Me too! :D
Phoebas Member
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Very interested. Is there room for 1 more?
So that’s Wesley Vaughn, thought Hannah as their mysterious benefactor turned to sweep out as dramatically as he came. He’s… she floundered for a moment, Dangerous. The billionaire’s outward calm had been impenetrable, flawless, as he spoke, but inside he was anything but. The furious storm of dark, hungry emotions was tightly locked in a mental vice, but fought its chains with the force of a hurricane, threatening to spill out and infect everything it touched. That frightened Hannah. In fact it terrified her.
The fine hairs on the back of Hannah’s neck began to rise as the emotions in the room started to heat up. She didn’t need to be slightly pre-cognizant to know that Vaughn’s words were going to rub people the wrong way, but she hadn’t properly prepared herself for the strength of her new “family’s” emotions. Christ! she cursed, unable to properly focus on what was being said as wave after wave of distrust and anger hit her, soaked her skin.
Maybe their emotions are stronger than normal people? she wondered, clasping her hands together in her lap to keep them from shaking with strain, Or maybe I am just more sensitive to them? Sweat broke out on her forehead and the air was so thick with she was having trouble breathing. Where was this coming from? It couldn’t be everybody affecting her this way.
Her sharp gray eyes swept the room frantically, finally landing on a head of dark hair. A young man sitting near her, covered in tattoos and piercings, was producing particularly strong waves of irritation, each one rolling off of his shoulders and hitting her hard in the gut like a bowling ball. Her mental defenses were barely able to keep him out and she could actually feel his irritation beginning to seep into her body. Not good, Hannah hissed internally, placing her hands on her stomach in an attempt to force her breathing to slow, Not good, not good, not good! Will you please just calm the fuck down?! Please?!
The young man whose long legs had already carried him halfway across the room stopped abruptly, as if an unseen weight glued his shoes to the floor. Jesus! she swore, digging her nails into the tender flesh of her knees, Calm down or leave already! His irritation was definitely beginning to sink it. Crap.
She heard the sharp hiss of air through teeth and watched as the young man’s hands clenched tightly at his sides.
I was on my fucking way out of the fucking room already. You don’t need to tell me twice.
She blinked. What was that? The thought wasn’t hers. It didn’t sound like her. It tasted strangely in her mind, foreign, but not unpleasant. It was rough, masculine, its tone thick with irritation and spiked with surprise. Funny, thought Hannah absently. The tone mirrored the emotional cloud swirling about the stranger’s retreating back.
And next time, would you kindly not deafen me, thanks?
Oh my god. Hannah’s eyes flew open as wide as they were able, shock flooding out anything else in her system. Pure adrenaline carried her tiny body across the floor, where she leapt up on a couch, tottering precariously on the arm so that she was eyelevel with the man. It was all she could do to keep from hugging the stranger. You can hear me! You can actually hear me!
Not… Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. The man turned his head briefly, but was continuing down the hall just as quickly. The knife’s edge of irritation dulled, less potent than it had been only a few seconds before. If you’re going to come, come. You’re looking like a goddamn psycho right now, and that’s coming from me. A laugh echoed in her mind, accompanied by the slight acidic bite of self-deprecation.
Electric joy sizzled in Hannah’s veins and a stupid smile threatened to split her face in two. Absolutely! she mentally cheered, jumping to the floor and scrambling for her bags. On her way there she tripped over her high heels, landing hard and bruising her hands and knees. She was only down for a second though, launching herself back to her feet to collect her things before returning to the stranger’s side, silly grin still intact. Lead the way!
She followed the young man up the stairs, taking four steps for every one of his strides. He can hear me! she whispered in her head, Oh, well you can hear me. Sorry about that, ha. It was going to be an interesting adjustment, sharing her mental space, but she was just so elated to be talking, nothing else seemed to matter. He stopped at door, on of many on a long hallway that would serve as their living quarters, and Hannah looked up into his face, eyes sparkling with interest.
Yeah, and we’ll work out why such that’s a big deal when I put my stuff down. He had two black, inexpensive bags, a backpack and a duffle bag, but when he pushed open the door he only put down one of them, using the second as a marker to hang on the handle of the one next to it.
“Least they’ve got a nice view,” he said aloud, more politely than the voice in her head had been.
Hannah was blinded by an image, her reality falling away and replaced with another. The crests of small waves caught the moonlight, glittering like fish scales or diamonds as a warm, salty breeze filled her nose and lungs. Moving up in the world, Alistair… Disgustingly opulent.
I agree nodded Hannah. The house was too much for her tastes, just too much in general. You’re name is Alistair, then? she asked, It’s a real pleasure to meet you. I’m Hannah. She tried to put as much enthusiasm as she could into her mental voice, not that it was hard. She was overflowing with warmth, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Yeah. His fingers tightened around the doorframe for a minute, but his features – including worry lines no nineteen year old should have had – smoothed out. Nice to meet you, I guess, Hannah.
She was so distracted, she didn’t notice his hand shooting out to shake her own until it was too late. NO!
Alistair was no stranger to unexpected noises – even loud ones. There was the odd person so wrapped up in their own thoughts that it was all they (and he) could hear, but those weren’t so frequent as the bone-chilling accidents, pain, anticipation of pain, terror… Hospitals were gruesome, but so was the couple who lived in the flat above him. They screamed at each other in their minds.
And out loud, too.
He never got used to it. Eyes closed in pain as if a gun had fired right next to his ear, but it was too late. If Alistair thought grieving mothers and dying crash victims were the worst possible minds he’d ever accidentally slipped into… Well, he was dead wrong. Touching Hannah’s hand alone ripped his consciousness apart at the seams and moulded into something else, warped it with a lifetime of memories. It was enough for him to understand the flashes of the past fluttering at the corners of his eyes like butterflies, or moths.
[Warm brown hands, sheathed in plastic gloves rubbed circles over his back, spreading the ointment thin, careful not to let their skin touch. “Who did this to you, cher?” asked a patient voice, laced with motherly concern. The voice was enough to calm his nerves, ease the pain in his heart. He could almost forget about the sting of the hundreds of fire-ant bites that covered his small body. He shook his head no.]
[He was standing in a crowd of young people, an orientation folder clutched in his right hand. It was hot, boiling hot, but still he was wearing long sleeves. He had to to be able to deal with the crowds. He could feel everyone’s emotions, thousands of them, the weight raging against his spine, threatening to make his skeleton collapse. He was drowning in it.]
[He was in the hospital, clutching the same brown hands from before, but now withered and grayed. He was sad, so, so, sad, the rift opening up inside him threatening to swallow him whole. He didn’t want her to go. She couldn’t go. She was the only one he had left. He listened to her breathing, labored, the sound like the tearing of metal. He wanted to help her and only knew one way. He took off his gloves.]
Alistair wrenched himself away – “Sorry, s-sorry...” – but it wasn’t enough for him to wipe away the fog, to separate their minds for any longer than three seconds. This was all his fault. What a surprise! Almost as soon as he made sense of the bleached walls of the mansion, one hand holding himself up and embedded with splinters from his white-knuckled grip on the wooden frame and the other dangling limply by his side, he was assaulted again by a dazzling array of colours, too dark to be a rainbow.
Something was tugging at him, at metaphorical shirt-tails at the very edge of his mind. It was stealing, it was leaching, and though he did certainly try to stem the flow as one would a nosebleed, it was futile. Speaking of nosebleeds… He had one. A migraine too. A backache, leftover itchiness, an overwhelming sadness that he couldn’t quite shake off and God only knew what else.
We’re not touching anymore. It should be fine. It should be fine. He slid down to his knees, spurned on by some primal instinct to curl up. Then: Fuck, fuck, fuck. What did she see?
Hannah was on the ground now and, unlike him, she wasn’t waking up.
Fuck.
He hoped she wasn’t dead. Alistair didn’t know how to hide a body.
Oh hey! @nevermind I am on! Shall I give the IC post a read through really fast?
and
The moment the plane touched down and the pilot switched off the fasten-seatbelt light Hannah was out of her seat, down the gangway and sprinting for the nearest restroom. She bobbed and weaved, careful not to bump into people as she darted for the little pink symbol that marked the women’s bathroom. As soon as she had the stall door firmly locked behind her, Hannah collapsed and proceeded to violently retch into the porcelain throne.
Stupid, she thought as spasms wracked her tiny frame, Stupid, stupid, stupid! It hadn’t been a long flight, only six hours or so, but somehow she had managed to doze off somewhere between the inflight beverage service and trash collection. When the plane landed, Hannah had awoken to find herself drowning in a toddler’s fear, the flight attendant’s resulting annoyance, the spike of lust from the man next to her as the attendant bent over and the sadness of his neglected wife in the row behind them. She could still feel them, as clearly as if they were her own, and heaved again into the toilet.
Long ago Hannah had researched her condition online. The closest thing she came across were cases of people claiming psychic powers and the ability to read human emotions through the color of the aura. Though a shimmering halo of light seemed a tad silly, she often wondered if even that wouldn’t be better than the constant hell she lived in.
It wasn’t that she saw the emotions necessarily, simply that she was acutely aware of their presence, like she was of her own breathing or limbs. They stretched out from people in complicated masses, like amorphous clouds that brushed against (or more accurately pummeled) her body. They had textures, smells, tastes, and worst of all the weight that made Hannah feel like she was constantly being beaten into the ground. People had no idea how heavy their emotional baggage really was, and Hannah was stuck carrying all of it.
If she wasn’t careful the clouds could leak into her body, sweeping her off in a wave of the other. Out of necessity she had built up powerful mental walls over the course of her adolescence, the fortifications keeping the onslaught at bay most of the time. Of course those defenses didn’t work when she wasn’t conscious, hence her current predicament. Emotions were always there, wherever there were people, and try as she might it was impossible to be a total hermit. Hannah was constantly under siege.
Wiping colorless bile from her lips, Hannah leaned back against the stall door and closed her eyes. She started to focus on the rhythm of her breathing, listening as air shuttled in and out of her chest and purposefully slowing it down. In her mind the pictured herself in her apartment, willed herself to that place. There she was alone with nothing but the plants lining her windowsill and her library for company. She could smell the delicate mix of basil, mint and the musk of old paper, feel the slickness of her hardwood floors and the dry cracked spines of her old leather-bound books.
When she opened her eyes her heartbeat had slowed to normal, her stomach had settled and all of the emotions pulsing through her body were her own. Good, let’s keep it that way. Standing, Hannah flushed the toilet and left the stall. At the sink she wet a paper towel, running the damp material over her face and neck. She stared at her reflection with a critical eye; she was still looking a little gray, but her color was starting to return to normal, which was a good sign.
When Hannah got back to her gate she found a puzzled flight attendant waiting with her bags. “Are you alright, Ma’am?” he asked, the concerned smile on his face clashing with the metallic tang of annoyance that sat on her tongue. She nodded tersely, slinging her laptop case over her shoulder. The action drew his attention to her cleavage and the cloud about him grew thick and warm, his arousal running over her like molasses. Hannah had the sudden intense desire to take a shower.
As she reached for the handle of her suitcase her intuition flashed; he was going to touch her. Hannah recoiled when he leaned forward, fixing him with a glare sure to strip paint off of a car. “I was just trying to help with your bag!” he protested, hands raised in a peaceable gesture, his tone affronted. Hannah’s nose wrinkled. She didn’t detect the distinctive musk of guilt, which meant the man was telling the truth. Just an accident, then.
Hannah pursed her lips and grabbed her bag. Though meant to be covert, his muttered “Bitch!” pinched her ears as she strode off towards the exit. Well, maybe the “Smiths” won’t brand me an ass and I can finally have a shot at pleasant social interaction, she thought darkly, though in truth she was far too jaded to even hope.
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The flight wasn't long. Not by Jamie's standards. Probably four hours or so. It was nothing in comparison to flights to Milan - travelling to Italy, including the journey to the airport in the morning, could last what seemed like an entire day. In fact, the flight passed very quickly. Time always had a very strange way of passing. Jamie knew that more than most. It seemed as if time barely moved when there was nothing of importance occurring, but when time was most valuable, it passed by the fastest. Of course, Jamie could slow things down. Give himself more time to think. But whatever amount of time he had, it wasn't enough to deal with the turmoil going on in his head.
By the time the plane had landed, however, Jamie had settled himself down enough to appear to the outside world that he was fine. He was good at that. Acting okay when he was far from it. He still looked out of place in the Port-au-Prince airport - it wasn't the number one holiday destination, considering the recent history of the place, and it was rare to see someone of his age alone, abroad. Nobody stared at him though. Airports were one of the few places where anyone could blend in, regardless of their colour or age.
Jamie retrieved his luggage and slowly made his way to the area where he would wait for the guy with the 'Smith family' sign, if he even existed. Jamie was still very sceptical. He realised that there was a very good chance that this could be a trap. Someone cornering him to exploit his abilities, or perhaps a bluff by the government - maybe they were just luring him here so that they could kill him without evoking suspicion.
He took a seat in the arrivals waiting area. Whatever was coming, he'd try and deal with it. He knew that if the government were truly after him, or these Haitian people had hostile intentions, it was too late for him to escape. He was a man now, yes, but he couldn't protect himself from people with this kind of power. Power to track him down like that. If this was a trick, Jamie would be dead either way. He just hoped that it was real. Hoped there was hope.
The airport's bustling noise put Jamie on edge. He slowed the world around him down. The sounds slowed. The movements of the people slowed. It calmed him in a way. He did feel anxious. Tense.... Scared. He didn't show it. Not one bit. He looked confident - as he needed to if he wanted to make a good first impression with these people. No matter how well he veiled it externally, however, the fear remained. But he would take it head on. He was no coward. He waited.
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Hannah strode into the waiting area, heels clipping crisply against the polished concrete, eyes narrowed in search of the man supposedly waiting to collect her. After a moment of scanning and finding no one, she frowned. It was possible this W.V. fellow had lied to her, she couldn’t tell that from a letter after all, but it was equally clear to her that she was in no immediate danger. Perhaps he was simply late?
As she turned to find a place to sit, the sharp tang of fear danced across her tongue. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid scent that accompanied it; someone was genuinely afraid. Hannah blinked, considering this a moment. W.V. did say there were others, and who had more to fear than a wanted man?
Curious now Hannah let down her defenses a bit and shuffled along, following the stream of tension across the waiting room floor, letting the icy sensation pinch her sensitive skin. As she got closer the pinches intensified to shocks of pain that crawled over her arms and legs. Hannah raised her mental barricade when her gaze fell upon a pair of shoes and lifted her head, staring directly into the face of her target.
He was a young man, handsome, swarthy, with curly brown hair and dark brown eyes. Italian, she guessed, Or maybe Spanish? She didn’t waste anytime debating, instead reaching into her laptop case and pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. Hastily she scribbled out a message, flipping it around so that he could see.
“Smith family?” it read it neat, almost perfect script.
Jamie's eyes had been scanning the room for quite a while before he spotted a girl holding a sign that read “Smith family?” Jamie peered at her for a few moments. She was probably a similar age to him, but was very small in comparison to him - probably a foot smaller. She was by no means the intimidating, dark, suited man he had expected to see holding the sign. He noted that she could just be a trick to lure him out and catch him off guard. But he took his chances, waiting to catch her eye and raising a hand of greeting before approaching her. As he walked over he realised that due to the question mark on the sign she held, there was a good chance that she was just arriving here, like him.
"Hey," Jamie greeted once he was within speaking distance with the girl. He was still a little on edge but he made an effort to seem like he had his feet on the ground. "I'm Jamie," he said, the words sounding much less awkward than he thought they would. He hated 'forced' meetings. He preferred to meet people on his own terms. But, alas, beggars cannot be choosers. "Did you just get here too?"
Dammit. I forgot about this part, thought Hannah bitterly as her skin flushed bright crimson. Gritting her teeth, she shoved her embarassment to the side and scribbled another note. “Hannah, and yeah. Just got in from Boston.” She showed it to him and then bit her lip, debating. After another moment she added, “I’m a mute” to the end. He was going to figure it out eventually, but she might as well be upfront. It would make things less awkward in the long run.
Jamie watched as she wrote out a sentence. Initially, he found he behaviour a bit strange, but after her second note, he could understand why she wasn’t speaking. He’d never met a mute before, and until now he hadn’t really realised how much of a difference it would have to day to day life. He considered how difficult it must be to put across your thoughts if you had no way to converse without pen and paper. He nodded reassuringly, trying to show Hannah that it wasn’t a problem of any kind. "So," he began. ”I guess you have…" He hesitated. He didn’t want to use the word ‘power’, it sounded so cheezy. "Abilities?" He said semi-awkwardly.
Hannah chuckled, or rather mimicked what would have been a chuckle, her silent expression of mirth a little odd even for her. He was kind, a rare virtue. She could feel his desire to reassure her and pick the right words pressing against her stomach in a light wave of stress. It masked, but didn’t entirely hide the thick storm of fear that still swirled about his gut. You mean beyond the gift of silence? she joked, adding a smile to her message. Her face felt strange, the gesture using muscles she hadn’t used in a long time. She flipped to a new page and proceeded to write again.
”You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing is going to happen to us. Not in the near future anyway.”
He grinned at her joke. The humour cut through his anxiety a little. It was good to have met someone friendly. At least now if anything went wrong, there were others he could stick with. "Oh, and I’m supposed to trust you? For all I know, you could kick my ass." He smiled. Although he was joking, it was actually possible. Nevertheless, he decided to trust Hannah. He had fretted enough today, and took the opportunity to have a normal conversation gladly. “But you’re right. I am nervous. You’re perceptive. I didn’t think it showed.” He said, forgetting the irregularity of having a conversation with a mute.
Hannah looked down at herself at the mention of ass-kicking. She weighed all of eighty pounds and didn’t clear five feet, not exactly an intimidating figure. “You’re too kind,” she wrote quickly, “And it doesn’t show. You’ve got a good poker face. I am what you could call-” Hannah paused, searching for the right word, “Intuitive.” The hair on the back of her neck started to raise as the pair began to draw the interest of a few onlookers. ”Want to grab a seat away from them?” she asked, gesturing towards a group of young airport security guards who were looking their way curiously.
Jamie glanced the way Hannah was looking and nodded seriously. "Yeah, let’s," He responded, having no intention on getting into a conversation with security. He peered over at the corner of the room where there was a small cafe, as was standard in airports. "I don’t know where we’re going after this, but it might be a while before we can get anything to eat or drink. Want to go for a coffee or something, while we wait?" He gestured towards the cafe.
Hannah blinked. Nobody had ever asked her to grab a coffee before. Nodding she followed in Jamie’s footsteps, a quiet smile on her lips.
I'm intending for Melissa to be flying out of Atlanta, Georgia; early afternoon, so I don't think I'll be doing a collab. unless someone thinks their character will be getting in around the same time. Otherwise, before I post again, I have two questions:I've have a fair-enough idea in my head from just sitting back and reading but I decided I might confirm before jumping back in.
- To what extent am I allowed to determine the environment around me? I've written in RPs where I have more or less entire control - there was no D(/G)M: it was free-form collaborative fiction - and I've written in RPs where the environment was entirely determined by the D(/G)M: and the posts I wrote revolved around interacting with it. So that's something I'm quite curious about.
- Tangential, to what extent am I allowed to create and control NPCs to fit small roles in posts (/other)? Like the above, I've written within extreme freedom and zero freedom.
I am from Atlanta! Let me know if you need any tips :P
@Sixsmith I was so happy you picked that photo! I too am a New Girl fan and am particularly fond of Schmidt :P
I am itching to write. Anyone interested in doing an arrival collab? (@Nevermind Maybe Jamie? If he came out of New York it's feasible he'd get there around the time Hannah did.)
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