Common Difficulties


graeme_icon.gif remi_icon.gif

Scene Title Common Difficulties
Synopsis Two roommates discuss things that perhaps should be discussed.
Date February 5, 2011

Dorchester Towers: Remi and Graeme's Apartment

Click. Click. The door of the apartment swings open silently as Graeme lets himself in, still some time before curfew, and his thoughts are quiet, reserved, predominantly memories of New Mexico, sociological theorems, in fact, anything but the last part of the evening after Remi had first embarrassed him and then left him to talk with Felix. He seems pleased with himself, even if he is flush with embarrassment still. Graeme leans on the closed door a moment, unlacing boots to set them to one side, then glances around the apartment, crossing over to the dining room table, picking up his tablet and flicking his finger across the screen of the device to check his email.

The couch is a lovely place. Placed just so, to minimize the range of her ability, Remi is wearing a set of black silk PJs, no doubt some designer brand of PJs that cost far more than sleeping gear really ought to. That doesn't matter to Remi; they're extremely comfortable. Her hair is held up away from her face in a loose bun. She holds the stem of a glass of white wine in one hand, and is watching television on the oversized screen set up in the living room. Some kind of French film.

Really, she doesn't drink very often. Drinking tends to mess her up when it comes to controlling her ability. But, she's found that she can still enjoy a glass of wine in the privacy of her own home— she never really drinks more than that.

She knows that Graeme is coming before his key even clicks into the lock. And she knows that Graeme is apparently purposely not thinking about his evening. Hmm. All the same, blue eyes turn toward the man as a small smile alights on her face, the woman setting her wineglass down on the side table. "Bonsoir, Graeme. 'Ow did the rest of your evening go?"

Graeme flushes red, and grins. "It was nice, thank you." I have never been so embarrassed in my life. Three emails from his former boss in New Mexico, one from the football coach at his old school, one from a student. "Moment." The one from the student is quickly replied to, that yes, Graeme is okay, but he'll be staying in New York City a while. That said, Graeme walks over, taking a seat on the other end of the couch and tucking one leg under, resting the tablet in his lap. There's a half a smile on his face though, he's obviously not that mad at her.

Remi giggles softly, leaning back on her spot on the couch and pausing the movie as her new room mate seats himself. "I'm glad! Did you get 'is number?" She can't help but grin slightly, lifting her wine and sipping at it for a moment before setting it back on the table. "Sorry if I embarrassed you, but…well, I call it as I see it, oui?" Which usually means that she is spot on with observations, thanks to that pesky ability of hers. "You two were cute together." This is added as an afterthought. It's so much fun to be right.

"I suppose it was rather obvious," Graeme says, reaching to rub his face as if it will make the blushing go away. Then he nods. "Yes, just …" he shakes his head slowly, trying to figure out how in the world to explain the particulars of attitudes towards homosexuality, of what is and isn't acceptable behaviour between men. Women never get it, anyway. Also, there's a distinct note in his thoughts of precisely what he thinks of being called 'cute'.

The woman tilts her head toward Graeme, a smile gracing her features. Then, the redhead scoots closer to her room mate, drawing her legs up to her chest as she takes her wine, sipping it for a moment. "Just…?" She smiles. "I promise I will not make a 'abit of embarassing you like zat in public again." She pauses, resting her chin on her knees as she watches her room mate, her lips poking out in thought.

Then, suddenly, she decides that if she's going to live with the guy, she might as well tell him the truth. He'll find out sooner or later, and it's better to come clean now than lie about it. "I lied about my registration." She leaves the statement at that for a moment, waiting to see the man's reaction. "It's not touch telepathy."

Graeme shrugs, tilting his head down to tap at something on the tablet again. "If I'd had a choice, I'd never have registered at all," he says, raising one eyebrow. "We uh…" pause, "sort of figured. There is intuitive, and then there is intuitive." There's no hint of anger, no negative reaction in Graeme's posture, facial expression, thoughts. He chuckles slightly, thoughts a good bit tumultuous and confused, perhaps things Remi does not necessarily need to be privy to, and Graeme flushes red once again.

Remi tilts her head toward Graeme, a smile on her face. "Same 'ere. I— I can't always help but be obvious about it." She watches the man for a long moment, before she reaches for her wine, sipping at it again. "It's taken me three years to get as much control as I have— which really isn't as much control as I would like." She smiles faintly over to Graeme. "It's always on…I can't turn it off, just…ignore it, oui?"

He nods, understandingly.

Graeme reaches out, setting his hand on Remi's free hand, gently. "I understand," he says. It took him nearly the same amount of time to simply learn his own limits, learn how not to hurt himself accidentally, and those memories flash through his mind. He's had longer since then, fourteen years of slowly being able to know himself and know his limits.

Smiling, Remi takes Graeme's hand, squeezing it. "It's not always easy, either. When I'm around too many people, it can make my 'ead 'urt." She glances sidelong at Graeme for a moment, before scooting closer and leaning her head against his shoulder. There's definitely nothing more to the action than a rather platonic gesture of friendly affection. "I'm glad you aren't put off by it."

Graeme drapes his arm over Remi's shoulder, cautiously. It's a platonic gesture, and he seems to have accepted this as an apology for embarrassing him, but there's still a hint of uncertainty. "Registration's stupid anyway," he says, sliding fingers across the screen to put the tablet to sleep, setting it aside for the moment. "Designed to be a royal pain." Let alone the implications of registration for teens who might not even be in this country legally, but have abilities… Graeme's thoughts ramble in a pattern distinctly reminiscent of teachers and the day to day concerns someone working with high school students is faced, but he doesn't say any of it aloud. "You hear my thoughts, I putter about at three in the morning," he chuckles. "Sounds like we're even."

Remi smiles up at him, giggling softly as she promptly curls up against him. Hey, snuggling your gay room mate is the best it can get. No pressure, just talking and enjoying being close to someone. Remi could definitely get used to this part. "Oui, it is. In France, zey 'ave a registration, but none of these 'tiers' zat Americans 'ave, none of zis complicated stuff. In France, it is just a card that says zat I am an Evolved. 'Ere in America…zey are so paranoid, yet zey don't seem to realize zat ze actions zey take encourages ze terrorism everyone is so frightened of."

Then, she smiles. "Oui, zis is true. At least your thoughts aren't too loud. Rather…soothing. Some people think very loud thoughts. Some people's thoughts go a million miles a second, and it is difficult to pick up a single one. You are…calm."

Graeme leans back against the couch, using his spare hand to unbutton a couple more buttons on his shirt. "Most people have sixteen hours a day to fit everything into," Graeme says. "I have twenty, twenty-two, more of the time than not." He does sleep, it's just never very much, or for very long. Just as often he'll take a half-hour nap in the middle of the day, but that's pretty much the closest it gets. "More time, less of a hurry to do stuff in."

Remi smiles faintly up at her room mate, quite enjoying the warmth she's mooching off of him as they chat. "At least you can get more accomplished, oui?" She smiles up to the man, before she promptly drains the last of her wine and places the glass on the coffee table. "I would trade you abilities in a second. Endurance sounds like it would be a much more fitting ability. Why would a ballerina need telepathy?" A bit of a pout, there. "My ability…it makes it difficult for me to be in public. I 'ave to work to ignore it."

Graeme snorts in laughter. "I suppose. But even this …" there's a pause, long remembered conversations with his adoptive parents about whether or not it's cheating for him to compete, other such topics. "It means that even while I have a drive to do things, I was too often excluded from doing them; unfair advantage, because I never had to work for it, not really." Graeme rubs Remi's shoulder, gently. He's pretty much a living, walking heater, most of the time.

Remi smiles warmly as Graeme begins to rub her shoulder, her head dipping down toward her chest as a smile plays across her lips. "You should try ballet. I bet it would be a good outlet for your endless energy, oui?" She lifts her head, turning cheerful blue eyes up toward Graeme, giggling softly. "I would love to 'ave an ability like zat…able to dance without getting tired." Instead, she gets to invade people's privacy, often without even intending to do so. Not fair.

If Graeme's bemusement and puzzlement isn't evident in his voice, it's definitely evident in his thoughts. He might not be particularly klutzy, but it's clear that he doesn't consider himself particularly graceful either. "Yet none of choose what we end up with, really," Graeme says, musing quietly. The tablet next to him beeps a few times, and he pulls it over to rest on his knee. Once more, he taps out a response to an email, inconsequential niceties really.

Remi smiles, quite happily curled up against Graeme. He's a wonderful heating pad. She feels quite lucky, really. She's gaining extra weekly income, a sense of platonic security in the fact that he doesn't seem genuinely interested in the opposite sex, he gives shoulder rubs, and he snuggles. "No use whining. Let's watch a movie, oui? 'Ere, 'ave your pick of ze on demand." She offers him the remote. "Let's see what kind of movies you like."

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