Participants:
| Scene Title | A Little Brighter |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Isa makes new friends over drinks. |
| Date | May 7, 2019 |
Eight to the Bar
The bar is as good as any other. There's a few nods to some jazz era stylings, but clearly the owner doesn't have the funds to really lean into the theme. But the liquor is good, and most people here are pleased enough with that. Isa's table is tucked into a corner, but there's a waiter that has been attentive to her all the same. He eyes her scar every time he comes over, but tries not to look like he's staring. It only works sometimes.
A pair of women approach her table, each with a drink in hand. One, dark skinned with a shaved head and expensive, but professional clothes. The other, pale with long black hair and dressed far more comfortably.
"Mind if we share a table?" The second woman's voice is low and soothing, suited for sullen lullabies and hushed conversations.
Drinking alone was a gift for Isa. She loved her husband, she loved her daughter she even was coming to really like her new job situation. Time alone though, to sort through her thoughts. To think on her actions, it was hard to wallow in guilt around people who loved you. So tonight the traveler is dressed in a sleek black dress. Brunette hair tousled and thrown over her shoulder, she put on a smokey eye. Just for her (and for Shahid later).
Tolerance is a thing and she's on the drink that could get her cut off if she were behaving like an actual drunk. Instead she just nods politely at the waiter and accepts her next glass of a strong as fuck whiskey. One ice cube, she lifts the glass as he leaves to pink lips that swallow down some of the liquid. Alcohol never burned enough. The warmth surrounding her reminded Isabelle.
Another sip.
The arrival of two women she doesn't know and them asking to share a table with her makes the dark haired woman raise an eyebrow. It's a bar, what's the harm? A simple shrug and she nods her head at the table. "Why not."
"I'm Sigrid," she continues before she gestures to her companion, "this is Leona." The pair of them settle in, drinks coming to rest in front of them. Leona's is an appletini in and up glass while Sigrid's is a whiskey on the rocks in a tumbler.
"I couldn't help but notice," Leona says in a smooth, gentle voice, "you seem upset." She lifts her glass, taking a small sip as she looks over at Isa. "I never could let someone drink alone like that." Not that there's a lot of choices, seating wise, but it does imply that she didn't choose this table at random.
The pyrokinetic visibly stiffens as she takes another sip of her drink, smoothly setting it on the table. There's a pounding in the back of her head. Release… A flicker and flash of memory. Her mother's face. Isabelle closes her eyes and turns her head away from the women. "Most people at a bar are upset. I'm not special."
Fingers tighten around the glass and the air becomes more warm, almost stiflingly so until Isa's hand relaxes. As her hand unclenches the air settles back down to a reasonable temperature. She lifts her glass while turning her head and keeping her eyes closed before popping them open as she swallows down the bitter liquor. "You trying to rope me into a threesome? My husband is open minded and all but he can get jealous."
Sigrid looks around as the air heats up, her expression intrigued rather than worried. "No, I'm afraid I'm not trying to rope you into a threesome. Leona, are you interested in—"
"I would never disrupt a marriage," Leona says, her smile a little teasing. It isn't the same as being uninterested.
Sigrid chuckles lightly and turns back to Isa. "But you are special, aren't you?" she asks with a gesture to the air around them. "Maybe not for being upset in a bar, but perhaps for being upset enough to strain at control. And also being in a bar."
They aren't scared of her heat. Isabelle looks between the two women. Strain of control… is a true statement. She doesn't like how easily read she is. She wishes she was as impenetrable as stone but Isabelle as ruled by her emotions particularly her anger and lately.. that safe space in her mind that Kaylee had crafted. Was beginning to crack.
It had been subtle. Little cracks, more smoke being let in. More heat. No flames yet. But a whisper had grown louder. Release… Her own personal mantra from hell.
"What do you know about my strain of control?" It's defensive and Isabelle's hazel eyes narrow slightly. Maybe they were just nice women who wanted to chat someone up, maybe they just wanted to be company to a stranger. There's a flicker of doubt that burns in her chest.
"I know it's a gift," Sigrid says, lifting her glass for a drink, "not a curse."
When she sets her glass back down, she looks across the table at Isa. "It's a heavy burden to carry, a power that feels like it's going to consume you and everything you touch. Not everyone understands." As Sigrid speaks, Leona reaches over to put a hand on her back— a gesture of comfort and camaraderie.
"We understand that burden," Leona says, "and how deep it goes. No one was made to carry it alone. If we can help, even just for the length of a drink in a bar, we'd be glad to."
Isabelle again looks away, staring at the space between the two women. Wishing they weren't hitting points that felt personal and ringing with truth. Not many people come around the dark haired pyrokinetic when she looked in such a foul mood but these women were bold.
They were… compassionate.
She felt like she was at a point of decision. Of choice. It's felt like that since she uncovered her memories, Isa had been just ignoring it trying to block it all away. She was warned. "When I lose control… I hurt people." The admission is quiet, hazel eyes staying where they are her fingers encircling the glass once more and she pulls it close. Raising it to her lips she smirks with a huff in a chest, "And what gifts do you have?" They must be Evolved of some kind to be appealing so much to her issues, relating. The angry woman takes a sip.
"So do I," Sigrid says, nodding to Isa's explanation. "Tactile telepathy," she adds with a wiggle of her fingers. "Another person's mind— their memories and thoughts and hopes— it can be overwhelming. And enticing. What I have learned is that it isn't about putting a collar on it, but knowing which direction to point it in."
Leona nods, looking over the table toward Isa. "I don't have a gift like you do, but I know that some things need to burn down so something better can be built in its place."
"Don't you agree?" Sigrid tips her head as she asks, her expression curious.
Telepath.
Isabelle bristles but she tries to cover it with a sip of her drink. What unnerves her about another psychic being nearby is smoothed by stating the collar. That directs her attention. Directions. The dark haired woman almost wants to laugh, what are the odds? These women here speaking this sort of… what Isabelle would usually go garbage. Tonight it felt like something else. On the edges of her mind she looks at that place in her mind, the safe space that was burning away with each agonizing moment.
The way that Leona speaks and Sigrid finishes her sentiments makes Isabelle's skin crawl. Not as much as she makes her own skin crawl. They must be close. Izzy can't even concentrate on that, the roar of flames getting louder in her mind.
"I do." Isabelle admits while lifting her gaze to lock onto Sigrid, holding it while she guzzles down her drink. Her hand grips the edge of the table as the warmth in the air rises a tic, nothing dangerous. Something is stirring though. "But what if I collared myself… a few months back." It felt like the right move at the time. The just move. To block her from herself, her memories. Her guilt. To process as Kaylee had said. All Isabelle had done though was put a cage around something, something inside of her. "Had a telepath block that part of myself."
The part that killed, that liked to kill. That didn't mind the screams of children in the background or the smell of the burning flesh of her parents.
"Fear is natural," Sigrid says, spreading her hands out in front of her, "it's part of the process of acceptance. You're afraid, but not because of what you're capable of. Because those capabilities have no direction. Your power is aimless. Your urges are aimless. But you're a goddess walking the earth. Master of your element. You should never accept chains of anyone's making, even your own." Sigrid lifts her shoulders, hand returning to her glass as she leans back in her seat. "That's how I see it."
Leona reaches into her purse, pulling out a card with a number and address on it. She sets it down on the table and slides it across the table toward Isa. "If you want to talk to someone about your power, we're always here. One of us."
Taking the card with a slow nod, Isabelle looks down and then to the two women. It was so uncanny, like they knew her. Direction.
"A goddess walking on earth… I.." Perplexed with these two women and their way of wording things. Master of her element. The candle in the center of the table is set upon by Isabelle and the flame twists and rises in height elegantly, the orange glow of the fire illuminating the trio of women's faces. Isa's hazel eyes reflect those flames and in the deep recesses of her mind that child version of herself bathed in blue fire smiles and mouths:
Release…
The number and address is also brought more to light and Isabelle's eyes flick over it. "Are you, some kind of group?" She almost seems lost in the fire, hypnotized.
"I'll go settle our tab," Leona says, giving Isa a nod in farewell as she gets up from the table. It's likely, later, that Isa will find her own tab covered as well. As she leaves, Sigrid moves to stand as well.
"I look after a group called The Hands of Mary. We're looking to make the world… a little brighter," she says, gaze moving to the flared candle before she turns to smile crookedly at Isa. "But they aren't the only people I help. Come by some time." She takes her glass with her, emptying it on the way to the bar where she leaves it, and leaves with Leona's arm around her.