Participants:
| Scene Title | Interference |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Two telepaths and a bystander find out why telepaths don't hang out. |
| Date | January 31, 2011 |
Outside Dorchester Towers
The evening is coming quickly upon the day, the sky turning from the cloudy blue to pink to the reddish tones fading to purple that it is now. People are returning from work, school, what have you, and an additional chill bites the evening air. That chill doesn't stop the occasional determined jogger or runner, though, and for that reason, Graeme's feet pound the pavement of the Upper West Side. There's an iPod tucked into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and he's wearing earbuds to block out the traffic, the rest of the world, everything. Anyone looking out of a window might remember seeing him pass 10 minutes ago. And 10 minutes before that, and before that …
It's been snowing, today, and none too nicely, either. Which is what makes it more remarkable that there's a jogger out, running around in the snow like a champion. What makes it even more remarkable is the horrible news of the Dome popping up out of nowhere. People talk, people mumble. Some think it's the government. Some think it's terrorist. Who knows what others think.
Either way, the streets are not the busiest place in the world right now, especially here on the Upper West Side. Whispers of things happening spread quickly, and the upper class that makes its home in the area is all safely nestled into their little nooks and crannies, hiding away from the dangerous world. Some have even left. In fact, few people pass; mostly, the ones who had the balls to stay out, or had no choice to do so.
Soleil Remi Davignon is one of the former. There wasn't anyone at the dance school today, save for her most dedicated dancers, the ones she works with closely. They had been told that they could leave if they chose to, and they chose to stay. So she spent her day working with them. One of the poor dancers had an apartment in the affected area, and was offered a dressing room with a mattress.
It was also quiet, for the most part. She got to dance, and otherwise had a restful, leisurely day (by her standards). Now, the ballerina is making her way home, her bag of ballet gear slung over her shoulder as she makes her way through the cold toward Dorchester Towers. Her designer boots kick up some of the snow as she walks, and she's generally in a cheery mood.
That is, until she rounds the corner, which sends her right into Graeme's path.
Harmony has emerged from her apartment momentarily to grab her mail for the evening. It has been one of those days for her, what with people in an uproar about the latest crisis to happen in New York. The girl is totally not going out in all that chaos if she can help it. She'll go down to the front of the apartment building for the time being. There is a bowl of popcorn and bad movies awaiting her back up in her place. She arrives to pull her mail from her mailbox, taking a second to flip through the various letters, some of which aren't for her. Nothing too interesting by the looks of things. She can't help but groan about the various minds in the lobby, their bull crap thoughts filtering into her head.
Shit. Unfortunately, superhuman endurance does not equate to superhuman reflexes, and as Graeme Cormac rounds his half of a turn, he nearly bowls Remi over, deftly catching the petite Frenchwoman to save her from landing rear-first in the snow, with hastily muttered apologies. It also seems as if whatever he's been doing, he hasn't broken a sweat yet. "Are you okay?" There's a bit of a southwestern twang to the man's voice, a secondary accent that tries to take over against the more dominant New York influence. "I'm … I'm so sorry."
He backs off quickly, staying close enough to make sure Remi isn't going to fall over again, but far enough that he's not intruding on her space or anything like that. She's pretty, I guess. It's one of the myriad jumble of thoughts in Graeme's mind. Less predominant than wondering if Remi is alright, though.
Remi, to her credit, only offers a very startled squeak as Graeme nearly bowls her over, and then deftly catches her before she can hit the ground; by instinctive reaction, long, graceful arms wrap around the man's chest, squeezing to ensure that she doesn't fall with slightly wide eyes. As he sets her right again and backs off, she takes a moment to regroup.
He might be a total sweetheart, but that doesn't stop the strain of French cursing that comes from Remi's mouth. "Mon dieu, peut j'avoir un jour sans un certain tri de malaise?!" As he steps away, she peers down at herself to assess her condition. Once satisfied that she is not injured and not in pain, she dusts herself off once.
Then, she offers a faintly uneasy smile to Graeme. "It is okay, monsieur. I was not looking where I was going." Her voice is a little tight, but she seems relatively sincere.
It's probably fortunate that she's standing just outside of Harmony's range.
Graeme is good at picking people up. He's good at setting them down gently, as well. "Well ma'am, that makes two of us I'd think." Graeme half-shifts in place, tilts his head at Remi. Waits, though he's not hovering or anything. I'm sure she's actually alright. Today's a waste, I suppose. Tomorrow, the same. Would be just my luck if I never find her. "It's as much my fault as it was yours."
Remi dusts herself off, checking over her clothing to ensure that nothing is damaged from the collision. Then, she offers a faint smile up to Graeme, waving a hand. "Oui! Pardon, monsieur." She tips her head toward him for a moment as she overhears that thought, her brows raising slightly. She can't help but wonder who the man is looking for.
After a moment, she smiles, lifting her hand. "I am Soleil Davignon, zough everyone calls me Remi." She smiles up to the man. "Jogging in ze snow? Sounds…chilly."
Graeme isn't even actually dressed overly appropriately for the weather, with the warmest thing he's wearing being a rather thick sweatshirt. He doesn't seem cold, either. Huh, right. First name basis, then. "Graeme Cormac," he responds, with a bit of a smile in response. It's an instinctive response to the young woman's smile, pretty much. "Was running earlier, but I'm slowing down now. Evening, and all that." Hm, at least she's not looking at me like I'm insane.
Remi tilts her head up toward Graeme, after briefly examining his attire. Really does look like he should be cold, but he's probably nice and warm from his jog. "Enchantée, Monsieur Graeme." She offers a charming smile up to the man for a moment, her brows raising. He's fairly nice, at least. And his thoughts really aren't worrisome in the slightest. "'Ow long 'ave you been running today?"
"Few hours," he says, "give or take the same." That's his answer, at least the one he says aloud. Since lunch, more or less. That's a few hours, right. Graeme really doesn't seem to have broken a sweat, though, doesn't seem tired, doesn't seem anything that one would expect of someone that had been running for hours. He shifts from one foot to the other. Conversation, conversation, shit I suck at this. I know it's my turn to say something next, but I really suck at this. Graeme grins a little sheepishly at Remi. "It's a good way for me to pass the time. I lose track of time, that way. I suppose I'm lucky I make it back to the Hilton I'm staying at before curfew, most nights."
Remi smiles faintly, her head tilted to one side. He seems like another workaholic, not unlike herself. After a bit of thought, she offers a faint smile to the man, seeming to perk up. "Well! 'Ow about, since I ran into you, and you ran into me, you come up and grab some coffee or some 'ot cocoa, oui? Get warmed up before you job 'ome!"
Then, without waiting for Graeme to answer, she turns, making her way toward Dorchester Towers with a faint smile on her face.
Sadly, this puts her right inside Harmony's range of telepathy. To Harmony, it's like a sudden source of feedback has interrupted her ability. SKREEEEEEEEEE is what it 'sounds like.
It's only a few of Remi's long footsteps that pus Harmony right inside of her range, as well, and she encounters exactly the same. Suddenly, she's tensed up, before letting out a shout of pain, crouching down and clutching her head. She's never encountered another telepath before. And on top of all of that, Remi's also hollering in her thoughts, too, and she's broadcasting them. In French, no less. Casse-toi, mon dieu, tais-toi. Et sortez de ma tête, faites-la s'ârreter, mon dieu faites-la partir. Pas ceci encore!
Harmony doesn't speak French. Even her telepathic abilities don't translate languages. Though she does know a bit about what happens, and she is not happy about it. Why the hell there is another telepath in the area, she will never know. This being yet another reason for Harmony to absolutely hate this power. It would be the second time she had something of a splitting headache, and she has no idea where is its coming from. She drops her mail and screams aloud mentally. The discomfort from the feedback being her only thought for the most part. Since she was informed that something like this could happen, her first instinct is to get out of the area quickly. She retreats, pushing past the guy in the lobby who moves to see if she is alright. She bypasses the elevator, and takes the stairs to the apartment complex, pulling her out of the range of the telepathy and into more quiet areas. Even the thoughts of random people around her sounds better than that. Yeah, she isn't having a good day. She rushes to her brother's apartment instead.
Graeme follows Remi, a nod to the doorman, who seems to get that he's with Remi. He's feeling drastically under-dressed for the moment, but he'll survive. He's also nearly immediately at Remi's side, perhaps not quite having noticed that her broadcasted thoughts were thoughts rather than said aloud. "Um, I dunno French," he says, "but that didn't sound good. You gon' be okay?" There's a bit of notice that Harmony has rushed out … but Graeme can only make sure one person is okay at a time, after all.
Remi holds on to her head, remaining crouched on the ground as if in great pain, for a good long while, even after Harmony has left her range. Shit. What was that? Was that another telepath? Whatever it was, it hurt. It takes her a moment to even register Graeme's presence, her head spinning a bit from the feedback and uncomfortable sensation of meeting another with her ability.
Finally, however, she shakes her head slowly, rubbing at the back of her neck. "O-oui. I am sorry— I don't know what 'appened…"
He's quick enough to move to offer Remi an arm in support to help her get up. "Maybe we should get you up to your apartment, then," he says, taking her bag and her purse for her. Shit, what was that. His own thoughts echo hers, with alarm and surprise for the young woman. "C'mon."
Remi gladly takes the assistance, offering a rather grateful smile up to Graeme. "Oui…I would appreciate that. Merci." She gestures toward the elevator once she's sure she's steady on her feet.
Graeme at least is very steady on his feet, his arm lent in such a way that he can bear a good deal of Remi's weight as she walks, if that's desired. He does lean on the elevator wall, a bit, letting Remi push the button for the floor she lives on. "It was very kind of you to offer cocoa, ma'am." Remi is definitively younger than the man, but ma'am seems to be his default form of address. As the elevator nears her floor, Graeme straightens, spare hand going to push back hair that's cut just longer than military standard, nowhere near long enough to actually get in his way or need to be pushed back.
The 6th floor button is pressed, and Remi leans back against the wall, running a hand through her hair. Her head still aches a bit. Thank god she re-upped her prescription headache medicine a few days ago. She'll need one of those lovely pills tonight, for sure. "It is no problem." Sometimes, the apartment gets lonely, despite her love for mental silence.
The elevator slides open, and Remi takes her purse back, making her way to her door and unlocking it.
Graeme leans on the doorframe, even after Remi enters her apartment. Oh hell, now what's supposed to happen. The man is clearly uncomfortable with people of the female persuasion. He also looks down at his watch. Well past sunset now, curfew still a good deal off. Hope I can get back to Harlem by nine… And he was running as a mode of transportation. Maybe a run wasn't his smartest move ever.
Remi is a bit too out of it, as she enters the lavish apartment with Graeme in tow, to distinguish thought from words. That happens when she's got headaches like this. "I will make some 'ot cocoa. Come in, make yourself at 'ome." She slips her shoes off at the doorway, before disappearing into the kitchen. "If you need a ride tonight, I can offer one, oui?"
There's a bit of a double-take, on Graeme's part. The girl just responded to his thoughts, what? Yet, he does what she says, following her example to slip off his shoes as well rather than track anything from the outside into her apartment. "Thanks." The slow drawl of his voice is confused, but pleased. She's nice, I guess. "I … usually I would run, same as I got here, but yes. It is getting closer to curfew, you understand how that is."
Remi moves into the kitchen. First things first, she promptly snatches a cup from the cupboard, and pours herself some tea. A nice bottle of pills is fetched. One of the pills is fetched out, and quickly swallowed down by Remi. Then, she's setting about making he hot cocoa. "Oui, I do not mind." She murmurs this, smiling faintly. "I understand. Ze curfew is rather difficult to navigate around, oui?"
"Pain in the ass," Graeme says, speaking about the curfew. He watches Remi, with a smile on his face. The cocoa is appreciated, and though Graeme is quiet, he does listen to Remi speak, offering quiet opinions and making pleasant conversation, with the occasional thought about that Remi is attractive. Which well, she is. But he's polite, and respectful, all the way through Remi driving him back to his room at the Hilton hotel he's staying at. The sister he's searching for isn't mentioned aloud. Not once.