08-12-2014, 04:45 PM
A psychologist? Jensen searched Alex's face as his own was washed in sympathy. A sea of faces suddenly came to the front of his mind; he knew what it was to counsel the hurting and lost. But she was a psychologist by profession, moreso, she worked with those of interest to CDPS. As Jensen understood it, the organization was like the FBI. Meaning she profiled criminals. The things she must have seen. The hurt she must have to witness. It was mind-blowing.
It seemed, though that no matter how he deflected, the conversation returned to Jensen. Attending a church service at Christmas time was not uncommon for those who otherwise were not regular members. But he knew it was a strange admission, and he felt inclined to explain. If only out of politeness.
Their drinks were delivered, and Jensen shifted in his seat to answer. But the rattle of Pyotr's cup interrupted. Jensen felt his body freeze while his eyes witnessed the pending accident. While his mind calculated the spill, he was too slow to react. Pyotr's coffee pooled across the table and dribbled to the floor. Thankfully it seemed the man's lap was spared. The burns alone...
A dark cloud came over him, however. A dominance of presence that stretched like shade from distant clouds. Jensen paused and looked around, but nothing streamed the cords of Gift across the diner. Neither could he really pinpoint the exact direction of the Gifted, but he kept a wary eye as he reached for napkins.
"Let me help,"
he said and wiped down what edged its way toward his side. A waitress returned with a rag about the time Pyotr excused himself. The remainder of the mess was promptly wiped away, and Jensen and Alex were left alone. The dominance departed as well.
"Are you okay? Did any get on you?"
He asked of Alex, but Jensen was distracted. He glanced toward the restroom as though prepared for the presence to return.
It seemed, though that no matter how he deflected, the conversation returned to Jensen. Attending a church service at Christmas time was not uncommon for those who otherwise were not regular members. But he knew it was a strange admission, and he felt inclined to explain. If only out of politeness.
Their drinks were delivered, and Jensen shifted in his seat to answer. But the rattle of Pyotr's cup interrupted. Jensen felt his body freeze while his eyes witnessed the pending accident. While his mind calculated the spill, he was too slow to react. Pyotr's coffee pooled across the table and dribbled to the floor. Thankfully it seemed the man's lap was spared. The burns alone...
A dark cloud came over him, however. A dominance of presence that stretched like shade from distant clouds. Jensen paused and looked around, but nothing streamed the cords of Gift across the diner. Neither could he really pinpoint the exact direction of the Gifted, but he kept a wary eye as he reached for napkins.
"Let me help,"
he said and wiped down what edged its way toward his side. A waitress returned with a rag about the time Pyotr excused himself. The remainder of the mess was promptly wiped away, and Jensen and Alex were left alone. The dominance departed as well.
"Are you okay? Did any get on you?"
He asked of Alex, but Jensen was distracted. He glanced toward the restroom as though prepared for the presence to return.