[Tawny Vokes]

Tawny made her way along a well-cobbled path that wound through one of West Hook's beautiful, highly-praised parks. Dense woods banked the sidewalk on either side of her walking path and sunlight filtered through their high canopy of leaves, mottling the stones before her with dancing shadows. She'd long ago pulled the earbuds from her ears and let them dangle forgotten from the neck of her sweater, so she could instead listen to the rustle of a gentle breeze through the trees and the chittering of various wildlife.

A pleased smile spread across her face — this place was perfect. She'd scoped out dozens of parks already, trying to gauge at what times they were the least busy and to find the best place for her planned outing with the young boy she'd been paired with weeks ago. Not by his own choice of course, but a therapy forced upon him by his parents.

Tawny's smile tightened at the corners with a bit of concern.

He hadn't opened up to her as much as she'd hoped. The boy remained reticent and withdrawn, even after a handful of carefully-crafted sessions. They'd made some progress, but she'd yet to lure out any true confidence from him. Most of their time together was spent fruitlessly, with his face always tipped away, his fidgety gaze searching the walls in a determined attempt to ignore her own, and his fingers picking a number of threads loose from his seat across from her. She'd tried a number of methods to draw forward even an attempt of reciprocity, but even after all her gentle coaxing and subtle encouragement, he remained steadfast in his utter detachment.

Finally, she'd resorted to picking through a bit of his memory for help. Her gift wasn't something she enjoyed falling back on, as the whole thing felt incredibly invasive most of the time, but it had proved rather insightful in Jonathan's case. She'd filtered through what she'd already gleaned from their sessions — the minimal admissions that he'd reluctantly surrendered to her probing questions. The boy walked through life with his eyes cast to the ground, actively avoiding those around him. She'd seen the friendly faces he turned sheepishly from, the angry, taunting faces of bullies who hounded him, and the concerned, doting mother, her expression scrunched in what Tawny could recognize as desperate concern, but through his eyes — judging by the flailing of his hands in the moment, the tears blurring his vision, the shake to his head, the angry retreat to his room — seemed to be accusation or betrayal. The wandering gaze in classes, the returned papers with failing grades.

But she'd also seen the many times he'd lain, sprawled out in the playground of his apartment complex, simply staring up at the clouds. Or sat cross-legged with a pile of plucked dandelions in his lap, attentive fingers weaving a crown of weeds. The long, aimless walks he'd taken through the neighborhood, fingers stretched encouragingly toward any stray cat or dog he'd seen. The shaking sobs when he'd come across a dead raccoon in a gutter, and the careful, decorative burial that followed. His sneaking out at night and slinking blocks away to climb upon the roof of an abandoned cornerstone and stare at the stars. In all these memories, the boy's gaze was curious; always wandering... taking everything in... until a person passed or he was approached, and then it was once again drawn to his feet.

Seizing these memories with a bit of hope, Tawny decided that maybe outside therapy could prove a little more fruitful. A trip to the park, perhaps at a time of day when it wasn't so busy. Perhaps he'd be more pliable, more willing to open up, during a stroll through the woods; too engrossed by climbing over tree roots, digging in the dirt, and looking at birds, to really feel her searching eyes upon him. And perhaps, once he was more comfortable with her, she'd offer to accompany him to the wildlife rehab and volunteer with him, to get him more comfortable with others as well. Maybe it would be easier with those who shared similar interests with him. Maybe she'd gift him a telescope at one point. Tawny had even talked to the boy's mother to gather her thoughts on a family pet.

The thought of a little, scrappy mutt nipping excitedly at the boy's fingers as they walked through the neighborhood revived a bit of warmth in Tawny's smile. And as the grin curled at the corners of her mouth, she crested a steep incline, where the path veered sharply away and the forest thinned to a large clearing. A wide expanse of water occupied the majority of this clearing, surrounded by ramps, piers, and telltale signs of oft-used camping lots. All vacant at the moment, Tawny noted, as she squinted against the sunlight that glinted off the lake's surface.

Did Jonathan like fishing? Swimming? Camping? She didn't recall any memories to support the theory, but it was certainly possible. She doubted he'd ever tried any of them. Pondering what new options the lake provided, Tawny took a step forward, intending to leave her walking path and pick her way down the bank and toward the simple campgrounds.

"Oh, sh—!" the quiet, clipped curse slipped between quicky-pursed lips as her foot squelched abruptly forward in the mud, sending her careening back. Just barely keeping herself from falling on her ass and sliding the rest of the way down the muddy bank, she managed to half-stumble, half-run to the bottom. "This is going excellently," she breathed sarcastically, as she shook big clumps of mud from her (once white) shoes and wiped the hand she'd caught herself with on her jeans. "Super duper excellently."

With a cleansing exhale, she made her way to one of the docks that protruded out into the lake, glancing out at the stretching expanse of water as she lifted a hand to pull thoughtfully at her bottom lip. Out here, without the cover of the woods, the breeze was more pronounced and powerful, which made the water's surface sway with lazy chops. The recent bout of rain — likely the culprit behind the campground's current vacancy — had even made the lake swell and it lapped at its banks with hungry licks.

Tawny gave a small shudder, shrugging her shoulders up to her neck and rubbing at her arms. She was glad she'd worn a thick sweatshirt, but she wished now she'd brought the jacket from her car as well. She would have to remember to do so, whenever she brought Jonathan out here during their session. They could always wait until later in the day, when the sun had a chance to warm everything a little more, but she thought he'd most appreciate his surroundings in the early morning, before everyone else arrived to crowd him or discourage all the wildlife.

Tawny made her way further down the dock, careful to avoid the sides and more than a little wary of the water that lapped at its edges. She'd never been comfortable around big expanses of water, not knowing how to swim herself, but surely West Hook had secure structures, and she could always get lifejackets for her and Jonathan. The breeze seemed to intensify with each step she took, as if the wind itself picked up on her growing unease.

When the wood under her gave a sudden creak, Tawny paused. Pushing the hair from her face, she glanced down at the dock and noted that its integrity seemed to worsen the further out it went. Towards the end, it was apparent that years of use and weather had taken their toll. The sight of it made her completely rescind any imaginings of sitting at its edge with Jonathan, jeans rolled up and legs dipped in, waiting for the nibbles of fish. There was plenty that they could do off the shore of the lake, after all. Leave the dock to the pros. Neither of them were pros.

Feeling a cold sweep across her face as the prickling sensation of a threatening sweat spread there, Tawny took a step back. And as her retreating foot fell, it broke through a weak, rotted spot in the wood with a sudden, splintering snap. She lurched forward and winced at the angle with which her caught ankle abruptly interrupted the motion. "What the f—" she breathed shakily, her heart beginning to flutter rapidly in her chest. "It's cool, I'm okay," she rationalized, wobbling back to a standing and assessing the situation at her.... feet. She wiggled her toes in her now-soaked shoe and nodded in an attempt at self-assurance. "I am... totally, totally okay," she breathed again, the words almost sounding convinced. She gave her ankle a testing tug, grimacing as the wood bit angrily through her jeans. Another gust of wind scattered the hair once more across her face, some of it sticking to a thin sheen of perspiration. The earbuds that hung loosely from the top of her sweater clanged against one another, the words that still sung quietly out from them whipped away by the wind. After a long, steadying inhale, she gave a stronger, fiercer tug.

The wood gave way with ease this time and the momentum of her wrenching free sent her hurtling to the side, off the dock. Before she could cry out, before she could even be horrified, she crashed through the lake's surface; all thought completely abandoned to the shock of cold water all around her. Immediately she sucked in a mouthful of water, but by flapping her arms wildly, managed to resurface with a sputtering gasp. Panicked breath coming in short bursts, eyes wild and fixed upon the dock, she kicked and flailed in an attempt to move forward.

But her helpless floundering only served to keep her at a haphazard bob, and each time her head dipped below the surface — her hearing reduced to the dull road of pressure and her thundering heartbeat — her terror hitched higher and higher. She wasn't moving! Unable to shout, unable to think, only able to thrash around uselessly, Tawny pinched shut her eyes and began to sink.

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Noah had a lot of time on his hands. His working hours tended to be tailored to the needs of the gifted he was trying to recruit and, legally, he was unemployed; there was no standard nine-to-five to occupy his days. Blackstorm had been disappointingly quiet for the past week, and it was impossible to tell if the movement as a whole was slowing its progress or if management had developed a problem with him specifically. He wouldn’t be surprised. Recent missions had gone more than a bit haywire and he was overdue a scolding.

Day one of having no work had been great. Day three had been nice. Day five had been a bit more strained and by day seven, his hobbies became tedious and he was starting to go stir-crazy. So, he’d prescribed himself a walk by the lake. Maybe he’d skim some rocks on the water – seriously, he was that bored – but for now he stayed within the treeline, close enough to see the lake while staying sheltered from the weather.

Movement in his periphery made him pause. A girl was roughly twenty yards away. Probably a teenager; she was short and slim and, to him, looked like she was playing at dressing like an adult. The wind was stronger without the protection of the trees, lifting her dark hair as she stepped along one of the docks – a dock he tended to avoid because it was a rotted mess. It was too bad the campground wasn’t occupied; they would have put up signs to warn her away.

He kept walking, praying to whatever greater force there was that he’d go unnoticed or, if she did spot him, she’d be wise enough to leave him alone. Kids were so bold nowadays, marching up to whoever they felt like because they thought their phones kept them safe. Noah had no patience for them. The last thing he needed was for some girl to go crying to her parents about the creepy guy she’d met in the woods when he inevitably got tired of her youthful inquisitiveness and stopped playing nice.

But then there was a splash.

His stare cut across to the sound’s source. The girl was in the water, flapping her arms about like a startled bird. Oh, had she fallen in? His knee-jerk reaction was to laugh and he didn’t bother stifling it, but his snickers soon died out as he realised she wasn’t swimming towards the shore – or in any direction, really. And then she disappeared beneath the surface.

He blinked, amazed by what he just witnessed. What were the chances of that happening right when he walked by? Was death following him now?

Regardless, that was a major inconvenience.

If they were anywhere else, he would have sat back and let natural selection do its thing. It wasn’t his fault if some dumb parent didn’t teach their kid to swim and was careless enough to allow said kid to visit a lake alone. Yet it occurred to Noah that this lake was awfully near his house, his footprints all over the area, and if a body washed ashore the police were certain to sniff around his neighbourhood for answers. He’d never kept anything incriminating in his home but who knew what the future held? His crime rates had skyrocketed in the past two months alone.

Half-heartedly he hoped she would resurface without him needing to intervene. He even mentally counted to five like a teacher threatening to put their class in time-out if they didn’t behave. Did he really have to get in the water? Ugh, it would be so cold.

With a long-suffering sigh he marched out of the treeline, momentarily hopping as he yanked off one boot, then the other. He dumped them unceremoniously on the pebbled part of the shore, cringing at the sensation of walking on rocks without shoes on. His black sweater soon found its way to the ground as well, along with his phone and keys. His belt would take too long to remove; trousers were staying on. Even his t-shirt would take too long to remove at that point. He’d wasted too much time thinking about whether he should act and he was starting to think keeping his clothes dry shouldn’t be the priority.

He waded in, hissing through his teeth as the icy water soaked through his socks, his trousers, his shirt, until finally he was deep enough to swim. Trying to ignore the wintry sting of the waves, he made a beeline for the part of the dock where she’d fallen in and then, taking a breath, he dove down.

Noah was no lifeguard, but he knew the general theory and some odd facts that would surely help the situation. For example, he knew not to grab a drowning person from the front; some people would instinctively try to climb atop their rescuer to get to air, putting the rescuer at risk of needing to be rescued themselves as they were pushed beneath the water. The lake was dark beneath the surface, though luckily not so deep that he couldn't see the bottom or the girl he was planning to rescue. Once he spotted her, he swam down behind her and encircled one arm around her waist, then used his free arm and legs to propel them upwards until they broke the surface.

Needless to say, breathing always felt good after being underwater for a while. He trod water as he tried to maneuverer her so her face was tilted up to the sky, resting on his shoulder. “Don’t struggle,” he ordered after a few intakes of air, trying to strike a balance between authoritative and reassuring. If she was thrashing about, returning her to shore would be far more tiresome and potentially dangerous. “It’ll be okay. I’ve got you. Just try to lie back, try to float.”

He wasn't sure if she'd obeyed or even heard him, but he managed to swim backwards, keeping one arm around her middle and doing his best to keep both their heads above the waves. Eventually the water was shallow enough for his feet to touch the lakebed, and his hands moved to hold her by the armpits as he pulled her backwards onto the shore.

The sun had hidden behind clouds and the wind bit at him more icily than ever. After carefully setting her down, he groaned and plopped down as well. Forget the gym, saving someone from a watery grave was clearly the best way to work out. He felt sore all over. The shock of the cold probably made his muscles cramp too.

He didn't sit for long. He forced himself to get back up and walk around in the hopes of retaining some body heat, and he shook himself, sending water droplets everywhere. “Whew!” His grey t-shirt clung to him, five shades darker than it was when dry, and his trousers were streaming with so much water that a puddle was rapidly forming where he stood. He couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Well, I don’t know about you, but this isn’t how I pictured my day going,” he chirped, shaking his arms out to rid them of more water.

He returned to her side and dropped down to his knees, a deep furrow appearing between his brows. “You okay there? Please don’t tell me this is a CPR situation.” He’d seen enough movies to know the basic premise of resuscitation, but he’d never done it and was reluctant to try, especially considering CPR often came with the risk of breaking the receiver’s ribcage. ‘Frustration’ was certainly not a strong enough word to cover what he’d feel if he ended up killing someone the one time he tried to save them.

He experimentally patted her cheek.


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

As Tawny sunk deeper, her wild thrashing began to slowly subside. Her arms and legs were growing stiff, partly from the cold, but more so from the sheer exertion of flailing uselessly against the water. As her helpless movements began to decelerate and her feet found the lake bottom, a serene sort of calm crept over her mind. Her frantic heartbeat began to steady and her panicked thoughts began to ebb. A single thought cooed softly in her head, bridled with a certainty that was strangely, unexpectedly comforting.

I'm about to die.

It was a matter of fact, and the simple plainness of it consigned her further to serenity. She watched the sunlight's refraction through the lake's shimmering surface for a second longer, before letting her eyes slip closed.

A moment passed, but whether it was a long moment or a short moment, Tawny couldn't tell. The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity, and yet it simultaneously felt like no time passed at all. The air she held in her lungs trickled slowly from her nose in small, tickling bubbles, pulled upward with that efficient urgency her body just couldn't imitate. One by one they left her to her peril, and each one furthered a growing pressure in her chest. Her lungs began to scream, begging her lips to part. Her brow pinched with a renewed effort to keep them sealed shut, but...

What was the point of prolonging the inevitable? Jonathan and her other patients would be okay. Therapists weren't in short supply and she wasn't anything special in that department. Her cat and ferrets would be okay (so long as someone thought to check her apartment before the cat got too hungry and decided to make a snack of the furry weasels). Her parents were already gone, her brothers had families, and she'd made it a point her whole life not to be so attached to anyone that their sudden absence would be detrimental to her. She imagined the reverse had to be true. Even the person who found her bloated body washed ashore would probably be okay, eventually.

It's okay, to slip away, she concluded and felt her brow smooth as the admission rid her of her last bit of resistance. Her lips parted and water flooded into her mouth and down her throat, just as an arm snaked about her waist. It was surreal and unexpected, to be suddenly tugged upward, but Tawny's fading consciousness almost couldn't comprehend it.

That was until her head broke the surface with a sputtering, pained gasp. She coughed violently and began to kick once more, the sudden return of oxygen to her brain restoring her, jarringly, to her senses. The serenity that she'd succumbed to was whisked instantly away, replaced by a disorienting churn of thoughts and resurfacing panic. She was faintly aware of the man, her rescuer, giving her instructions to just lie back, but it took a fair moment for the words to find their footing in her mind. As they did though, she complied; letting herself float and be towed in, watching the sky through blurring tears before closing her eyes.

She was hauled ashore and remained still where the man deposited her, much too aware of the pain in her chest and how heavy every bit of her felt beneath her waterlogged clothes. It was as if she could feel her energy sinking into the pebbles along with the water that dripped from her. She was somewhat aware of the man talking, tone light and almost cheery, but touched too by exhaustion. She willed her eyes to open, to look toward him, to move at all, but her body once again refused.

Then the man kneeled beside her and fingers tapped against her cheek. Tawny's eyelids flew open, the blue depths of her eyes blown wide with surprise. Reflexively, a hand snapped up to grab the man's wrist, to wrench it away from her face, but she hadn't anticipated the man's touch or her reaction and was in no mental state to prevent the onslaught of memory. Images — snippets and scenes she had no right or even desire to see — played behind her eyes in an abrupt succession, all spanning the space of a mere moment.

A child's hand held in a woman's larger one as she looked down at him with a smile. It didn't quite reach her tired eyes, tight at the corners. The nauseating light of lecture halls screaming off the open pages of various books. Ceilings of libraries and clocks on walls, which his gaze was drawn to out of boredom. The deafening beat of nightclubs. Strobing lights. Dancefloors packed with too many people. Air thick with hormones and sweat. Always there was a hungry, predatory gaze upon him, usually more than one and he met them unflinchingly. A hand snuck upon a thigh with a suggestive squeeze. The world around her was suddenly bigger again. Wind whipping at a woman's — the first woman's — dress as she played with other children. Appraising, disdainful glances that made the distance between them yawn even wider. Sunlight. Green fields. Hands wiping the grass from bloodied knees and bruised shins. Young faces turned to him with expressions of pained frustration. Hands wringing one another under a stream of water in a stark white bathroom sink made pink by blood and chunks of something unrecognizable.

With no current direction guiding her power, Tawny's gift worked as a needle poked through an endless number of pages that'd been folded together; it started at the end, was pulled through to the beginning, caught some of the middle, rinse, repeat; it poked and pulled at various threads, all at random, and ran them tightly together in an incomprehensible mess. She saw herself, suspended in the depths of the lakes, her clothes seeming to hover inches from her body, making her appear bloated. Arms stretched to either side of her, eyes closed but face tipped toward the surface just out of her reach. She saw herself sprawled seemingly lifeless on the pebbled shore moments ago, a sorry, pathetic sight. The thread wound tight around these memories, from the moment he wade into the water to the moment he'd pressed fingers to her pale cheek, and tightened. The memories constricted, the thread becoming a noose that made them smaller and dimmer, and smaller still until they were nothing but an unrecognizable void. A speck to be overlooked then forgotten.

And even though the entire process lasted mere seconds, and was largely involuntary and frantic, as Tawny felt that noose tighten and the memories so suddenly, so irreversibly, be scrubbed away, she was aware of a sudden coldness that cut a chasm in her chest and drove an icy fear through her veins; like a scream clawing up her throat, ready to sound.

But the thread was abruptly jerked too taut and then snapped. And as it did so, Tawny released the man's wrist with a startled pant. Immediately she pulled herself to a sitting position and kicked her feet into the loose pebbles of the lakeshore, scuttling back and putting just a bit of distance between the two of them. "Please don't... touch me," she cautioned breathlessly, staring at him with wide, searching eyes. Then she promptly doubled sidelong to vomit up the mouthfuls of water she'd managed to ingest during her near-drowning.

As she spit out the remainder of the last retching — already very much aware of the ache between her shoulder blades that accompanied the convulsing — she wiped a soaked sleeve uselessly at her mouth and gave him another glance, gaze decidedly rueful now as she flapped a hand toward him. "Or... I guess... what I mean... is thank you? Sorry. I'm fine." Settling back with a tad more composure than before, focusing on deepening and steadying her shallow breaths, Tawny lifted her arms to either side of her to shake away some of the water that saturated her sweater sleeves. Her earbuds remained caught in the neck of her shirt but she could already feel that the phone they'd been tethered to had been lost in her struggle. Which was... just great.

The man before her didn't appear to be absolutely reeling from a sudden, sheer lack of memory, so she didn't think she'd done any damage to his mind, and she tried blithely to ignore the whole predicament, both outwardly and internally. It wasn't a common occurrence anymore that she was so taken off-guard, and it was the first time she had been able to "snap" out from such a violent reel without any horrific consequence. The sensation of the severed thread remained lodged in the back of her mind, unfamiliar and begging to be addressed.

"Brrrr!" She trilled, trying to push herself to unsteady feet and plopping back down from both the unexpected weight of herself and how unstable her limbs remained. "I think... I'll wait... for it to warm up a little more... next time." A sudden, somber, embarrassment pinched at her face as even she could hear how forced the words sounded. "Thank you again, I'm... so sorry for your..." she gestured vaguely at his whole person, "For the trouble."

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

One moment Noah was dry and approaching the water, the next he was drenched and kneeling on the shore. The girl was there, similarly soaked and scooting away from him with her big blue eyes wide like a Disney character’s. He slowly sat back on his heels, perturbed and (for the first time in a long time) mildly unsettled, though he was still tempted to poke her leg when she told him not to touch her – at least, until she started upchucking.

Clearly, he’d pulled her out of the lake. Yet he couldn’t remember it; it was like being blackout drunk without any of the alcoholic buzz nor the fun of speculating what he got up to.

On top of that, there was… something. A sense of otherness, the warm version of a brain freeze, a light pressure in his temporal lobe that he instinctively grasped onto, keeping it for himself. He’d borrowed enough gifts to know that the sudden appearance of unusual sensations shouldn’t be ignored, even if he hadn’t noticed a power being used on him beforehand. Occam's razor would propound this particular gift was linked to the blip in his memory, but he couldn’t be certain – not when there was a chance (albeit small) that the feeling and memory loss were a result of transient global amnesia. It could be triggered by sudden hard physical activity or exposure to cold water, although, he was a bit young to experience such a thing, and for the sake of his brain health he had to hope a gift had caused the gap instead.

When the girl stopped heaving, Noah met her rueful gaze with a curious head tilt and an encouraging smile. Just what had she given him? He was dying to ask. Whatever it was, she either didn’t realise he’d taken it or was very good at pretending not to care. His stare flickered over her, searching for some clue, and as much as he wanted to outright interrogate her, he figured he should build some rapport first.

“You’re welcome,” he grinned when she thanked him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Or rather, he was glad the police wouldn’t be combing through the neighbourhood and knocking on his door. But both literally and figuratively, they weren't out of the woods yet; she seemed to be a bit of a hazard to herself. He watched as she tried to stand and immediately plopped down again, like a baby deer taking its first steps. Maybe he should call her Bambi.

He waved off her apology. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ve always wanted to have a Baywatch moment, sorry I didn’t have the red shorts ready.” Wait, would she even understand that reference? How old was she – sixteen? Seventeen? Her waterlogged state didn’t help to make her look any older; she looked like a kitten who’d been left outside in the rain with her tiny shivering frame and Disney eyes. Even the awkward way she thanked him implied youth, though he supposed he couldn't judge her for that too harshly when she was probably still reeling from the near-death experience.

A sudden gale made him shudder, and he gave the girl an assessing look. She had survived the lake but what about the cold? He couldn't wander off and leave her now.

“We should get out of these wet clothes–” He held up a hand, wincing. “Hang on, that’s not – don’t do that right here.” Exasperation crept onto his features and his hand lowered back to his leg. Though he seriously wanted to know, he forced himself to make his tone playful as he asked, “What are you, eight years old? What are you even doing out here? Where are your parents?” He glanced behind him, as if a family would conveniently emerge from the treeline and save him from having to deal with her anymore.


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

It was clear he was fine. He grinned, then answered her thanks with a lighthearted reply and joke. His gaze, appearing open and inquisitive, met hers confidently. Tawny was briefly reminded of the little snippets of memory she'd glimpsed; of how his gaze had always been fixed and unflinching. There was stuff to unpack there (as with any memory) and to truly make sense of, but the time for it wasn't now. That time surely wouldn't come until she was safely past this predicament (preferably warm in her apartment with a cup of hot chocolate between her palms); and, no doubt, after she worked through whatever existential afterthoughts and questions followed almost dying. It was just as probable as well, that she would have no desire to analyze her unintentional sneak-peek into this man's life once they parted ways. She half-expected him to don what articles of clothing he'd stripped and wave her along, though his jovial demeanor suggested he perhaps wouldn't feel content doing so. She gestured toward the boots, belt, and the contents of his pockets that he'd thrown down before stepping into the lake.

"If you were so committed to Baywatch fantasies, the shirt would have come off, too." Though I don't think either of us have the breasts for it.

Tawny raised an eyebrow, her mouth tilting at the corner with amusement, as he voiced the need to get out of their saturated clothes. It sounded like a line and he realized it. Watching him quickly correct himself was almost comical. Almost beguiling, if the rationality behind his suggestion weren't made urgently pressing by the wind battering at them both. It numbed her ears and lips and, though it didn't cut through the heavy, dripping fabric of her clothes, it chilled them upon her skin. It felt like the cold was seeping into her very bones, creating yet another ache to pile upon the others.

Whatever amusement showed on her face instantly fell at his next question, inquiring about her age and guardians. Gaze suddenly flinty, lips pursed with a bit of disdain, Tawny groaned inwardly. His tone was playful, though an obvious exaggeration, and she had long grown accustomed to being mistaken for a teenager — with her small, stick-like frame, no doubt made further waifish from her "swim" — but it still induced an eye roll each time someone assumed she was anything less than her twenty-five years.

But just as she was forming a sardonic retort (to inform him that no, she was actually twelve, thank you very much), Tawny's lips parted with an insuppressible, toothy smile and quiet laughter clawed up her scratchy, burning throat. The chuckle began pathetic and hoarse, but once started, it grew into a full-blown, hearty chortle. It was just so ridiculous! Not even five minutes ago she was nonchalantly consigning herself to an inevitable (likely painful) death, and now she was instantly embittered over something so trivial in comparison. Humans were hilarious.

"Oh God," she breathed, wiping at her eyes with the palms of her hands, then dragging them down her face as the laugh settled in her chest, assigning there a certain gaiety, despite the pain — a certain delayed relief that she was alive at all to be able to laugh again. "Three minutes ago I'm facing death and accepting my demise, and now I'm annoyed. Imagine that." It was almost as if she was talking to herself, as she shook her head with wonder, but the words were offered as an explanation for the sudden outburst and she glanced at Noah with no trace of the severity she'd so abruptly adopted. "I'm not a child. Just a silly, stupid adult who falls into ponds. A real damsel in distress." The words were self-deprecating, but a bit of a grin remained tucked at one corner of her mouth, lending her tone more sarcastic levity than sulk.

Trying once more to stand, using a bit more caution this time, Tawny managed to push herself to her feet; holding her arms up in an awkward, swaying stance as she tested her balance. She was wobbly and weak but decided she was mostly fine. Everything hurt, but that was typically not such a bad sign. As a sudden thought occurred to her, she patted at her jean pockets. "I drove here, I have towels and clothes in my car..." she'd hiked a a good mile, at least, from where she'd parked, was that too far? Her lips pulled in a tight line as her hands found nothing and her budding suspicions were confirmed. "But my keys, of course, are with my phone, which are. You know." She jerked her head toward the lake and then began to work at wringing out her drenched hair. "Do you know this neighborhood well? Are there any... shelter houses?"

[Noah St Cloud]

Her features pinched, twisting in disdain, and Noah inwardly sighed at the possibility of having to do some damage control. But then she was laughing and insisting she was an adult, and some of his tension melted away. Something about young people made him lose his cool, act impulsively. Simply knowing she could legally drink made him open to actually listening to what she had to say, and made him feel a lot cheerier about her potential gift; could this be another opportunity to expand Blackstorm? He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m sorry for assuming. I couldn’t help it, you’re just so –” he gestured vaguely towards her – “bite-sized.” His lips curled, threatening a laugh of his own.

Her second attempt to stand up was successful, and upon hearing she’d lost her phone and keys he looked back out at the waves and gave a low whistle. “Can’t promise you’ll get those back.” He doubted they would wash ashore anytime soon. Maybe when the campsite opened some kids would go diving and discover them, but who knew how long that would be or if they would bother returning them. Offering his own phone would be a waste of time; he knew without checking that the signal was spotty if not non-existent by the lake.

The woman seemed like a practical sort of person, apparently keeping towels and clothes in her car. She couldn’t possibly have guessed she’d fall in a lake that day, but as a guy who often kept cleaning supplies in his car in the event of ‘messes’, Noah could respect someone who was prepared for the unexpected.

He hummed. “Nope but there’s my house. Hot showers and central heating only a five-minute walk that way.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in its general direction. There wasn’t an obvious path between the trees, barely a flattening of grass to indicate the way, but the undergrowth was sparse and would pose no problem for them to walk through.

As a rule, Noah didn't have visitors. He didn’t love having people in his home – not because it was messy or ugly or small, just because it was his space. He could count the number of guests he’d had since arriving in Los Eurosia on one hand, but it would be silly to try carting her elsewhere when it was the obvious solution to their situation.

He stood up, blinked at the empty air in front of him, then dropped his gaze as he realised the woman was much lower than his natural eyeline. He was a whole head taller than her; her face being in line with his chest. Looking down at her, it was only her earlier warning that stopped him from reaching out and curling a dripping strand of her hair around his finger, but he still wanted to tease her. Their height-difference was almost comical and he privately pledged that he would henceforth bring it up at every opportunity. He smirked, shaking his head as he turned away to retrieve his shoes. “You sure you drove here? Your booster seat must make it difficult to reach the pedals.” He shot her a mischievous glance, ignoring the squelch that came from shoving his boots on while wearing wet socks.

He peeled off his shirt, letting it hit the ground with a wet slap, then reached for his sweater. It was faintly warm from his pre-rescue body heat and he paused, wondering if he should offer it to the woman, before ultimately pulling it on as the breeze picked up again. Nothing could convince him to put his sodden t-shirt back on and (as much as he was happy to flaunt his body) he figured sauntering around shirtless would be plain stupid considering the weather.

Finally snatching up his phone and keys in one hand and his dripping shirt in the other, he looked over to see if she was similarly ready to depart – not that she had any belongings to gather. His main concern was: if she had ever seen a horror film or read the news, she would be hesitant to follow him to a secondary location. “Are you coming or do I need to throw you over my shoulder?” He winked, but he absolutely would if she started to get flighty. Would that count as abduction? Definitely. Still, he supposed an officer might believe him if he said she was delirious from cold and he had no choice.


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Tawny followed the point of his thumb and appraised the woods where he indicated. The sun wouldn't be able to warm them up as well within the dense woods (not that it was currently doing a great job at that anyway), but the wind would certainly be more bearable between the trees, as it had been on her journey to the lake. The wind seemed to be the largest threat in any case. As if to accentuate the fact, another gust buffeted her, strong enough to make her firmly shift her weight. She shivered beneath her clothes, heavy and dripping upon her slight frame. A hot shower and dry clothes did, in fact, sound heavenly.

And yet, her brow pinched with a fluttering of uncertainty as she felt a stir in her gut. The prospect of going to some stranger's house... in the woods... likely with neighbors spaced a bit far apart.... it honestly felt like the ideal set-up for some cliché slasher flick. She really had no desire to go from "Damsel in Distress" to "Final Girl". To become the very dumb, careless woman that she would berate whenever she watched horror films at home, buried safely under a couple of blankets. She could see herself now, throwing popcorn at her TV screen as she yelled at herself not to follow him.

Tawny glanced back at the man... or up at him now, and let her gaze poke about his face searchingly. Really, he didn't seem half-bad. Even with the whole saving-her-life set aside, he seemed kind enough. Everything he did and said seemed to be done so with a certain brand of levity; sprinkled consistently throughout with a bit of tease and nonchalance, as if nothing was ever too terribly serious. Nothing about him had, thus far, tripped any alarm bells or raised her figurative hackles. Then again, the killers in the aforementioned films were usually attractive and deceptively charming.

But what were her other options? She could try and hike back to her car, only to sit in the parking lot and pray another visitor showed up and let her borrow their phone. But it was still early and, judging by the growing wind and the clouds that were beginning to move quickly across the sky, it didn't appear to be ideal hiking weather. There was the promise of light rain in the air. How long would she end up waiting, cold and miserable? And what stopped that person from being someone who wouldn't just drag her into the woods and murder her? That was just the kind of luck she would have, after all.

"Well, okay... only if you're sure it's not too much trouble," she conceded finally, as if the moment she'd taken to weigh her risks had been to instead assess what an inconvenience the whole thing was for him. As far as she knew, he had a nice little family at home, with kids wrestling their dog on the lawn and a beautiful, doting wife ready to push a hot mug of tea in her hands. She didn't want to be murdered, of course, but she also didn't want to put anyone else out because she had been so foolish. He'd already done more than enough.

He turned away, taking another teasing jab at her height, and Tawny felt whatever uncertainty that lingered melt away. Yeah, he was probably fine. The only thing she would have to survive, hopefully, were his jokes. She tipped her head; meeting his mischievous, sidelong glance with an eye roll. "My booster seat is perfect, thank you," she said with a bit of feigned defiance.

Her thought process was then interrupted by the man peeling off his drenched t-shirt and she made it a point to be looking (quite abruptly) elsewhere. The wet shirt had already clung to him in such a way that left little to the imagination but she didn't want to be called out on staring. If the consistent jesting so far was anything to judge by, he would most certainly have something to say about it. So, as he picked up his discarded things, Tawny finished wrenching out her hair and kicked water from her jeans and shoes. When he turned back, thankfully clothed and ready to depart, she squinted her eyes at his final question.

"I think I can manage," she replied with a quiet, sarcastic chuckle, resisting the urge to poke out her tongue or roll her eyes again. "Though I do hope you'll let me borrow your warmest, softest sweatpants in return for all these terribly-mean, hurtful jokes." She jutted out her bottom lip and lifted her brows in a mocking imitation of hurt puppy-dog eyes, tilting her head to further exaggerate the expression. "Maybe even a pair you've outgrown?" She tacked on hopefully, as she beckoned for him to lead the way.

"My name's Tawny, by the way."

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Eager to warm up and satisfied she was accompanying him, Noah started leading the way to his home. Unlike the official walking trails that sloped down to the lake, there was barely an incline in the unmarked woods and the grass was ankle high – no boggy terrain to slip around in. Their journey would take no time at all.

She pouted and he responded with an exaggerated gasp, his eyebrows slanting as he clutched at his chest. “That’s not fair, you can’t be using puppy eyes on me – that’s my weakness! Straight-up emotional manipulation!”

He considered what clothes he could provide her. Sentimentality wasn’t an emotion he tended to have, so he rarely hesitated to rid himself of belongings he no longer liked the look or feel of. Hence, he was certain he would have nothing that fit her. He glanced down at his legs, then eyed hers. There was no doubt; she was going to have to roll the cuffs a few times if she wanted to avoid tripping everywhere. “There may be a slight sizing issue but don’t worry. Only the finest too-long sweatpants will be provided for my damsel. Maybe even a hoodie since I like you.”

Her name was Tawny. It suited her; cute and short. It made him compare the way she’d initially stared at him to the wide-eyed gazes of tawny owls. Alas, her eyes were too blue to make the comparison perfect, but he’d still like to ruffle her feathers. He was doing her a favour, really. Maybe making her blood boil would keep her warm. He tapped a finger on his chin (as smoothly as one can while holding a phone and keys). “Hmm, I don’t know… I’ve been calling you ‘Bite-size’ in my head. Might be difficult to unlearn – would’ve been easier if you’d said your name was half-pint, armrest, baby doll…” He shook his head with a contented sigh, lips curling upwards. “There are just so many possibilities.”

Stepping over a fallen branch, he sent her another sidelong grin. “I know, I know, I’m oh-so mean. But you’re handling it so well! I suppose if there’s anything you learned from this experience, it’s not to sweat the small stuff.” He held up his hands, snickering. “Alright, sorry, I’m done now. Truly.” He cleared his throat and walked backwards for a moment so he could give her a small mock bow. “Hi, my name’s Noah and I’ll be your aggravating yet roguishly charming saviour today, but you can call me anything you like. I won’t take offence. Promise.” He briefly held up his pinkie finger, then faced forwards again, conscious that there could be other twigs and logs he had to look out for.

“Tell me about yourself, mystery girl. Starting with: do you come here often?”

In the distance, there was a peek of his home between the trees: a traditional style, two-story house with dove-grey sliding, white window trimmings, and charcoal roof tiles. There was no fencing to separate his land from the forest it backed onto, and French-sliding doors at the back ensured they wouldn’t have to waste time circling around to the front of the house.


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Tawny followed him into the trees, picking a careful path behind him and watching her footfalls carefully. She'd already had one bumbling mishap today — her sore, aching ankle reminded her of it with each step — and could hardly be trusted not to step in a fox den or go sprawling over an overgrown tree root. Briefly, she wondered if taking Jonathan out by herself was even responsible, or if they would end up in a similar precarious predicament due to her inexperienced bushwhacking. She wasn't bound to have some helpful stranger miraculously materialize out of the forest a second time.

She didn't linger on the pondering long, however, as her guide continued his teasing antics and theatrics. She could have shuddered at the promise of warm, clean sweatpants, and the deal was only sweetened further by the hope of an accompanying hoodie. He had to know that was a risky endeavor — anyone who attended high school or endured a number of adolescent romances knew girls weren't like to give back boy hoodies. Maybe she could make off with it. The big pockets would certainly make a perfect little nest for her furry noodle pets. She could see them now, dozing with little chirpy snores as she stood at the stove or poured over patient notes.

She quirked an eyebrow at his selection of nicknames for her, and when he introduced himself and spun back around to continue his trek, her gaze remained searchingly upon his back a moment longer before falling back to keep an eye on the ground before her. His promise of a short-joke ceasefire didn't convince her and she wondered just how endless his reserves of humor were. How long before he was scraping the bottom of the barrel, and what exactly would replace the levity when the jokes ran dry? Humor and tease wouldn't last forever and nobody was only "funny". But perhaps that would be all she was privy to in their happenstance encounter. They didn't really need to learn anything about each other after all. He was being rather charitable toward her, but perhaps frivolity and a warm pair of clothes were all that could be afforded with strangers. He'd send her on her way and that would be the end of a felicitous yet flippant encounter.

She shook the lingering thoughts away, silently reprimanding herself for the ever-present "therapist" in her, always seeking to peel away layers and look deeper in every meeting, no matter how chance. She let amusement pull her lips into a small grin once more; determined to return whatever he gave to her. To match levity with levity. "While Noah is certainly suitable, I think perhaps Hasselhoff would be more appropriate. Maybe just Hoff. I think you deserve it., after all."

Tawny's grin fell into a thoughtful line as he inquired about her, and the question drew a sudden, familiar ache in her chest. A yawning tightness that instinctively made her want to become smaller, to hold whatever she felt and whatever she thought closer to herself. She thought of her many dates over the past couple of years — mostly set up by insistent, overbearing friends — attempting to hide their growing exasperation as she gave them so little in answer to similar questions. She blinked and hummed with exaggerated consideration.

"Hardly a mystery," she muttered finally after a small, nearly-dismissive snort. "I am vertically challenged, have the worst luck—" she paused for a moment, deliberating how providential it was that Noah had come along when he did. "Or perhaps the best luck? The jury's still out on that one. And I never learned to swim! See, you already know so much about me!"

It felt lame, as evasive as usual, and perhaps because he had been so generous to her, or perhaps because of her earlier wonderings about what existed beneath the jokes, she decided to quietly tack on a little more. "Otherwise I'm just your average, boring twenty-something. Struggling-artist wannabe." Another hint of self-depreciation, delivered with a levity meant to be sardonic rather than truly barbed. "I work as a therapist and that's the only reason I was out here in the first place. I think one of my patients would like the peace. Not that it's proved to be all that peaceful in my case."

As she spoke, she studied their fast-approaching destination. Even though they approached from the rear, it was obvious that the two-story home was beautiful, the lawn neat and manicured; everything about it was well-kept and maintained, and she imagined Noah himself was probably much the same (when not disheveled by an impromptu dive and rescue). West Hook obviously wasn't a cheap neighborhood and Tawny wondered briefly what he did for a living. Her mind returned to the image of his hands wringing themselves of blood in a sink. A surgeon, perhaps? A veterinarian? Something about that didn't fit — the lack of gloves, maybe, or the look of the sink, but there was little to derive from such a small glimpse. The chaotic slew had all flit behind her eyes so quickly. In any case, the beautiful home was immaculate on the outside, and she had a feeling it would be similarly neat on the inside — a far cry from her messy apartment, cluttered by paintings, sketches and half-inked pages; perfumed incenses just barely stronger than the ever-present musk of ferret.

"Do you live here alone?" She inquired curiously, as she instinctively slipped off her ruined shoes before stepping onto the house's well-kept patio. The shoes would most definitely be binned; it would be a lost cause to try and clean them up and there was no point in wearing them inside to track in even more mud and pondwater than she was already, inevitably going to do. She was glad now that she'd chosen a pair of very old, beat-up tennis shoes that she only ever wore when she jogged. The aglets had long ago been chewed off by tiny ferret mouths, the laces were well-worn and thinned, and whatever design had been grooved into their tread was unrecognizable — they wouldn't be missed.

"And what about yourself?" She peered up at him as she bent at an odd angle to pull off her heavy, clinging socks; draping them over the top of her shoes so they could dry on their own as well. "Is charming poor, cold, helpless women back to your woodland home common practice?"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Noah nodded sagely at her choice of nickname for him. “I understand. We do look exactly the same.”

Tawny’s reluctance to divulge information was clear as day, using self-deprecation and only speaking of the day’s events and her occupation. Hearing she was a therapist made his fingers twitch. Numerous people over the years had suggested he needed therapy (with varying degrees of seriousness) and he barely stopped himself from sharing this tidbit with her; that was not the sort of information that inspired trust. Still, should he be worried? Having studied psychology himself, Noah knew therapists weren’t the mind readers that popular media made them out to be, but people working in mental health professions tended to be a tad more observant and he had no idea how he’d react if she started openly analysing him. What would she even say?

“I don’t think you’re boring,” he said simply. He was very interested in her gift. Also, a bit concerned that he might have to return it before he could ask her about it. Half an hour tended to be his limit for borrowing and it had already been ten – maybe fifteen – minutes. He hoped she wasn’t one of those people who spent hours in the shower. “And that’s a very thoughtful idea. You could still bring them out here, just… maybe not so close to vast bodies of water.”

They finally reached his home. She removed her shoes and socks before stepping onto the patio and he was gearing up to tease her for being so polite (though it was sweet; his gardener would probably appreciate it more than him), but then she asked if he lived there alone.

Certainly, a single man living alone did not need as much space as he had and (for someone who rarely had visitors) he really did have too many guestrooms. Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d gone overboard when he’d received his inheritance. He could lie and tell her he had a family who were out at school and work. But he figured his dishonesty would be exposed by the lack of toys scattered around; at his age, his hypothetical children would be ten at most. Plus, she’d probably notice the lack of ring on his finger.

“Yep,” he replied, popping the ‘p’ as he slung his wet t-shirt over the back of a patio chair. He gave her his best wounded puppy-dog eyes, tilting his head for maximum effect. “Isn’t that woefully sad?”

He slipped off his own boots and groaned when she asked him about himself. “God, you have no idea. There are so many women. So many, just – falling in lakes, all the time. You’re the third one I saved today! And I never get a shred of appreciation.” He gave an exaggerated sigh, pouting. “Not even a high-five for being so cool about it.”

Tawny had spoken about her job, so the natural response would be for him to do the same. The problem was that he didn’t have one. Not officially. And it never went down well when he told others he’d bought the house with part of his inheritance; they became wide-eyed and fussy, talking to him as if he was made of glass. He much preferred to imply his family was alive.

“Jobwise, I’m a legal consultant. People ask me if something is a crime and I say, ‘uh, yeah, don’t do that, ya dummy’.” He was confident his studies in criminology would help sell that lie if she asked any questions about it, though he doubted she would; few people he knew thought consultancy work was interesting. “I can swim, I have a one hundred percent success rate in saving drowning therapists, and I live here on my lonesome but I’m thinking of getting a dog. Tried wood carving recently on account of the whole having a forest in the backyard – they’re awful, by the way, an artist like you would be absolutely appalled at my lack of talent. What else… Whiskey is the best drink, team sports are the worst, I’m a Leo, and my favourite colour is blue.” As he spoke, he’d pulled off his socks and draped them alongside his shirt on the chair, then made his way over to the doors. He shot her another grin as he unlocked them and gestured her inside. “After you.”

The sliding doors led straight into the living room, which had walls painted deep slate blue and laminate oak floorboards. On the wall to their right was a fireplace flanked by two bookcases, mostly containing classics and a few textbooks on the bottom shelves from his university days. Two tan couches and a coffee table were situated in front of the fireplace, a widescreen TV in the corner, and to their left was an adjoining kitchen and dining area, complete with a kitchen island.

Beckoning for Tawny to follow, Noah walked straight ahead and through to the house’s entryway, dropping his phone and keys on the coffee table as he passed it. The stairs and flooring of the second floor (excluding the bathrooms) were covered in cream coloured carpet, and he sighed inwardly at the thought of dripping lake water all over it. The stroll through the woods had helped them shed the worst of it, but he could still feel water trickling down his neck from his hair.

At the top of the stairs he opened the first door to the left, revealing the main bathroom. It was a bit bare, overwhelmingly white with only the chrome taps and fittings to add colour, but the important thing was that it had a walk-in shower. He turned to Tawny and held up a finger. “Wait here a sec.”

Quickly, he ducked into the guestroom across the hallway to snatch some unused, fluffy white towels, which he kept folded on the bed like it was a hotel. His next stop was his own bedroom, where he gathered some black sweatpants, a grey t-shirt, a dark grey zip-up hoodie (his wardrobe was not a colourful place), and socks (trainer liners – anything longer would probably fit her like stockings). Wait, what about underwear? The thought made him pause, but then he snorted, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to give him his boxers. That seemed a bit weird.

After nabbing a bottle of sandalwood and orange scented shower gel from his ensuite, Noah returned to Tawny and deposited his bundle of things on the bathroom counter. He separated the towels and hung them on the heated railings that covered a quarter of one of the walls. “You can hang up your clothes on here. Bring them downstairs afterwards and we can shove them in the dryer – or I suppose you could take them and go home in my clothes?” He quirked an eyebrow at her. If she did that, they'd definitely meet again; he was going to want his clothes back.

Moving to the shower, he pointed to the different dials. “This one turns it on. Turn this one clockwise for hotter, anti for colder.” He turned back to her and winked, beaming. “I’m sure you don’t need my help to do the rest. I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

Without further ado, he left for his own shower.

Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Tawny listened passively as he volleyed back an insubstantial rendition of himself, making a mental note of his zodiac sign and to ask about the woodworking again (if there ever was an "again"). She also tucked away the other small admissions to revisit in the future. Perhaps she'd leave him a nice "thank you for saving my life" basket with a decent bottle of whiskey and an obnoxious, blue football jersey on his porch in a couple of days.

He led her through the door and, as she suspected, the house was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. The scheme was dark (very suitable for a handsome, lonely man, she thought) but the sunlight that slanted through the home's many, large windows kept it lively and open. Overall, the place was relatively neat and organized, everything looked new or at least well-cared for, and Tawny couldn't help but gaze about with a bit of inquisitive wonder. Legal consulting must have been a decently lucrative field, or perhaps Noah advised high-end clientele? Or it was entirely possible he just managed his money well, unlike her. It certainly helped that he didn't have a couple of rugrats to keep a constant siphon on his wallet. She whistled appreciatively.

"This is a pretty place, but... I think you're right. It needs a dog. Or, actually," the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled as she squinted thoughtfully, "I think a cat may suit you better." She didn't like dogs herself, they were often big and demanding; too dopey and enthusiastic if not trained properly. Cats never threw themselves around with no consideration for their size or strength and were often happy enough to live a whole separate existence in your company. They respected your space, desiring their own as well. Largely dependent and aloof, only seeking you out when a bit of shared affection suited you both. Perfect companions. Though Tawny didn't think they'd treat his nice couches very kindly — her cat had reduced the back of hers to tatters.

She followed him through the living area and up the stairs, unable to keep her gaze from wandering curiously over her surroundings. When they reached their destination, she waited obediently at the opened door while he fetched her some necessities. She then nodded along as he advised her how to work the shower, smiled a thin, amused smile in response to his roguish remark, and then watched his back for a moment longer as he turned away, presumably to go get himself cleaned up as well.

"I think I'll just take the clothes with me, if it's all the same to you." She called out as she shut the door. Something about throwing them in his dryer without running them through a wash cycle didn't sit well with her, or perhaps it was the prospect of having to sit on her ass, twidling her thumbs, as she waited for them to dry. She figured it would be best to just bag them up so he could kick her out at his leisure, were his streak of generosity to suddenly sour. He hadn't ushered her along as if he had plans she was keeping him from, but she didn't want to strain her welcome unnecessarily.

As the door clicked softly closed, she turned to take stock of her appearance in the bathroom mirror; huffing an exasperated sigh as she noted her remarkable resemblance to a drowned mouse. Puffing up her cheeks and then blowing them out with resignation, she shrugged and turned to the shower. She worked the knobs as he instructed and smiled at the answering hiss of water. As she let the shower warm, she peeled off her damp clothes piece by piece and ran each article thoroughly beneath the clean water, wringing them free of the lake's stale, murky scent and hanging them to dry as he advised. Then she grabbed the bottle he'd brought her, stepped inside the shower, and lifted her face to the downpour.

Her mind emptied entirely as the hot water cascaded over her, sloughing off what felt like a thin layer of slimy residue and seeping blessed warmth into her tight muscles. She stood motionless for a long moment, simply reveling in the sensation, then blinked open her eyes and got to work on her hair. He'd only given her a bottle of shower gel, but she couldn't fault him for it, nor did she have any particular care to be picky at the moment. Dry and frizzy hair would be sufferable, so long as she didn't smell like a pond afterward. The deep, woody scent of sandalwood, with its added hint of citrusy zest, was far preferable.

As she soaped up, her thoughts wandered. Quickly, she forced them to skip over the looming considerations of nearly dying, and focused instead on the memories of his she'd glimpsed. And of that peculiar sensation of a snapping thread and the still-present perception of it in the back of her mind. It was like a faint void she couldn't quite describe or identify. Maybe she'd gone without oxygen for a moment too long and a piece of her brain had died — she only hoped it wasn't an important piece. Maybe just the part that held useless information, like the names of all the dinosaurs she'd learned in school or how to do the macarena.

Once clean, Tawny wanted nothing more than to stay perfectly still under the hot water for a whole twenty minutes, but made a conscious effort to keep the shower brief; reluctantly turning the dials and blinking wistfully as she watched the last of the water swirl down the drain. She shook herself off, wrung out her hair, then stepped out and pulled the oversized, fluffy towel from its place on the heating rack. Now that was something she'd never seen before, and she chuckled as she thought back to the many wintery mornings when her father would toss her school clothes in the dryer as she showered, so she could revel in the few moments of blessed coziness before she had to step out into the blistering cold to catch the bus. The warmth would only be fleeting and she often complained it made the cold feel even colder, but the thought of her father's gentle eyes and patient smile as he watched her venture down the treacherous, icy driveway only made her smile pensively now.

Wrapping the towel around herself, Tawny stepped to the counter where he'd deposited the rest of her borrowed items. She fingered through them absently, before lifting the shirt to bury her face in, pleased to find it smelled only of detergent (and perhaps a hint of vestigial cologne). Not something he'd simply plucked from his bedroom floor, where it'd been discarded carelessly after a long, laborious workout, which... she wouldn't put past any man she knew. More than satisfied, she pulled the clothes on with little ceremony; choosing not to redon her own soaked undergarments. Doing so would only make her feel icky again and the only nice thing about being as slender-chested as she was, was that she could get away with walking around braless. Not that you'd be able to notice much anyway, beneath both the shirt and hoody that were a couple of sizes too big for her. She used the drawstring to pull the waist of the sweatpants as tight as they could possibly go and knotted them so they hung snugly from her thin hips. Of course, the pants ballooned absolutely everywhere else and bunched up around her calves. She propped herself on the edge of the sink and began to roll them up to something a little more manageable, taking the opportunity to study her injured ankle as she did so. Some skin had been scraped away to leave an angry red abrasion, but it didn't feel sprained.

She turned to once again study herself in the mirror, wiping away the fogging from her hot shower with one of the hoody sleeves. She scrunched her hair in the towel to half-heartedly dry it. He hadn't supplied her with a brush, nor did she honestly expect him to, so she ran her fingers through the damp locks as best she could before tucking them behind her ears. She grimaced at her reflection then shook her hair — already adopting a loose curl — back over them. Hiding her ears helped with the drowned mouse resemblance just a little.

As satisfied as she could be, Tawny folded the towel and placed it neatly atop the counter, then opened the door and stepped tentatively out. She noticed he'd hung a bag on the outside door handle and she turned back to carefully fold and bundle up her still wet (but now warmed) clothes. Stepping back into the hall, she listened for a moment, trying to discern if he'd already finished his own shower and was downstairs as he implied he would be. She moved down the hall slowly, taking her time to study whatever pictures or decorations adorned the walls and resisting the nosy urge to glimpse into the master bedroom as she turned to go down the stairs.

Now her imagination was confused and conflicted — she couldn't quite decide if her circumstance was straight out of a slasher film or the overused plot of some typical, run-of-the-mill romance novel. She half-expected to walk downstairs and find him rolling out thick sheets of plastic to butcher her over, or draped in front of a now-roaring fireplace with two glasses of wine between his fingers. Either scenario was laughable — one obviously more severe than the other, though which one depended entirely on her mood — and the imaginings brought a tiny, darkly-amused grin to Tawny's face. As she reached the bottom of the steps, she was happy to find him neither alarmingly aproned nor seductively robed; simply clean and in fresh, dry clothes.

She offered him an exaggerated moan of relief, shoulders sagging and head thrown back to illustrate what relaxing miracles the shower had worked; how it had completely melted the tension from her cold, stiff muscles. She felt like she could collapse into a puddle of nothing at any moment without the stress holding her together. "That. Was divine. Thank you. I feel like you've saved my life twice over now. And the sweatpants," she lifted her head to look at him appreciatively, also lifting a hand to make a circle with her index finger and thumb, "As fine and too-long as promised. I can appreciate a man of his word. Can't wait to throw myself into bed and sleep for a year."

It was a shame her bed felt a million miles away, and what separated her from it was going to be a long, arduous ordeal. There was still the matter of getting her car home, after somehow procuring a spare key — did the friend that she bought it from happen to have one? Probably not. Plus Tawny hadn't spoken to them in years. It would likely be easier to hire a locksmith to make her a new one, if it was possible. She would have to have to get in contact with her landlord, who was never a pleasant man and would certainly demand a grand spectacle of begging for forgiveness before he would overcharge her for a new set of apartment keys. The key fob for her work building would have to be replaced. And there was the whole other beast that would be replacing her phone. Ugh. Tawny pushed the overwhelming prospect of damage control from her mind.

"Thanks for the bag." She lifted her sack of soaked clothes, before moving through the room to place them on the floor next to the sliding glass door, nudging them with a toe against the wall so they were as out of the way as possible. The place was so tidy that it made her self-conscious of.... everything about herself. She could feel a bit of awkwardness flutter in her chest as she grew increasingly aware of how misplaced she was — in someone else's house, wearing someone else's clothes, without her phone, her keys, and no idea what to do about it all now.

"I'll be sure to return your clothes to you. Gotta keep stocked for the next couple of drowned ladies. Can't let us all run off with the best of the best, else what will the poor evening rescues wear?" She turned back to him with a hint of mischief flitting across her features as she smirked. "Unless that's precisely the point of some devious ploy." She stood straight once more, balling her hands into fists and planting them on her hips. "Well, I'm at your mercy now. Shall I mop up the mess I made?" Her gaze followed the trail of drips that led from the sliding glass doors. "Borrow your phone and ring a cab? Give you that high-five you've been so sorely denied, slip out the door, and start walking?"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Without consideration for the dry clothes already inside, Noah’s lake-saturated belongings were flung straight into the laundry basket. The first spray of the shower made him shudder, but a second later he closed his eyes, standing right under the warm and steady stream with a blissed out groan.

As good as it felt, he was too conscious of the other presence in the house to stay like that for long. He showered quickly and dried himself even more so, using his fingers to comb his hair into its usual style albeit without gel. He donned his only other pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, feeling heated enough by the shower to forgo any extra layers, then made his way downstairs where he made a beeline for his phone, still on the coffee table. No new messages. What did he expect? He shoved it in his pocket just as Tawny reappeared.

Noah’s first, instinctual feeling was satisfaction. It was always nice to see a pretty woman wearing his clothes, it just was. Never failed to brighten his day. She was practically swimming in his hoodie, the sleeves long enough to completely hide her hands, and the sweatpant cuffs were as rolled as he’d predicted they'd be. Overall she looked very huggable, and had they known each other for more than a day he might have tested that theory. Her sleeping comment was met with a hum of agreement, and if his smile turned a little smug and his eyes lidded like a cat bathing in sunlight, could she really blame him?

Tearing his gaze away, Noah moved to the kitchen and prepared the coffee machine for action. As it brewed he turned back to face her and leaned his elbows on the marble top kitchen island, resting his chin on his fists. “The truly devious ploy would be to withhold clothes from the daylight rescues as well,” he pointed out. “Though I’m shocked and appalled that you’d accuse your saviour of such a thing.”

Straightening up again to pull his phone from his pocket, he waved off her offer to clean. “I’ll mop later.” It wasn't like he had anything else to do.

Though it was a shame she’d lost her own phone (he would have taken some selfies and set them as her home screen), he had no issue with lending her his. He suspected she might have to wait a while for a ride. West Hook wasn’t like Downtown or The Heights, rife with public transport and cabbies lining the roads. The fastest, most gentlemanly thing to do would probably be to drive her home himself. But if he were being honest, he simply couldn’t be bothered.

After tapping in his passcode he slid the unlocked phone across the island to her. It lacked personality; an iPhone that was a few generations old, black case, default wallpaper, not even a crack on the screen to raise questions. He wasn’t worried about her finding anything interesting on there. He wasn’t a social media guy, he deleted any messages that came from Blackstorm, and his contact list was full of nicknames rather than anyone’s legal moniker – many referencing fictional superheroes they shared powers with. “Here, you can get an Uber or there’s a cab company in my contacts. I can pay for it.” He assumed she wouldn’t have money or bank cards on her.

While she sorted out a ride home, he grabbed a pen and sticky note from his misc. kitchen drawer. He wrote his name (and obviously he was obligated to doodle little hearts around it), followed by his address and phone number. The address felt necessary, as his house could be a bit hard to find without a Sat Nav and he did want his clothes back eventually, but the phone number was just for fun. He slapped it down in front of her and gave her a thumbs up.

“I wish I had hot chocolate,” he mused, shooting her an appraising glance as he pulled two mugs from a cupboard. “You look like someone who’d like that. Unfortunately there’s only coffee. How’d you take it? Or – I guess you can have water?”

He made the drinks, adding a spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk to his coffee mug. Now felt like a good time to bring up the gift thing, as pretty soon she would be out the door and he would lose the opportunity completely. As fun as it might be to shout ‘surprise! I have your gift now’ and throw up some jazz hands, he figured some restraint wouldn’t be amiss, especially as the friendly route seemed to be going well (at least, she hadn’t bolted from his house the moment she was out of his sight). He decided to try the apologetic angle, pretending he couldn’t have returned the gift almost immediately after he'd acquired it.

“So…” he began, dragging out the word. His fingers tapped his mug, feigning anxiety, but his eyes still sought out hers. “I know it’s already been a stressful day, but for the sake of transparency, you should know that I know that you’re gifted.” He’d spoken slowly, but as he continued he picked up speed. “And I know that because my gift is to borrow the gifts of others – don’t worry, it’s temporary. But, uh, I will need you to tell me what it is so I don’t use it by accident. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with me not remembering rescuing you – which really put a damper on the Baywatch thing, by the way – but why would you make me forget that? Then pretend like you didn’t?” A new possibility occurred to him. He pulled back slightly, eyes widening. “Wait, do you not know what you can do?”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

She followed him to the kitchen with a happy smile, pleased that he continued to make the whole situation as effortlessly comfortable as possible. To keep the awkwardness always threatening to smuggle its way into her chest at bay. She was even further pleased by the sound of coffee being brewed. Hot chocolate did, indeed, sound rather amazing — was she that predictable? Or was he just that astute? "Make it whatever way you make yours," she answered in response to how she wanted her coffee, not particularly picky on the matter, though she would certainly have to grin and bear it if he took his black.

When he slid the unlocked phone across the kitchen island between them, she bent over it. She didn't want to snatch it up and hold it to her face, but preferred that he could see whatever she did as she did it. It wasn't like she would snoop through it, and he didn't seem particularly concerned about that possibility anyway, but she thought it would be best to be monitorable regardless. The phone's contents and list of apps looked positively bland and unexciting anyway. Which was curious, since Noah seemed far from boring himself. Maybe it was a work phone.

"And I'll pay you back, of course," she promised, as she navigated to the Uber app, tapped in her address, and began scrolling through the options that presented themselves. The estimated time of arrivals were all much later than she'd thought. Her gaze was pulled sidelong at the sticky note slapped beside her, and she grinned with a small, amused shake of her head at the decorative doodles. "I'll be sure to add some heart emojis when I enter Hasselhoff to my contact list, don't you worry."

She dipped her head appreciatively as the mug of coffee was pushed across the island toward her. After cooling it with a few blows, she lifted the cup to her lips, relishing the steam and warmth that emanated from it. She gazed at him curiously as he began to speak, dragging out the first syllable and tapping at his mug anxiously, as if broaching an uncertain topic. What was he going to propose now? Mario Kart? A future date? She stared at him expectantly, still coolly amused, and prepared to waggle her brow at whatever suggestion he was forming.

Tawny promptly choked on her initial sip of coffee as Noah continued.

She wasn't expecting that.

The coffee slipped down the wrong pipe, causing her to sputter and snort as it trickled out her nose and down her — or rather his — fresh, clean shirt. She felt like she was drowning again and it was only after an agonizing moment of hacking and dribbling that she was able to open her teary eyes wide and fix him with a surprised look. He met it calmly, and she fought to hold his gaze for a long, searching moment, before letting her own fall back to the marble countertop.

"Wow! Uh," she cleared her throat, cocking her head to the side as she used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the sweet spittle from her mouth and chin, trying to collect her thoughts as she swiped at the kitchen island as well as the sides and bottom of her coffee mug. "Hmmm." Her brow knit with uncertainty as she thought the situation through, carefully avoiding the gaze she could still feel seeking her own, as she focused instead on cleaning up her mess.

It wasn't like she was unaccustomed to meeting other gifted individuals. Plenty of her coworkers in the Sector had talents and she'd made it part of her work to remedy problems caused by gifted all over the West Coast. But she wasn't used to her own gift being exposed. In fact, the whole point of her position within the organization was to utilize her gift in a way that was undetectable. Subtle machinations to reshape and rewrite memories without the other person being aware of it. She never discussed her abilities with anyone besides those superiors who assigned her tasks.

Was that the culprit behind that faint sensation in the back of her skull — him "borrowing" her gift? The snapping thread at the lake, that wasn't her pulling herself from her spiral, but him pulling the power from her? If it was temporary, did she really have to tell him anything? She supposed she owed him at least that much, considering she apparently had taken a chunk of his recollection with her as she reeled. Even as Tawny mulled over her own questions, she couldn't help but note how the stolen memory hadn't fazed him, at least not visibly. He'd played it so cool — hadn't let on that he was confused or alarmed by the sudden inability to recall what he'd just done. Did this kind of thing happen to him often? Or were his nerves just steel?

With a long, decided exhale, Tawny raised her gaze to fix once more upon Noah's face, blue depths searching the planes and shadows there. He hadn't really given her much reason to not trust him. She didn't think he would blackmail or stone her to death, especially since he himself was gifted, as he'd willingly shared with her. And, if he truly did possess her power, which she didn't doubt, then it was, as he said, probably best for him to know what it was.

"Alright. I can... see someone's memories. Through touch." Her fingers tapped at the island's countertop as she spoke slowly, pondering just how much she should divulge. How much he cared to know. Perhaps she'd omit the fact that she could manipulate memories, at the very least. It had taken her many years to be able to do so in any remotely effective capacity and, while she wasn't truly aware how his gift worked, she doubted he would be skilled enough to do the same so quickly. She wouldn't want to encourage him to try it out in any case. "Glimpse their past through their own eyes. Even those things they hide from themselves. And I can, as you experienced yourself, erase memories."

She shook her head with a sudden chuckle as she recalled his widening gaze as he considered the horrifying possibility that she was unaware of what she did. "Don't worry, I know I have that ability."

"But it, all of it, is a bit," she frowned, searching for the word to describe how inconvenient and unintentional the gift could be. "Unwieldy?" That didn't seem exactly right and made her frown. How to describe to him how unwarranted some interactions were? How each brush against some random stranger in public places could conjure images and scenes she didn't wish to see. How she'd spent most of her life avoiding as much touch as possible, not knowing what they'd bring to life behind her eyes. How she'd erased decades of her father's memories in the space of a second with no intention to. "It takes a real... conscious... effort to keep it under control. Took years and years to be able to touch someone and not see. Sometimes even now, even when I'm being super careful, I can't always block it out."

"Which, obviously.... earlier, at the lake... I wasn't really in any headspace to stop it when you touched me. I wasn't thinking at all. And I didn't mean to erase anything. We're honestly pretty lucky you only lost those few minutes. I could have really, totally accidentally, fucked you up." She let a grimacing smile pull at her lips, crinkling her face as she shrugged her shoulders close to her neck. The look was mockingly sheepish and apologetic, and while she was being somewhat genuine about it, the whole gesture was meant to be waggish. As if it was something they could laugh at now, despite the implications. Despite the fact she may have left him a vegetable had he not taken her gift when he did. "I'm sorry? You seemed fine, I really didn't think I'd taken anything."

She straightened, shaking off her uncertainty and heaving a winded exhale. It was all out there now, there was no taking it back, and it felt strangely.... not that severe. She hoped. She propped her own elbows on the countertop, slotting her face between her palms and squinting her eyes at him inquisitively. Enough about her now. She'd surely given him more than he'd asked for. Certainly more than she'd expected to. "So you have my gift right now? When you say 'borrow', you don't mean copy, you mean steal? I'm currently without it?" She imagined so, since that void-like sensation was still faintly present in her head. She resisted the curious impulse to reach across the kitchen island and lay a hand upon his forearm; to see if she could catch a glimpse into his mind, if she tried. But she still didn't know whether or not he could use the gift at his own discretion and didn't want to touch him in case it would cause her own memories to blossom beneath unprepared probing. "Can you... choose not to use it? Like... is it dormant? Activated at will? If I were to touch you, would you be able to stop it from happening, or are you kind of at its mercy like I usually am?"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Tawny choked on her coffee, spilling it over herself and spraying the counter as she spluttered. Noah’s only response was to blink. Had he not been preparing for a sudden reaction (as gifted individuals often felt strongly when he called them out), her power might’ve slipped out of his hands; surprise had an annoying habit of doing that to him. He wordlessly reached for some paper towels, still watching her, but she was already wiping up the coffee with the sleeve of his hoodie. He fought off a chuckle and passed some over to her anyway. Perhaps she could dab at her (his) clothes.

And then she told him what she could do.

Part of him had hoped, naively, that she could only remove the most recent minutes of a person’s recollection. The prospect that she could see every single memory and delete whichever ones she desired made his grip tighten on his mug. She was really quite powerful. A clear threat to him, even if she appeared friendly. The small blip he experienced was disturbing but ultimately he was able to keep his cool because it was so clear what he’d done in that forgotten time. His brow furrowed and his eyes dropped down into his drink. What if he’d lost hours? Days? Everything? What type of person would be left – if it could be called a person at all?

“That… would’ve sucked,” he decided. Understatement of the century. And what would she have done in that scenario? She would have been reeling from the near-death experience, soaking wet and freezing cold, suddenly responsible for an empty husk of a person with nowhere to go, no car keys. Noah’s phone might’ve been their only hope, though the lack of signal would’ve created issues. He ran his hand through his hair, looking back up at her again with a considering expression, uncharacteristically serious. At times like this he was fiercely thankful for his gift, even with all the trouble it got him into.

Still, it was easy to think of the advantages of a gift like hers. It could help Blackstorm cover up unfavourable events or, in his hands, it could make recruiting ridiculously easy. Forget background checks and lengthy investigations; he’d only need to touch someone to know whether Blackstorm would be of interest. He’d only need to touch someone to know if they were gifted.

While Tawny's openness about it was gratifying at first, he realised she might only be indulging him because the information wouldn’t be permanently available. Was she planning to make him forget it all as soon as she had her gift back? She didn’t seem particularly focused on his admission that he was gifted so he got the sense that she’d met others before. If she was intent on keeping her identity completely secret, making him forget felt like the obvious path – and of course, he was concerned about what she had seen in his memories before his saving grace had kicked in. Was it something as simple as his morning stroll? Something unethical that could threaten his status as an innocent civilian? Or were the memories older, things that didn’t necessarily paint him as a bad guy but made his insides curl in disgust at the thought of someone knowing... The questions were right on the tip of his tongue, but then she turned the conversation to Noah’s gift.

His growing paranoia nipped at the edges of every thought but he told himself to stay calm. If she had seen something damning she would have confronted him or left already. Surely she wouldn't have gone to his home if she thought he was dangerous. He smiled. “Yep. You could touch whoever you want right now and not see a thing.” He sipped his drink, forcing himself to shift back into ‘friendly, care-free Noah’ before ‘pensive, alarming Noah’ could truly set in. He quirked a brow at her. “Maybe you could hire me for special occasions. Y’know, drop off your gift at Hoff’s day-care so you can party without fear.” Although, she’d have to nosy through his head again. That was doomed to be awkward even if he was prepared, ready to snatch it away as soon as she touched him. Who knows what she would glimpse? Neither did he love the idea of revealing how relatively little time he could borrow a gift before needing it to be used on him again.

He met her inquisitive eyes with a head tilt, sharing her curiosity. “Usually I’d say yes, but honestly I don’t know. I guess you could say my gift is… disarming people. If they’re shooting at me, I can take their gun away and I don’t need to shoot back. But if yours is an automatic that’s continuously firing then, yeah, at its mercy sounds about right. We won’t know for sure unless I try it but – I don’t want to turn you into a blank slate.” There was a familiar ripple of excitement in his skin, like goosebumps, at the idea of using her gift for himself. Seeing events through her eyes, seeing things he wasn't even present for... But losing control was a possibility that refused to be ignored. How would he explain that to the world? Even if he blamed her amnesia on water damage, such a story would make the news and potentially be disproved by brain scans. Then he'd bet the Sector would start sniffing around. Not ideal for a guy who was doing his best to stay lowkey.

“How do you stop it? Do you forcefully think ‘don’t use it’ or is it a feeling you repress?” If he knew the theory, perhaps that would give him something to fall back on if his 'automatic' hypothesis was correct.

Memory was one of the modules he’d taken for his degree. At the time, he’d chosen it hoping to learn some easy recall tips that could help him ace his exams. Now, it was giving him some ideas on how to further dissect Tawny’s gift. “Is it only episodic memory you can delete? What about semantic and procedural – general knowledge, names of colours, how to ride a bike?” He entwined fingers and tapped his thumbs together. He supposed that if her gift was all about memory, that pressure in his head was directly on his temporal lobe. How weird – that he could feel a specific part of his brain and name it. “Can you see dreams? Imaginings?” If so, how could she tell them apart from what was real? He was hoping to find a loophole, something to blame his less saintly memories on if she ever stumbled across them. He'd need it if he ever wanted to borrow her gift again without incriminating himself.

“Damn, I really want to try it.” Noah pouted, leaning back from the island for a moment with a sigh. His expression was almost comically sullen as he looked out the nearest window, like a teenager being forced to a family gathering when they'd planned to go out with friends. “Would it be cruel to sprint to my neighbour’s house and test it on him?" Despite the lightness of his tone, he was only half-joking.


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Noah listened intently to her explanation, serious and contemplative in a way that Tawny hadn't yet witnessed in their brief encounter. His first response was almost gravely considering, and a piece of her wanted to withdraw a bit at the quiet conclusion. She'd wondered what hid beneath the teasing banter and quips, but now that they'd moved on to something more substantial, she wanted to snatch the levity back. To sweep the real stuff under the rug and pretend it wasn't there.

She'd never shared this information with anyone close to her before. Even if she did, and they were to take it well initially, discomfort and unease would be an unavoidable eventuality. They'd grow to realize their private lives and all the things they wouldn't ever share with her voluntarily, could at any point open up to her like a picture book. Made instantly accessible by something as innocuous as a brush of her fingers. Even if she had no inclination to snoop or pry, and assured them of that as many times as she could, Tawny knew there would come an inevitable disintegration. A mistrust. An alienation.

And she couldn't fault anyone for it, really. In fact, she could very nearly feel that unease now, knowing the power was in his fingertips rather than hers. At any point, he could reach across the kitchen island and tap her cheek or prod her hand, and her mind would open up willingly beneath the touch. Yet, Tawny found it strangely less unsettling than she expected. Perhaps it was the restraint he'd shown so far, his dutiful inquiring, or just the simple fact that she hadn't felt the need to squirm uncomfortably in his company before.

She glanced back down at the open phone, forgotten on the counter before her, studying once more the selection of Uber rides that she hadn't yet confirmed. Noah couldn't necessarily be considered a friend, but she still felt a creeping remorse at the non-normalcy now yawning between them. Could they have been friends? It almost didn't seem possible now. At the very best she would become an executive intrigue, defined by her gift and what usefulness could be siphoned from it. The thought reminded her, with a bit of dark amusement, of her job interview for the Sector.

But with his next words, his chirpy conviviality was back in place. Tawny lifted her face to embrace it half-heartedly, unable to leave the contemplations completely behind. At the joking suggestion of leaving her gift with him so she could enjoy nights out without its distraction, a faint smile pulled across her face, looking more the imitation of a smile than a genuine grin. It would certainly be convenient, in intimate moments or situations of unavoidable proximity, to not have to keep her guard up. But what would he do with her power in the meantime? It didn't seem responsible to just dump the weight of it on someone else. Especially when Noah didn't yet know what it was like. But he asked her how she controlled it and Tawny wondered just how practiced he was at borrowing the gifts of others. How quickly and easily he could wield them and do so skillfully. He was certainly curious about it and his curiosity was admittedly infectious.

"Hmm. A bit of both I guess? It's like... having to instinctively shut a door whenever I touch someone or vice-versa. Sometimes the memories push at the door with more force than I anticipated or I don't get it closed in time. Then it just becomes a matter of shoving them back out until I can." It felt as good of an analogy as could possibly be managed. "Sometimes one comes walking in and I can politely point them back out. Other times a whole lot of them barge in, blow the door wide open, and trample me to the floor."

She watched him as she spoke, curious when he would ask her what had come through the door when he touched her. What of his own memory she'd intruded upon. He would ask, she was sure of it. Who wouldn't ask, if they knew? But the fact that he hadn't appeared outwardly nervous or aggressively defensive at the admission of her gift at all — as if there was nothing that she could have seen that would have worried him — put her at ease. Truthfully, she hadn't glimpsed much, and a lot of it could have been drawn from what little she knew about him — he had been a child once with a strained parent or guardian. All parents were tired. He'd been a rough, possibly unliked, kid. Everyone went through that at some point. He'd studied. That was already made obvious by his admitted occupation and the books upon his shelves. He was popular in nightclubs. That was the least surprising of all.

The questions continued, the inevitable one surely pinned for later, and Tawny pursed her lips, pulling them to one side of her face as she mulled them over. "Well, it's not as if I'm terribly well-practiced at wiping minds. I don't go around snatching memories on whimsy." At least not intentionally. The whole process was more often than not terrifying. Even the thought of it now made her palms prickle. It was always better — simpler and with less chance of horrifying consequence — to manipulate an inconvenient or damaging memory into something a bit more palatable. To deconstruct or generalize details rather than completely erase them. It was usually easier on the other person, as well.

"Do you remember being taught to ride a bike? Who taught you, what the weather was like, how you felt, how they looked at you, blah blah blah. I suppose I could go back and erase that, but to what use? You've ridden bikes countless other days in your life after that. I'm sure you'd still be able to, you just wouldn't be able to recall being taught to. If you can even recall it now. You've known the sky is blue your whole life, I don't think I can go back and have some kindergarten teacher twenty years ago say it was red and make that a fact to you." Tawny realized as the last word slipped between her lips that she'd referenced actually manipulating the memories rather than erasing them, but she inwardly shrugged. There wasn't much of a point in withholding anything now, especially when the power was in his own hands.

"Dreams are voids. Sure, imaginings may feel real in your head, but you don't actually see them through your eyes. The memories I see... it's as if... I'm experiencing them just as they did. Or, well, for the most part," her brow knit again, head tilting ever so slightly, as she struggled to find the words to describe her peculiar experiences. "I can see, hear, and even smell just as they did. But I don't feel pain or emotion." It was always a matter of observation to decipher how someone felt in the moment. How they reacted, where they looked, where their gaze lingered and for how long. It took a fair amount of assumption, of puzzling the pieces together, and it was part of the reason Tawny had gone into the profession she did. Even when someone seemed to remember something in a different way than she'd seen, the memories seemed to be more concrete. More dependable. Perception unaltered by emotion or bias.

Noah leaned back and expressed his desire to try her gift for himself, falling into a laughable imitation of denied eagerness. Tawny grinned despite herself. The words should have made her uneasy. Made her panic and implore him not to, to reiterate the consequences and question his control. But she suspected he wouldn't actually do it — he was a legal consultant after all and nothing about him, thus far, struck her as reckless. So any concerns she had were only muted by amusement.

"I guess that all depends on how well you like your neighbor," she replied with a dry scoff. "You could leave him a poor puddle of drool. Or... on the other hand, be suddenly and unwillingly privy to his more... unsavory... sexual habits that you'd never expect." She shrugged, a wry smirk pulling across her face. The words were obviously spoken from experience. She'd seen a number of things about unassuming people that she wish she hadn't. "Unfortunately you wouldn't be able to erase anything from your own memory, so let that be a cautionary tale. I suppose I could do it for you, but then I wouldn't be able to unsee it. Cue us playing a dangerous game of hot potato with unwanted neighbor nudes."

Noah St Cloud