didn't interrupt nothin', I just -- you see --" One corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Well. Distracted." Tali’s head cants slightly, like a cat watching a spot for repetition of a sudden movement it had caught from the corner of its eye. She was not expecting a positive response to her almost sarcastic request. “You…could?” She fails to question this further, because Jax has questions of his own. “No! No, there wasn’t anyone there. It’s just that,” she pauses, biting at her lip before deciding if she will continue, “a lot of bad things have happened there. To a surprisingly large number of people.” "Yeah, I -- would probably need /your/ phone for a sec, though, or if y'wait here a moment I can run down and --" Jackson trails off, looking /puzzled/ now. He's quiet a moment, then straightens, pushing slightly off of the wall. "-- um," is his first response to this, and then again: "Um?" Not perhaps the most /helpful/ of responses. His fingers lift to scuff through his hair. "What -- how -- huh? I mean, that's -- probably /true/ but --" “I have a phone,” Tali offers, but then Jax has the expected response to her cryptic statements. She doesn’t speak for a minute, but… It is either talk to this person or go back into that /stairwell/. And the stairwell is /horrible/. “I can see things that happened sometimes.” She clutches at her bag, not sure how a random person is going to respond to this. “Well, not always see? Sometimes it is visual. And…auditory. But mostly feel. I /always/ feel.” The gloved fingers twitch. She is pretty sure she sounds certifiable. Jackson is silent. Looking at Iztali. His expression is hard to read; the furrow of his brow smoothes out and then there is just quiet calm, his hands dropping to his sides to -- kind of habitually /try/ to tuck thumbs into his belt loops before he remembers he is in a beltless skirt. Right. His arms cross against his chest. "That's -- you can't turn it off?" If he thinks this sounds crazy he doesn't /sound/ like he's thinking so, just thoughtful as slowly his brow creases again. "I -- cuz -- that sounds kind of -- I mean, yeah, I can see how that's /distracting/. Does it happen all the time? With -- every place?" Fortunately, he has responded with...curiosity? Curiosity Tali can handle! It is practically academic. "No, I can't. Not without...very specific assistance. I have been learning how to control it somewhat, but only very recently. I...touched the railing. It was an error on my part, an old habit not yet fully broken. But as strong as some of those impressions are there, I find it likely that I would have been prey to them without the direct contact." "You get feelings from things? I mean, is it /just/ feelings or is it -- well, you said you can see things that happened too and -- " Jackson blushes, slightly, tipping his head downward. "I'm sorry, miss, this is probably -- I'm being rude, you might not want to talk about --" His blush deepens. He rubs at the back of his neck. "Sorry," he says again. "I should be helpin' you get back down. Is there somewhere -- I mean, where are you trying to get?" “I have been calling them ‘impressions’ or ‘echoes’. It is like…the emotional content of past events stored in places and objects. Sometimes they are faint, and the impression is only a feeling. The stronger the content, and the more direct my contact with the object in question, the more impression I receive.” Tali delivers this description in a nigh-scientific fashion. She pauses when Jax seems uncomfortable. “Oh, no. It is…I am hesitant to speak of it because I am unused to doing so. I am given to understand that people with…abilities…are typically not well-received.” Her head cants again, that gesture somewhere between inquisitive and analytical. “I could not know how you would respond.” She taps her fingers on her bag. “Just to the street. I had come to visit a friend. And I was leaving, until I was not.” A half smile manages to find her lips. "Like psychometry." Jax shifts to lean back against the wall again, his teeth sinking down against his lip. A moment later he is offering Iztali a smile; it's quick and warm, if kind of lopsided. "Oh! -- oh, gosh. I mean, yes, you're right, people out there --" He unfolds a hand to wave down to the city, "can be pretty much terrible to folks like us. But I ain't -- I just -- I was being real intrusive and not everyone likes to -- but if you don't /mind/, I -- that's /fascinating/, you know?" Slowly, his teeth bite down against his lip once more. "... and. Probably. Real /useful/ if you can -- if you learn to focus it. You ain't -- had anyone who can teach you nothin' like that, have you?" “That is a word that has been applied to it, yes,” Tali agrees with a slight upward tick of one eyebrow. Said eyebrow slides even further upward at Jax’s word choice. “Us,” she repeats firmly. It is not a question, but an acknowledgement. Heard and understood. “Please, intrude. If we are an ‘us’ and there is no harm, it is actually comforting to discuss things openly. It is a rare thing for me.” Her head shakes in response to Jackson’s question about teachers. “I had not. I recently met someone who has been helpful. However, I remain a novice student at this. Perhaps a week? Slightly more. Instead of fumbling blindly, I now fumble with some direction.” There is even a throaty, self-deprecating chuckle at this. "Fumble with direction. I think that might be about all learning /is/," Jackson says with a quiet laugh. "'least -- I'm a teacher sometimes and sometimes I feel like that's all I'm helping my students /do/. M'glad you found someone who's been helpful. It can be kinda -- terrifying trying to figure things out for yourself. I feel like most of this stuff'd be scary enough to try an' navigate even /without/ having to worry about what the world thinks, and when you throw that in on top it just turns into a whole lot of stormy." There's a hesitation before he asks: "... do you. What you do, can you do it with -- /anything/? Any -- object?" This time he sounds -- almost -- more /hopeful/ than curious. “You are a teacher?” Tali perks at this, perhaps betraying more of her ‘us’ feelings here than with the ‘abilities’ bit. She eyes Jackson appraisingly. “I will guess…theatre? Or, no, art.” A single gloved finger taps at the air, as if selecting a choice from an invisible menu there. “I am something of a teacher myself, though more of a student for now. I am a doctoral student at Columbia, but also TA for a few classes…” She pulls the personal narrative up short, realising that she has rambled away from the topic at hand. “Yes, unfortunately. Any thing that has been near enough to an event of some emotional consequence is quite likely to offer me impressions. Objects, rooms, people…” "Just high school," Jax says with another blush; he brightens a moment later, laughing. "Art, yeah. S'it /that/ obvious?" His fingers scuff through his hair again. "Oh! I got a lot of friends out at Columbia. I, um, I don't -- I ain't quite that smart m'self I -- am in art school but there's -- actually a lot of people in this building, too. M'neighbor across the hall's getting his doctorate there now, too. What's it you study?" The rest makes him fall back into seriousness. His teeth wiggle at one of his lip rings, his gaze dropping -- down, down, down, to the city below. His brows crease deeply. "I have friends who -- I mean, it ain't telepathy but it kind of /is/ sort of. Like. Telepathy with objects though. But -- but I have friends who're -- who've learned how to kind of shield this sort of thing. Pick up things when they want, not just pick up everything all the time, its -- possible that with some teaching and practice you might -- it might make navigatin' the world a bit easier." There's a hesitation before he asks: "It's -- it's unpleasant for you, it seems like? Getting -- kinda overloaded with all those stored feelings?" Tali answers Jackson’s laugh with one of her own. “Well, I would say yes? But I study people.” She nods, elaborating on this thought when he asks about her academic focus. “Anthropology, focusing on archaeology and Mesoamerican studies.” Her interest is piqued yet again at the mention of telepaths. “Truly? I have never, to my knowledge, met a telepath. The assistance I have been able to garner thus far has been more…general. How to make the ‘noise’ quieter. It is my hope to eventually have control over these abilities instead of the other way around.” She sighs at the implication of unpleasantness. “It is like having a television program playing in one eye while the world continues uninterrupted in the other. Except that you are viscerally connected to the goings-on in the program. It is distracting.” Another pause. “Also, the strongest impressions seem to be from less than pleasant experiences. Occasionally, there is some overwhelming hope or love or excitement. But it seems like there is more of anxiety, fear, pain, anger… I pick up whatever is the strongest, I believe.” "Oh! Oh, that sounds /exciting/, I mean -- do you get to /travel/? And -- learn all about people too?" Jax rocks up onto his toes, then settles back down to his heels. His tongue pokes up beneath his upper lip. "S'always the goal, ain't it? Control them, don't --" His head tips downwards, studying the back of his hand for a moment. "-- let them control you." her description of the impressions just makes him wince. It's a little wry when he says, "... maybe New York's just too full of pain." He fidgets, weight shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Do you ever-- have you ever -- do you /try/ to read things? Objects, I mean. Just to see -- how much of their stories you can get?" Tali smiles indulgently. "Yes, rather a lot. I'm actually from Mexico, though I have probably spent a nearly equal amount of time here, particularly since starting my post-secondary education." She shifts slightly, a hand settling on her bag again. "I would not blame New York so much as...pain is quite /loud/. It leaves an impression. It is meant to draw a rapid and memorable response. This hurts. Make it stop. Do not allow it to happen again. It is a survival mechanism, deeply ingrained." She looks thoughtful at his question. "Not of my own accord, I have not. Because things are typically...shouting at me? I do not go hunting whispers. However, part of my training has been that, in a way. The person helping me has the skill to suppress my ability with his own. When it is diminished to near silence, then we try to see what I can hear when I /mean/ to hear it." "That's --" Jackson quiets. His head bows. "That could be kind of awesome. If you got control of it. If you -- there's been -- if you could --" He is back to bouncing, heel to toe and back with a kind of nervous energy. He stops suddenly, his cheeks flashing again. "I should get -- can you give me a second? Minute. Couple minutes. I gotta -- I'm gonna grab your -- you wanted a way down from here." "I think I used to see benefit from it before, when it was quieter. But then...it was like a faucet that was opened just enough to drip. I did not even know it for what it was. And now, the faucet is opened all the way and--" Tali completes the sentence with a gesture rather than words, both hands brought up together, then crashing down and away from one another, spread wide. "Oh...let me...move." She steps away from the spot she had claimed in front of the door to allow the colourful man to pass her. "Thank you. For the escape route."