[h2]Alessa Heather: Streets of Denver (Storm Drain)[/h2]
That last outburst settled it: Eyeblight was quite mad, and he hardly had an excuse for it. Who took the Anarchist's Cookbook seriously, after all? Half its "recipes" were prone to detonation in the process of production, after all! But in all seriousness, she herself had lost her entire family, much as she tried to avoid the thought of them nowadays, though she now used it to further add to the authenticity of her despair about the situation, even as the mask of light continued to hide her expression. That said, it was hardly fair to compare their situations, since she didn't know what had caused the psychopath to trigger to begin with... but even then, rigging civilians, [i]innocents,[/i] with makeshift bombs was beyond disgusting. She wondered briefly if he'd ever read the Batman story called [i]The Killing Joke[/i], but then refocused her thoughts on the conundrum placed before her.

It was a single, simple request he'd made, beyond the initial conditions set. And yet it was a nearly impossible thing. "Look at me," he asked, knowing full well that she would be made a madwoman for it. Her sidelong glances were just about tolerable... but a direct stare would amplify the primal fear she felt, exacerbate it into full-blown terror, ever more maddening by the second. What, then, could she do about it? How could she turn a direct stare into a safe glance, though her pupils were taking Eyeblight in in his entirety?

But the answer to that riddle was so obvious. She could control light; ergo, she could in theory control anything and everything relating to it, including vision. All she needed to do was create a wall of photons directed [i]toward[/i] her pupils, preventing her from maintaining more than, say, a pinhole of sight? Or outright cloak her vision entirely if she absolutely had to, and either way, Eyeblight would be unable to tell for the light already pouring from her face. Her continued heat spots would keep him from escaping throughout the process, of course... and maybe she could figure some attempt at redemption into the strawman in the process?

After but a few seconds of thought beyond Eyeblight's outburst- precious, ever so precious time, to ensure Margrave could do his part- she nodded in assent to Eyeblight's demand, taking another few seconds and breathing deeply, as if to steel herself for the task at hand, but in truth to ensure the cloak of light over her eyes was sufficient for its task. Ultimately, she left herself but a pinhole of vision at the center of her pupils, the rest of her sight whited out for the time being; the relief was immediate, but she still had her part of the bargain to handle.

Ever so slowly, as if still afraid, she turned her head to face Eyeblight directly, until that pinhole view was showing her his person, the fear ramping up once again, but tolerably so, and certainly not so much as she was sure would happen otherwise. If it got too much, she could always close the pinhole off instantly. She continued to breath deeply, continued to take him in entirely yet barely at all- though briefly recalling the phrase about eyes being a window to the soul, and knowing that his was hardly tolerable to start with, she deliberately let the pinhole drift away from his face when her sight would otherwise have crossed it- and beneath the light mask licked her lips in preparation to speak.

'Y-yes, Eyeblight,' she spoke, voice quaking but nonetheless mostly certain, even kindly for the situation she was going through. 'I see you. And... I'm s-s-sorry that the world hasn't been too k-kind to you. To, ah, tell the truth, it's... not been too kind to me, e-either. I-I-I mean, the fact that I'm here now indicates that, I-I suppose, aheh... t-t-trigger events, and all. Um... since we're on the... mmh... n-no, don't worry. Just know that I... I understand, okay? I g-get it.'

She'd cut herself off deliberately. She was talking to a psychopath with a bomb trigger, after all; she hardly wanted to get his life story out of him anyway for the fear (surprisingly little, she noticed, though she forced herself to pretend it was far greater anyway) he was forcing upon her, and much as she felt a compulsive need to empathise, trying to wheedle information about his trigger event out of him was probably going to set him off, which of course would be a recipe for disaster. Better just to provide empty reassurance until Margrave's job was done, surely.

[hr]
[h2]Raymond Haywood: Streets of Denver[/h2]
'Agreed.' Raymond hardly had much else to say after James' mouth-running. The description of their gang was apt, in any case. Doing his best to maintain his position beside Arsenal, just in case, he set the pace for the group, walking back in the direction of the Icehouse and trusting that the other members of the gang (newcomer included) would follow on.