11-22-2013, 08:47 PM
Now it was Claire's turn to furrow an expression of confusion. It grated beneath the skin a slight discomfort. Confusion was ignorance, and ignorance had the potential to bother her immensely.
His description of power was close enough to the truth, though Claire would be hard pressed to admit it. The source of her supernatural side was a gift of nature, manifested by those passed down in oral tradition. How theirs transitioned from flirty conversation to the Sickness Claire could not recall.
A license of focus crept across his features that moments before seemed on the verge of a more common type of illness. Something flickered, and Claire's breath caught at the upturned palm and hovering flame. It was utterly impossible! So easy for him!
Her lids fluttered rapid blinks, and she drew the courage to pass a hand through the flame. She hissed at the heat. Real heat. She shook her head, lips parted as though to speak, but she was for once, speechless.
On the heels of what he revealed, so much more did he say, yet Claire's mind buzzed to keep up with it all, to seek out the subtleties of what he implied, and turn over the possible explanations.
The Sickness. People dead. That cut too close to home, and Claire's confused brow narrowed with more grievous memories.
That Tony commanded the gifts of nature by mere thought ranked him far above her, though Claire did not think little of herself either. What was the proper protocol, here? Did she tell him? What exactly was he suggesting she 'try'?
In response, she dug around in her bag until she produced a Memory. It was basically a snapshot of time kept in constant motion, like a video on a seamless loop. She showed it to Tony. He'd recognize the gangly teenager as a younger version of her. Alongside and in front of a stove covered with stewing pots was a a bent old woman with bright white hair and eastern european features. The third woman with her auburn hair pulled back in a fizzy bun and wielding a rolling pin was Claire's mother.
She swiped the screen and in its place appeared a quartet of girls. Claire herself appeared much the same, including the same short bobby haircut, but with a broader smile.
The final screen was a looping video, sound muted, of a news cast shot on the street outside the psychic shop turned murder scene. If the police tape and detectives in the background didn't give it away, the headline at the bottom did.
She tucked the Memory away and met his gaze. "I'm dead too. So it looks like we have more in common than I thought."
She eased his tension with a confident smile. Trust her, it said. She'd take care of him.
"You look like you were hit by a bus, by the way. Maybe I should escort you home?"
She still didn't understand half of what he talked about, but for that jaded grin and ornery gaze, she'd be willing to find out. And if it paid off for her in the end, well that would be a cherry on top.
His description of power was close enough to the truth, though Claire would be hard pressed to admit it. The source of her supernatural side was a gift of nature, manifested by those passed down in oral tradition. How theirs transitioned from flirty conversation to the Sickness Claire could not recall.
A license of focus crept across his features that moments before seemed on the verge of a more common type of illness. Something flickered, and Claire's breath caught at the upturned palm and hovering flame. It was utterly impossible! So easy for him!
Her lids fluttered rapid blinks, and she drew the courage to pass a hand through the flame. She hissed at the heat. Real heat. She shook her head, lips parted as though to speak, but she was for once, speechless.
On the heels of what he revealed, so much more did he say, yet Claire's mind buzzed to keep up with it all, to seek out the subtleties of what he implied, and turn over the possible explanations.
The Sickness. People dead. That cut too close to home, and Claire's confused brow narrowed with more grievous memories.
That Tony commanded the gifts of nature by mere thought ranked him far above her, though Claire did not think little of herself either. What was the proper protocol, here? Did she tell him? What exactly was he suggesting she 'try'?
In response, she dug around in her bag until she produced a Memory. It was basically a snapshot of time kept in constant motion, like a video on a seamless loop. She showed it to Tony. He'd recognize the gangly teenager as a younger version of her. Alongside and in front of a stove covered with stewing pots was a a bent old woman with bright white hair and eastern european features. The third woman with her auburn hair pulled back in a fizzy bun and wielding a rolling pin was Claire's mother.
She swiped the screen and in its place appeared a quartet of girls. Claire herself appeared much the same, including the same short bobby haircut, but with a broader smile.
The final screen was a looping video, sound muted, of a news cast shot on the street outside the psychic shop turned murder scene. If the police tape and detectives in the background didn't give it away, the headline at the bottom did.
She tucked the Memory away and met his gaze. "I'm dead too. So it looks like we have more in common than I thought."
She eased his tension with a confident smile. Trust her, it said. She'd take care of him.
"You look like you were hit by a bus, by the way. Maybe I should escort you home?"
She still didn't understand half of what he talked about, but for that jaded grin and ornery gaze, she'd be willing to find out. And if it paid off for her in the end, well that would be a cherry on top.