ArchivedLogs:Minds and Shadows

Minds and Shadows
Dramatis Personae Michael, Nox, Claire, Parley, Granuaile	2013-03-12 Nox gets legal advice! Parley gets a job! Michael climbs a tree! Granuaile gets perspective! Claire gets a headache.
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Small but popular, this tree-lined park is a perfect centerpiece to the eclectic neighborhood it resides in. Home to a number of playgrounds and courts from handball to basketball, it also houses a dog park and chess tables, providing excellent space for people watching -- especially during its frequent and often eccentric festivals, from Wigstock to its yearly Allen Ginsberg tribute Howl festival. The sun may not have made much of an appearance today but was much warmer, enough so that the park rang with the sound of children's voices during the daytime hours. Now, with night coming on, and the temperatures still in the mid-50s, families linger in the area enjoying the spring-like weather--without rain! Some are at the picnic tables enjoying take-out for dinner, a few occupy the playground--and the swings, so sorry grown-ups who might have hoped to use them. And where there are children, there is naturally those who want to keep a close eye on them. Witness the ragged figure perched atop one of the picnic benches. Clad in a stained and holey sweatsuit with the hood pulled up, Nox could pass for any one of the homeless who occasionally make the park a home. Every now and again an effort is made to shoo them out; someone might want to organize another because there she is, head bowed, faced hidden and focus locked on the playground. Where there are children. Many children. Romping, practically unsupervised as their parents chat or type away on phones. Most disturbing, perhaps, is the aura of /silence/ around her for those sensitive to such things as emotions and thoughts. Claire Basil is currently bundled up tight against the cold in her green wool coat, matching flower hat, pink-and-white striped scarf -- and black lacquered cane. She walks, briskly, circling warily around the children -- maintaining a careful distance. She is here to meet someone, and has her eyes scanning the surrounding park. The person she is meeting is sometimes hard to notice. She does, of course, notice Nox. And for a moment, she seems interested -- maybe... ah, no. That is a woman. She suspects, at least. Also, she does not think that the person she is looking for would dress quite like that. Those who spend most their time on the street also found this evening pleasent just as much as the children. Michael has been walking these streets too much for his own taste, but what is a homeless Mutant to do in this kind of world? He's wrapped in his usual rags of a jacket and torn clothing, but he is used to the cold at this point. He tries to stay away from the kids for the most part, just enjoying the happy atmosphere of the park. He smiles at the children from his place a few yards away though. He does notice the woman perched like a gargoyle. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything...yet. Granuaile has been feeling much better since her strange encounter last night with the older woman and the silent young man. The terrible distractions, echoing and raging in her mind like a crowded rock concert, have seemed more managble since then; though the feeling has been slowly fading. She has taken the opportunity to enjoy the respite, and to try and to consider how to handle her new life. She has yet to come to any answers, but she has given it thought. Still seeking silence, as much as is possible in one of the world's most crowded cities, Granuaile has once again come to the park, where she is silently walking, avoiding the more crowded parts as her headaches wax and wane in tune - not to any beat, but simply to the presence of so many people. She has a set of rosary beads in her left hand, and is idly fingering them while muttering prayers under her beath. Parley indeed is not in rags! He's even turned in his yesterday's flannel for a nicer coat. It does not entirely /fit/ him, and is a trifle shabby at the elbow, but he's tucked in his shirt, combed his vaguely overgrown hair and... at least attempted to tie it back in a neat little nub of ponytail. Most of it is not long enough to stay bound; it's a little messy. He's not skirting the playground, he's /in/ it. Hi. He's talking to two children with a shoulder leaning against the jungle gym. The little girl in poofed afro pigtails is idly feint-beating a little boy in a baseball hat with a whiffle bat while telling him about her school. He is /fascinated/. Though he's glanced in Nox's direction once or twice, and Michael's as he approaches, he only really departs from his riveting conversation to whisper to Claire alone: << mew. >> He doesn't lift his eyes. STEALTH SHOT. Claire is somewhere near Nox; hovering, perhaps. Curious. But not too close to be /impolite/. When that mental sniper shot hits her mind, she immediately smiles -- head swinging about, scanning the park. Of /course/. He's right in the midst of all those children. Listening. << {prrprr.} >> Then, of course, the mental equivalent of a head-scrrtch, targeted Parley's way. Nox must have eyes in the back of her head--when Michael's focus locks on her, that head turns slightly, exposing a slice of dark, dark cheek the color of wet slate and the hint of an eye. She regards him that way from the corner of her vision before her head turns forward again and her attention skims over others scattered through the park. The tall, skinny girl with her beads and her prayers, the woman with the cane, the young man in the playground itself interacting with the children. It means Claire's sudden shift is likewise noticed and /she/ is then observed more closely, while one sleeve-wrapped hand lifts to absently press against her ribs. Michael crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against a nearby tree. He doesn't seem to have any agressive emotions or thoughts toward the woman observing the children so intently, but he is certainly inquisitive and his bright glowing eyes are focused on her. He shivers slightly pulling his jacket closer. He does what he can too keep his large clawed hands out of sight. << ! >> Parley glances over from beneath his lowered eyelids at Claire, and after a hesitation, he pulls together the broken up shape of his intangible mind to form a bit of substance under that /scrrtch/, a sense of rosetted flank bonking up into her hand. << (hire me)? >> He HINTS. This is not brainwashing mental suggestion - he is just literally suggesting it? It may be a joke, because he follows it up with. << (do you see?) (image of Nox - except there /is/ no Nox). (quiet mind/watching.) >> There's something behind it, a rustle of what might be /news/paper in his mind, but it doesn't clarify. << (that man is watching) >>. Claire's entire face splits into a /grin/ at Parley's 'suggestion'. She can't help herself. << {You're adorable,} >> she tells him. << {I'm considering it. But please don't get your hopes /too/ high. I need to know more about you -- and your circumstances -- before I can say yes.} >> The mention of Nox draws her attention, again, to the woman -- who is looking at her. And then, from the corner of her eye, to Michael. And... goodness, Granuaile, too! << {Many here today} >>, she responds. And then: << {Newspaper?} >> A flicker of thoughts, searching her memories. Attaching them to the image of the woman. The sliver of gray; watching children -- her eyebrows settle into a line. << {The woman from the video. Suspected for murdering a child.} >> She looks back at Nox, now. Much more intently. Granuaile continues to mutter her prayers underneath her breath. Its cold, but she's dressed warmly enough, and she's certainly used to cold and wet weather. She's not as wrapped up in herself as she was yesterday, however - and manages to come across Parley and Claire, whom she notices. "Oy! Hello there!" she calls out, walking over to them. Normally, you don't really walk up to and greet strangers you've just met once; but she's an outgoing kind of girl. "Fancy seein' you here again. Rather cold, don'cha think? Still, at least its not raining." She gives a bright, happy smile. Hey, the last time she saw these two, her terrible headache cleared up. Clearly, the older woman, at least, had something to do with it. Probably. A direct stare is a little like being struck. A tremor goes through Nox, sure sign that Claire's intense study has landed squarely. She shifts on the balls of her feet, that gargoyle's crouch adjusted to allow one foot to ease backwards towards the edge of the table. Towards Michael. As if she weren't entirely comfortable with direct attention is considering a quiet escape. Something likewise shifts in her mind--for those searching for such things--but it's less a clear image than the cool whisper of darkness, like shadows curled and brushed against one's cheek. And just beneath that, words! Thoughts too soft to make out but definitely a string of them, provoked by Claire's study. Michael looks around, seeing no tables open. He shrugs and clambers up the tree, his solid claws helping. He sits in the crotch of a branch, letting the leaves hide him slightly. He doesn't stop looking at Nox, interested in the young woman who also has a very physical mutation. "Oh, hello, dear," Claire responds, offering Granuaile a distracted smile; her attention is dragged from Nox a moment. And with that redirected attention, Granuaile feels the subtle, familiar push -- like a wave of mental warmth and /structure/ that just radiates outward from Claire. The closer you are to her -- the more she's paying attention to you -- the more potent it becomes. But -- from the corner of her eye -- she is paying attention to Nox, as she moves. And chattering with Parley. << (not her/she didn't do it). >> Though evidence is not forthcoming, this is phrased in simple, unequivocal sentiment. Parley slips away from the children, the fur only slightly visible at his nape under his coat collar. Stepping up from the woodchips around the playground area, he shakes off a foot to ride it of its debris aaaaand that man is climbing that tree. He gives Granuaile a little nod and hunch of shoulders and then he's going over there rather overtly, hands tucked in pockets, to peer up into the branches. "Is it better up there?" He asks the TREEMAN. Head tipped? Nox moves...oddly. As if she doesn't entirely possess joints, as if she's fluid beneath that soiled heather grey sweatsuit. And yes, she is easing down from the picnic table to place it between herself and Claire, because Claire is still staring. If she had fur at her nape, it would probably be bristling! But thankfully there is something to draw attention from her and that is...when did that man climb into that tree? Her head tilts back, the hood shifting and thereby exposing more of her face--slate grey skin, the black abyssal eyes and an expression that is two parts worry, one part surprise. Michael rolls around on his hands and feet while still in the tree, much like a surprised cat woken from a catnap and ready to pounce. He looks down at the man who has walked up to the trunk. < I can see better up here, > He thinks more than says, and anyone within 10 feet can here that resonate like a voice in their head. < Plus, it's got a natural place to lounge. How often do you climb trees just because you can? > His body relaxes and lounges again in the crotch of two branches. Granuaile still does not notice Nox, unlike everyone else. She does, however, notice that sensation in the vicinity of Claire again, that sense of ...warm structure, like being near a fireplace of the mind. Its a pleasant feeling, and the young woman is glad to see her suspicions confirmed. Remembering last time, however, she does not voice them. "Hello." she replies with a smile, repeating herself somewhat. She glances in the direction of Michael and Parley. "Why is that man climbing up a tree? Is this what they call a New York moment?" She pauses a moment, peering more closely. "He has blue skin. A...mutant." Her mouth goes dry. Not really what she wanted to deal with right now. << {I would imagine not,} >> comes Claire's quick, adroit reply. << {I was informed the poor child was drained of blood. The footage revealed her to be a creature of shadow. Blood -- shadow? It does not fit.} >> Then, as Parley moves to the boy clambering up the tree -- Claire thinks. Focusing more of her power on Granuaile. "I suppose because it is there, and he can," Claire responds to Granuaile's query thoughtlessly -- but at the mention of a mutant -- her response is softer: "Yes. For some, it is more obvious than others. There are many here in New York -- many more than you might suspect. In fact, I am here to meet one," she adds, and in that instant, she focuses the full /brunt/ of her power on Claire. BRAIN SUPER-CHARGE MODE. << {Out in public like this. The woman probably does not even realize she is wanted. Someone should tell her. She may be in danger.} >> Placing tenting fingers against the trunk beneath Michael, Parley bears his weight slightly against it. "-- you could say it's been a long time since I've climbed a tree." He says it vacantly. He nods mentally to Claire with a light 'knead-knead-relax-I-will'. His touch to Nox's mind is heavily withheld by comparison, set out like a single playing card on the center of a table. << ...(don't run?) >> He watches the park over his shoulder. << (she's not dangerous) (paper). >> Though 'paper' is actually a flash of headlines and grainy surveillance footage. A clawed hand reaches down to Parley. < Hand up? > He says with a raised blue eye. < I promise the claws won't hurt. > There is a friendly twinkle in his pupil-less blue eyes. < There is plenty of room up here. > I am not a mutant! Granuaile thinks, fiercly, as the full brunt of Claire's power focuses on her. Except ... she's not one for self deception. She understands the implications immediately, regardless of the effects on her mind. Claire is a mutant of some sort. So is Granuaile. Lying is easy, but not to herself. She is a mutant. And that makes standing up for her principles suddenly rather hard. She doesn't like the thought of mutants, of mutation - but if she suddenly reversed positions now, she'd be a hypocrite. "Thank you." she says softly, towards Claire, almost but not quite under her breath. "Pleasant conversation always makes me feel better." She pauses a moment, to watch Michael and Parley. "The problem is, of course, that humanity has never delt very easily with weapons. We couldn't handle stones responsibly without beashing at each other, or knives, or guns, or missiles. Humans always want to use anything they can against each other. I fear deeply for a world where some have weapons and others don't, because we have no self control, whatever our best intentions." She says this softly, by way of explanation to the end of her conversation with Claire last night, as well as the current situation. "I don't think all of this can be for the best. We need less power, not more." The center of the table Parley's aiming at shivers, the way a horse will shake its coat when it's touched by a fly. Then the void that is her mind softens, taking on a more velvety texture. Nox's head turns again and those eyes fasten on the others in the area, uncertain of /which/ the touch came from. Only belatedly does she think to tug her hood up again to provide cover to her face, hiding the way her brow has begun to rumple. She drifts towards the woman, towards Parley and his tree, a satellite drawn in to join the group. Claire and Granuaile first, as Parley appears to be occupied with Michael. "...good evening?" The rush of using her power /full-force/ takes a bit out of Claire. Her left eyebrow gives a tiny spasm; her grip on the cane tightens a moment. When Granuaile starts to speak, Claire listens -- but the swelling surge of her ability begins to lessen, creeping back -- like a tide inching in. It's still /present/, still steady and constant, but moving back into background noise. Of course, even if the effects don't linger, the thoughts they /promote/ are Granuaile's own. "Pfeh," she responds to Granauile -- and suddenly, she's waving her cane. Like she intends to /swat/ someone with it. Not Granuaile, though. And not Nox, who she's yet to see coming -- exerting her power like that leaves her distracted. "I could beat you silly with this cane. Does that mean I shouldn't have it? Why not -- I /like/ this cane. And I'm not going to hit anyone with it." When Nox nears, she might feel a faint prickling around Claire -- a sense of clarity. It becomes easier to think; thoughts become less fuzzy. More /crystaline/. "People don't want to use anything they can against each other. I don't want to hit people with my cane. People are /complex/. They..." Oh. Nox. Hello. "...hello, dear," she says, her voice dipping down a bit softer. Parley's mouth opens - and then closes, compressing lips together and foregoes comment to reach up and firmly take Michael's hand. He uses a foot propped against the trunk to mount his ascent. Now there are TWO. His smokescreen presence puts a certain silence into his movements - not so silent as Nox, bits of branch plinging and falling, but it's not miserably clumsy at least. And he crouches on a bough, /peering/ down through the branches. "You can't blame a stone just for being a stone," he adds, quietly, to Granuaile. Unless Michael pulls back his hand, Parley would inquisitively be wanting to turn it over in his hands and study their construction. Parley does not actually fully pare it down when he offers Nox: << (in the tree). >> The effect of Claire's abilities on Nox are subtle but unmistakable. Clarity of thought leads to clarity of body and her features come suddenly into focus--along with the thoughts that flow so quietly beneath their layer of velvet, whispers in a constant conversation: {she was staring and now she isn't does she know me would I know? no I would remember I feel as if I would remember now she couldn't be from the labs and oh but this is strange I should watch the children he might come but would he come here so many people, so many watching the children but I should be ready but they seem nice} That last is wistful but she is here not for socializing, curious though she is about this small collection of people. Nox's hand slips again to her ribs, the gesture absent-minded but protective of the flesh beneath. There is a faint throb of discomfort, the sting of healing. But before she can dwell on that, there is Parley. Her head lifts, her eyes close once in a blink. "So you are," the shadow woman says. Says, not whispers. Another blink then, while she touches her fingers to her lips in surprise at her own voice. Michael lifts carefully, but does betray an intense and great amount of strength in his arms. He lets Parley go over his clawed hand carefully. Two large jointed fingers and one opposable thumb, are covered with a very solid rock hard exoskeleton. < They aren't anything special, > He says quietly, tilting his head. < They have their uses. > He blinks like a bird. < I could, but you aren't a stone are you. You're human. Just like me > When Nox turns to look up at Parley, Claire's own eyes continue to regard the woman closely. "Dear," she speaks -- the subtle focus of her power moves, like weight shifting from one foot to another, settling upon Nox -- "Are you aware that you have been in the newspapers?" She speaks very softly, now -- watching the woman's features as they focus before her very eyes. Under the influence of Claire's powers, nearby thoughts come to Granuaile, clear and distinct for the first time. She's not used to that. Usually its just like a thunderstorm of shouts and whispers, of pain and emotion that washes her away. This is more relaxing - almost trivial. The pity is, she's wrapped up in the conversation - she doesn't even take a moment to appreciate it. "I see your point." she admits to Claire. "No, we can't blame the rock." she calls up to Parley. "A rock is no more then a sword. Neither a rock nor a sword is dangerous - it is the hand that wields it. I cannot blame the rock, but likewise, I would be lying to myself if I did not say a sword, if made, would not be used. Its like gun control. Some say guns are useful for defense. I agree, they are - I'm Irish, and I have no love of the bloody brits. But would the world be better if everyone had a gun? If some had guns and some did not? We can't agree on that, people. They fight about it and debate it, and its a heated argument. But its a real issue. And we have to ask ourselves - would the world be better if everyone had a gun? Or is what we need a world where noone has the desire to use or need a gun? Its the same debate. You can't say its any less valid then gun control simply because you have a personal interest." Click-click. Parley is clicking a fingernail on Michael's claw, as though unaware of the conversations continuing below him, tracing its hard edge with a thumb. "Did it hurt, then they formed?" he asks with a quiet curiosity, but it's clinical, too. As he had been when lifted up into the tree with a brief widening of eyes at the /ease/ in which Michael was able to perform it. "Anything can be a weapon in the right hands," he muses down into... well, a hand that could be a weapon /without/ anything. There's a weighted pause from Parley, much of Nox's wash of thoughts filed away and a long moment of internal grooming before he's able to offer: << (was it...? ) >> A second card joins the first, from Parley's hand to Nox's: a bloody image, a monster of spearing points and glistening red body. He cuts it off, but so briefly: gunshots, screams, industrial walls, trails of blood dragged across the floor --. "Newspapers?" Nox says the word as if for the first time. /Tasting/ the word. In her own voice! So distracting is this sudden ability that she actually begins to smile, soft and sweet and curious--and then the impact of what Claire has just shared with her comes crashing in. Her eyes widen, a shiver goes through her and her mind works furiously--plucking aspects of Granuaile's remarks about bloody and fight and guns into a mishmash of /horrors/ from the past day. Tunnels, darkness, a child in a web of blood and a thing with white eyes and a nightmare voice. And then, so very clearly, resonating in the sensitive minds hereabouts, the lone thought of << (...of course I would be in the papers, they assumed it was me. I need to go, I need to warn the Knights and Lucien...Micah...oh /Hell/...) >> To those incapable of picking up thoughts, it just looks as if Nox is taking a moment to ruminate on the question asked by Claire before slowly shaking her head. "I was not aware but thank you. I should go. I would hate if you were..." Her eyes close, briefly, and her face then turns up towards Parley. Her smile this time is sad. << Yes, and yes. On all counts yes. I wish there were time...no. No, I wish there were no need. Do you know Jackson? >> His face is there, with the name. << Find Jackson. I'll come explain when I can. >> < More than anything else I have ever felt, > Michael 'mind-sighs' < The exoskeleton basically had to tear through the skin. It wasn't nice. It and my feet. > Michael indicates his the same clawed feet. He flexes the claws again. < Who is that woman? > Michael asks, indicating Nox. < Do you know her? > Claire sucks in a breath, speaking to Granuaile: "It's not a question of whether the world would be better or worse for lack of your power, your presence. You're /here/, dear. Don't let anyone tell you that you must be regulated for the audacity of /existing/." Then, to Nox -- more carefully -- her eyebrows knitted: "Wait." There is a force to that word. Not a telepathic force, but a /matronly/ force; the power of the elderly over the young, of mothers over daughters. And suddenly, something from her coat, plucked out delicately -- a slim, white card. Her name. Her number. Her profession -- ...lawyer? "Listen to me very closely, dear," and Claire is, once again, /slamming/ Nox with her power -- she cannot /make/ Nox listen to her, but she can make Nox stay focused, make Nox /remember/: "If you are taken by the police, say /nothing/ except the following: I wish to speak to an attorney. No matter how long they press for anything else. And, if you can, contact me. Or have the attorney contact me." Granuaile disagrees - but she is silent on the matter, as it is clear there are suddenly more important issues at hand. Hearing the thoughts resonating outward from Nox - she puts some facts together and goes silent, as she listens to the conversations swirling about, and to Claire. Technically, she should probably run and report all of this to someone, but that would be as hypocritical as changing her mind, even considering her activist past. .... was it her past? She's going to have to deal with -that- eventually. Oh dear. << (she one of us). >> Parley whisper-urges to Nox, behind Claire's words. << (can you tell?) -- (you know Jackson? >> Jackson's name, in empathic conceptualization, is pretty much straight glitter. << (i live in and out of his apartment.) >> There's an odd pause, a reservation. << (for now.) >> He releases Michael's hand, sort of handing it back gently while making a tired-papery laugh noise through his nose, eyes dropping. "I don't really know anyone." He looks down at the women below, intent mostly on Granuaile; listening to her thoughts with great care. "--I'm called Parley." Said just kind of at large. Nox focused, Nox without the distractions of shadow and whatever was done to her mind, is something to see. Tendrils of darkness are creeping free of her hood, drifting around her face as she takes the card and studies it for a moment. Her eyes, when they lift to Claire's face again, are piercing. Assessing. The curve of her jaw tenses but it's a display of displeasure not intended for the woman with her cane, or for anyone else around. Internally, the source is a well of nausea for events having come to this conclusion. {{I should turn myself in but the children...}} What she /says/ is, "I will." And with an actual voice to share this, the earnest conviction in her tone is not easily missed. << I can tell, she is giving me my mind back and it's all right, it will all be all right, you will always have a place be it with Jackson or with me and mine, the Morlocks in our tunnels, deep breaths, it will be all right, there are safe places. >> Parley is curled, briefly, in that thick plush velvet, cradled as much as one can cradle a consciousness with the mind. And what she says, again, is: "My name is Nox." Then, "I should go." And she does, turning to make her way across the park. < Michael, > The blue man says, curling up with his knees to his chest. < Michael Bell. I was wondering who she was because...I really don't have a place. My parents kicked me out after the change and I've been living on the streets for months. She's a mutant. I wanted to know if she knew how to find that mutant school I've heard of. Anything to stay warm. I don't really blend in. >> He watches Nox go, and the others. He sighs in actually, a wet gurgling noise. << (she believes you). >> Parley informs Claire, simple-form fact. Slayer of all mystery. His mind is weary; made of soft smoke and mist, it mostly dissolves when Nox cradles it, by intention as much as nature. But the small bit that remains is, by contradiction, quite /hard/ and cold. And /prickly/, though he stiffly, carefully grooms over what parts might get stickered in Nox with a neutral, << ...(be safe.) >> And, grudging/unintended: << (purr). >> "I might - know know someone that could answer that." Parley says to Michael, slowly. Watching him side-eye, "Come here again, soon." He swings down his legs to attempt a dismount from the tree. Crap, toe-scrapescrape! He reaches towards Michael for a hand. "Granuaile." the Irish lass says to the general crowd, by way of response. She says it distractedly; she's taking the moment to think. She's going to have to decide what to do with her life, now. And that is going to be complicated. "Pleased to meet you, Parley." Oh, how Claire's brow rumples with worry when Nox takes on that look; it's a look she recognizes, even if she does not know the intentions behind it. It is a look that says 'I Have Important And Dangerous Things To Do'. At once, her focus shifts to Parley, glancing up at the tree -- << {She is going to do something dangerous, isn't she?} >> followed by a << {There is too much confusion in this city. I cannot navigate it on my own. I think I will take you up on your offer.} >> She turns to Granuaile, now -- silent, but attentive, and clearly interested / confused by what's going on. She offers the telepath a weary smile: "There are people who can help you. With your situation. Teach you to do what... you are doing right now. Without help," she adds, and now another card is being produced, identical to the last; she holds it out to her. "When you have time. When you feel ready. I can help you. But," she adds, and there is an edge to her tone, "you will be /vetted/." Michael reaches out lightning quick, and takes Parley's hand in his. < I've got you, > He says quickly. < You're good. > He carefully lowers the other man down to the ground. < You need to work on your tree climbing skills. Also, I will try to be, provided I'm not arrested for vagrancy. > Granuaile shakes her head. "I don't have an interest in that." she admits. "I'm not a U.S. Citizen. I'm here on a green card, and I don't think my employers would take kindly to the sort of people you are talking about. And as knackered as I know I'll feel without it, I'm not sure I can accept while trying to be principled. If I'm going to deal with this, it has to be in accordance with what I want to stand for, whatever that turns out to be." The card disappears as quickly as it emerged; Claire nods her head. "Of course. Pardon my forwardness -- I've found it helps when you can work with others who have a similar situation -- learn from them how to control it, how not to be /controlled/ by it... but it is up to you to determine how you will pursue this. The headaches," she adds, "will likely not stop. Not until you learn how to shield yourself." "--ah," Parley generally can keep his face, but it does nothing to disguise the fact that he /clings/ to Michael's wrist as he's lowered, "...thank you. There are many skills I'm finding that I need to work on. Granuaile." By the time he's on the ground, he's looking her thoughtfully in the eyes, "Don't say no so quickly. Your ability could save lives some day, if you learn to use them-- really?" He's turned to stare at Claire. Half-opens his mouth, re-closes it. And then tries again, with a slowly developing smile: small and hard, it puts a moment's ferocity in his eyes. "I'll need cash to start." As if he has any ground to /negotiate/. But he's going for it anyway. "I wouldn't pass your vetting anyways." Granuaile admits with a smile. "Wouldn't matter what you thought of me, even if I was inclined." She shrugs, nodding in Parley's direction. "But thank you for the concern. Perhaps it could save lives. For now, if I can learn anything, I'll focus on trying to make it go away. The best I can hope for." "You are adorable," Claire informs Parley -- her smile getting a bit more bright. "But not /that/ adorable. I'll need a resume. Your relevant skills -- besides << {this} >> being adorable. And your SSN, if you have it. If not, we'll see what can be arranged." "The vetting process is for my friends. /I'm/ a bit more accepting," Claire tells Granuaile, and it's with a hint of humor, before a cluck of her tongue, and: "Good luck, then. If you change your mind... I take morning hikes here in the park." << {I think she needs time to mull all of this over. I hit her... hard. Harder than I should have, maybe. People should be allowed to sort some things out for themselves.} >> A mild tinge of self-disapproval. Claire tries not to meddle. But it's in her nature. Logically speaking, she has two choices. She can try and hide her powers, or she can fess up and see what happens. The former couldn't last forever and would mean leading a lie, while the latter would mean ... well, the Friends of Humanity activists she knows, at least, probably wouldn't react too well. If she was lucky, she'd be sent back to Ireland - but her family would probably be bloody well annoyed. Certainly, she can't accept the offer. She still thinks, for now, mutant powers should be regulated ... which, as a mutant, leaves her in a bit of a bind of principles. "Thank you." she says to Claire. "I'll remember that. I can't promise I won't be strong enough not to talk to you, but I hope I'll be strong enough to say no." Parley's smile also grows a touch wider, eyes sharp with a slight /tension/ before he jumps his own fence to keep from locking up or hesitating: "I'll see what I can get together. I'll fax it to you." He slips out a hand, palm up for her to give /him/ her card as well. OR MONEY. Or candy. Or a cat toy. He's not looking picky, he's just looking at Claire's eyes steadily. << (if only we had all the time/freedom we needed to sort everything out in safety.) >> Neither full acquiescence nor argument, outwardly he backs Claire fully with a lowering of his head to Granuaile's words without further pressure. << (that other woman; she was worried for children.) >> He straightens his jacket, musing, << (this world is dangerous.) >> Its flavor of accompaniment: a slowly buddy intrigue rising up against a backdrop wall of spattered blood. The comment about strength earns a raised eyebrow from Claire, but she doesn't follow up on it. Her elder sense is /tingly/, though. Something's up with Granuaile; she's yet to put her finger on it, BUT... Claire's card is produced. And placed within Parley's outstretched palm (paw). << {So I've heard. You've seen a share of that danger, yes?} >> She counters the flash of bloody walls with an image of cold streets and strangers and children and fire. << {I will happily give you help and support if you need it, but if you work for me, then you will /work/. That is not a warning -- only clarification. I like you, but I think I might need your services.} >> "We'll talk later, dear," she tells... is she speaking to Granuaile or Parley? It's almost impossible to tell. Even /she/ isn't sure. But then: "Privately, somewhere warm. My apartment, perhaps? Contact me after you send the fax." << {If there are more of you -- if they need legal aid -- you can give them my number.} >> Granuaile smiles at the other two. "Thanks fer your help, both of you." She breaths in deeply, enjoying the tranquility and silence. "I really am grateful. And I hope both of you have a grand evening. I should probably get back to my apartment." << (I think more people have seen their share than we could guess). >> Parley relays with a sort of dispassion, looking at the card in his hand closely, reading every line and number. Then he tucks it into an inner pocket. "Be safe, Granuaile," he says seriously to the girl, looking her face over. And then imparts the /same/ Claire-wards, "And /you/, Ms. Basil, as well. These are interesting times to be in the world..." he's already turned away by the time he says this, musing it seemingly to the park in its entirety. << (might be a bit much). >> Whisper-skimming in the quiet of his departure with a morose chuckle, somehow bitter and /pleased/ in one. << (there are /always/ more of us). >>