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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:279 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Jul 30, 2022 15:18:36 GMT -5
Noah spoke the first thought that came to mind. “That must suck when you’re trying to make out with someone.” Or when she was indulging in any other adult activity, for that matter. Could she really immerse herself if she was busy avoiding her partner’s entire life history? He winced. “Sorry.” She was probably extremely aware of that inconvenience and didn't need him to point it out. Her gift was powerful and he would be thrilled to take advantage of in short bursts, but it was becoming increasingly obvious how undesirable it would be to have it all the time. However, he was gaining confidence that he could control it. Maybe not the whole ‘don’t delete memories while you're sifting through them’ thing, but if he could focus on keeping gifts in his arsenal while walking around and behaving like normal, it shouldn’t be too difficult to hold the metaphorical door closed on hers while it was at his disposal. They were sort of similar, both mental things that required 'keeping' albeit in different ways, and the information she’d given him was certainly more advice than he usually got when borrowing powers. The gifted he stole from usually didn’t want to sit down and detail how theirs worked. He took a long drink from his coffee, finishing it off. It was very reassuring to hear memory deletion wasn’t a hobby of hers. Either she was one of the best actors of their time or she was telling the truth, and Noah chose to believe the latter. And yet, while she explained that her power only affected episodic memory, she brought up the hypothetical of changing the words of a teacher. Something about the way she said it… Could she do that? Alter memories? That was freaky to think about, and it prompted a whole new horde of questions which he stowed away for later. Regardless, his dream excuse was out the window. Daydreams were wiped from the ideas board as well. Aside from deleting his sketchy memories from her head (which was unlikely to go perfectly), gaslighting was pretty much the only thing he had left and he had no illusions that ‘oh, that’s not what really happened, you were looking at the memory wrong’ would work. Noah's stare snapped away from the window, back to Tawny as she pointed out what terrible things he might see if he tested her gift on his neighbour. “Oh my God, why would you make me think about that?” he whispered, eyes wide. “You don’t even –” He shuddered, shaking his head, then leaned forward as he fixed her with his most serious expression, needing her to understand the severity of situation. “Listen, that guy has a handlebar moustache. What kind of a psychopath willingly does that to himself? His memories will not be safe, I’m telling you. Jesus, that’s one way to give me nightmares.” He groaned and bent his head to run his hands through his hair, then linked his fingers behind his neck as he peeked up at her. Didn’t she imply she’d seen that kind of thing a lot? “I can’t imagine what horrors you’ve endured.” Maybe she was the one who needed therapy. He blinked. “Wow, wait – you’re a therapist. That’s genius. But also? Kinda cheating,” he teased. It was easy to imagine how her power would be useful, especially with reticent clients. Uncovering trauma and knowing the best way to help someone would take a lot less guesswork, though she probably had to be careful not to reveal things she wasn’t supposed to know. He smirked. “Damn, it’s a shame ‘Mindhunter’ is already copyrighted. That could’ve been an awesome superhero name for you – have you ever worked with criminals? I don’t suppose their memories would be much fun.”His eyes narrowed. “Although, I wonder…” The distance between them suddenly felt too large. He tapped the countertop with a considering hum, then straightened and slunk around the counter until he was beside her. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna look through your head,” he murmured. He did intend to touch her though – just not in a way that would put her memories at risk. He put one elbow back on the counter and leaned the side of his head onto his fist, taking a moment to simply look at her. His eyes dropped to the soft contour of her mouth, and with his free hand he reached out (careful to avoid bare skin) and brushed her hair back from her shoulder so his gaze could slide down the column of her neck. “Did you see anything you like in mine?” His voice was soft as his knuckles glided along her shoulder and down her arm, safely covered by his hoodie. Although he'd planned to keep a straight face, he couldn't hold back the urge to shoot her a coquettish smile and waggle his eyebrows. “Is that why you were so eager to come here, hm? Maybe I should have helped more with the shower.” His hand had stopped at her wrist, then flipped over to drum his fingers there. Although teasing (and hey, maybe somewhat intrigued to see if she was interested in him like that), he was dancing around the question of what memories she saw. He was starting to think (aside from whether she'd seen him naked or not) that he didn’t want to know. At this point he was almost certain she’d seen nothing damning. If knowing would only make him grumpy, why should he ask? Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Jul 30, 2022 22:50:12 GMT -5
At his comment about her gift being rather bothersome in intimate moments, Tawny rolled her eyes and lifted her mug of coffee back to her lips. As she took another long sip, this time successfully, she only nodded affirmingly. It was indeed difficult to keep her gift under wraps in such situations and sometimes the whole endeavor wasn't worth the strained effort of doing so. Sometimes. And other times it was downright impossible not to catch a glimpse or two. Then it became a whole different matter of returning to present reality and reattuning her focus after catching a glimpse of her partner watching Wayne's World, vacuuming, or popping their pimples in the mirror earlier that morning. Her amusement multiplied at Noah's seeming horror at the prospect of what images and memories his neighbor's head held in store. She gazed at him over her mug, grinning knowingly. Yeah, a handlebar mustache was definitely a red flag. She lowered her cup with another nod as he put together just how well her gift aligned with her profession. Although she hated leaning on her picking through someone's memories and usually only did so as a last resort, she would be lying if she said it wasn't immensely convenient. It not only helped her coerce her patients into slowly revealing the roots of their issues, but it helped her gain perspective and empathy as well. To truly know what they went through rather than to only surmise. It often came down to weighing the benefits to her patient against the guilt she felt for being so invasive. It did sometimes feel as if it cheapened her skills and education as a therapist, but if it helped her help them then it was a win the end, regardless. Before she could translate these thoughts into a response, Noah was moving. He stepped around the kitchen island and closed the distance between them, propping himself upon the counter next to her in such a way that she wouldn't have to stare up at him. While there was no stab of discomfort at the abrupt closeness itself, Tawny couldn't help but stifle a sudden wariness as he looked at her. Had he decided to try out her gift after all? The thought was followed immediately by a brief wash of guilt, as she realized how hypocritical it was for her to feel so suddenly circumspect. This fear, cropping up so unbidden, was one of the precise reasons she would never share the truth of her ability with anyone close to her — without thinking, without even intending to, they would begin to shy away from even an incidental touch. She wasn't really afraid of him, but the fact remained that the gift was untested in his hands. What would he see? What could possibly be lost? Despite the hair-raising quality of those questions, Tawny couldn't help but also acknowledge a stirring of curiosity at the prospect. Even as she wanted to pull instinctively away from his anticipated touch, she knew she wouldn't — a part of her willed him to do it. To open himself up to the slew of images and memories that would pour through. Just to have someone else experience it. To be on the receiving end for once and to know what it felt like, if it felt like anything at all. To see how it affected him, to talk about it, and to see if and how it compared to how she remembered actually living the memories. It was dangerous and foolhardy, but that too was almost exhilarating in a way she hadn't at all expected. Her heart pounded and she blinked at him quickly, surprised more by her own fearful excitement than his sudden approach. As if he had sensed or expected her stifled desire to flinch away, Noah assured her he wasn't intending to probe her mind. Disappointment flitted like a shadow across her face, but as he spoke, his eyes fell to her lips. She felt her pulse inadvertently quicken once more at the cursory study he made there. True to his word, as he reached out to brush the hair from her shoulder, he was careful not to graze her exposed skin; choosing to settle his gaze at the hollow of her throat instead. Tawny made a conscious effort not to swallow, knowing full well that it would become lodged in her throat as a visible gulp. As he then drew his hand down the length of her arm, her mind once more returned to the nightclub; to the predatory eyes upon him and how he met them steadily. Confidently. He was used to attention and likely accustomed to women becoming putty in his hands. Tawny tried to remain objective as she watched his face, reminding herself she wasn't such a silly, fanciful girl that she'd fall prey to a little charm. But she was a little too aware of how alluringly dark his eyes were as they watched her. How they fit nice within the strong features of his handsome face. And how warm her arm felt beneath his tracing touch, drawn with a light restraint that made her repress a shudder. She suddenly wished she were in her own clothes, feeling too abruptly clumsy and loutish in his own, and hoped the warmth didn't seep noticeably into her cheeks. The last thing she needed was a smug remark about making her blush. Though, if she'd learned anything from their brief encounter, she could probably expect it. At his impish smile, Tawny quirked a brow; tugging her mouth into a lopsided smirk and trying her damnedest to appear altogether unaffected. "Oh I see, so now me coming here was some devious ploy of my own, is that it?" She wasn't happy with how meek the words sounded from her lips and put more effort into making her tone stronger and invariable as she continued. "Saw you trying on your Baywatch shorts and thought 'gotta break me off a piece of that'?" "Well," she paused, making an exaggerated show of dragging her own gaze down the length of him, grinning smugly to herself as if ruminating on some secret knowledge she held. Even to her, it felt unpracticed and ineffectual. Unbalanced and disproportionate, as if she were a rabbit eyeing a wolf. Or a rabbit trying to snarl wolfishly. She lifted her eyes finally to his face before giving a small pout. "A lady never tells."Her gaze fell away to study his fingers, tapping away at the cuff of his hoodie upon her wrist. He had such strong, attractive hands, but that observation was made almost secondary as her mind drew back to the unexpected eagerness she'd felt moments before. Her brow knit and her pout smoothed into a thin, contemplative line. "And if I did... want you to touch me?" She lifted her other hand, shaking it free from where it was balled up in the end of his oversized hoodie. She glanced back up at him, lifting her brow questioningly, eyes searching, as she placed her palm over his forearm, letting it hover barely above his skin. "Would you?"Noah St Cloud
LAST EDIT: Jul 30, 2022 22:56:44 GMT -5 by Rinse
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:279 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Jul 31, 2022 7:21:01 GMT -5
Tawny’s initial response to his advances felt somewhat stilted, unpractised in a way that turned his flirtatious smile a little more sincere. Ultimately, she refused to reveal what she saw. No big loss: like the contents of Pandora’s box it was probably better to keep that information under lock and key. “Stingy,” Noah teased, his heavy eyes dropping to her neck again. He wondered how long she’d be able to keep her bravado if he put his mouth there, at her pulse point, and what sounds she might make when she dropped the act. And then, she made these thoughts so much worse by asking what he’d do if she wanted him to touch her. Oh damn. That made his insides heat up, and he had to remind himself of the context behind those words. He exhaled, pulling his head from the gutter so he could consider her proposal with the seriousness it deserved. Wasn’t she scared of what he would see? Wasn’t she scared of forgetting everything? The idea should have been horrifying, but she looked willing and her hand ghosted over his arm to prove it. It made his stomach drop – and not necessarily in a bad way. “Brave girl,” Noah murmured. Dangerous girl. Seriously. Gifts were to him what catnip was to cats, and now she was dangling it in front of him, tempting him to play despite the mess it could make. A wiser man would shut the conversation down, move out of reach to lessen the compulsion. But wise wasn't a word Noah associated with himself. He licked his lips and nodded, excitement quickening the beat of his heart. “I suppose if you asked nicely, I’d have no choice but to touch you.”Yet he needed more information if they wanted to minimise damages; preventing them altogether would be ideal. His outstretched fingers had stopped drumming on her wrist. They curled around it instead, and he absently stroked his thumb over the sleeve’s cuff as he pressed his lips together for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’ve been able to time yourself? Memories per second?” He doubted it. And doubted there was a standard speed for her gift either, remembering what she’d said about the memory door sometimes flinging open and trampling her. “Does it all happen in a blink, imperceptible to others? Or have some people commented on you spacing out while it happened?”“And deletion – what does that feel like? How does it happen? Obviously you didn’t mean to do it to me, but you were decidedly not zen at that time.” He remembered the way Tawny had skittered away from him, back when he’d ‘woken up’ on the shore. His kitchen was a much calmer environment. Keeping his emotions in check should be easy enough if that was an influencing factor. Nevertheless, he figured he should try doing as little as possible; simply allow whatever memories that came through to wash over him rather than attempt holding onto them or searching for others. By Tawny’s own admission, deleting memories wasn’t a common occurrence in her life, so he had to hope it required some amount of conscious thought. He shifted from resting the side of his face on his fist to propping his chin on it. “Okay, I’ll bite. But let’s try not using it first.” He released her wrist and slid his arm back until his hand was palm-up beneath her hovering one. Keep that door closed. A quick glance was sent towards her, then his index finger curled up to tap her palm, just once. There was a flash behind his eyes. An image of himself, sitting there. He wondered if he’d imagined it. Perhaps the anticipation had made him mistake his reflection in her eyes for something more than it was. But there was definitely some kind of current under her skin, a river that wanted to sweep him away. He huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s very… insistent.” It was like being handed the lead of a dog that was rearing to take off; he figured he needed to plant his feet more to stop it from pulling him over, though that was easier said than done. “Okay, for real this time. Are you sure?” he checked, words devoid of all teasing as he gave her a measuring look. “I’ll be very upset if you get all weird on me after this.” His playful houseguest was a lot more fun than a frightened one would be. He loathed the thought of her recoiling, suddenly not recognising him or knowing where she was, him having to explain that he hadn’t kidnapped her and she had actually given him permission to use her gift. Maybe he’d have to restrain her to stop her bolting from the house. Could be fun for a moment, though it would quickly lose its allure if she refused to listen to him. But that was the worst-case scenario. The only other way he could see it going badly was if he stumbled across anything particularly private. Embarrassment was cute and he enjoyed making someone blush, but mortification – the type of embarrassment where a person couldn’t look at him, couldn’t abide standing in the same room as him – provided little pleasure unless he hated that person. And he didn’t hate Tawny. She was actually kind of likable – entertaining, even, which was probably one of the highest compliments Noah could give another person aside from ‘attractive’ and ‘powerful’ which, he accepted, could both be used to describe her as well. Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Jul 31, 2022 18:25:37 GMT -5
Tawny half-expected him to withdraw as she held her hand just above his forearm. To instinctively pull away from the daunting potential the graze of her fingers held, as she'd learned to do most of her life. As she watched him, she wondered if she should retract the suggestion entirely; backpedal and apologize for putting the question to him at all. He had expressed that he wanted to try the gift, but perhaps she shouldn't have encouraged it. She didn't want her own curiosity to push him into doing something he would later wish he hadn't. Noah didn't strike her as someone who allowed himself to be pushed into anything, but still, she didn't want to unwittingly do just that. Just as she was forming the words on her tongue, to assure him it was okay if he didn't want to, he nodded and Tawny could almost sense or imagine a reciprocated excitement. The dip of his head rekindled her enthusiasm and she couldn't help but beam, feeling a strange, apprehensive giddiness unfurl its jittery warmth in her gut. While it was apparent he was willing to give it a try, he hadn't yet experienced it — maybe after one glimpse, or a couple, he would decide that navigating the unwarranted images was something to be avoided. In that case, Tawny would reel herself in, but for now, she let the curiosity dance unbridled across her features. Brave is oft interchangeable with stupid, a voice chirped sardonically in her head, but she greeted his questions with an unchanged expression. He continued to show a collected consideration for caution and his casual inquiry, in turn, continued to soothe any of her concerns. Rather than jumping in recklessly and holding on for dear life, he paused to get a metaphorical rein in hand first. She could respect and appreciate that, especially when it was her mind at stake. "Seeing isn't noticeable as far as I've been able to tell," she answered. "I've never lost chunks of time to it or 'come back' to a concerned someone snapping their fingers in front of my face. Manipulating and erasing is another thing entirely. Erasing feels just like... forcing something smaller and smaller, and then impossibly smaller still, until it's just... gone? It can require some time, depending on how much and the complexity of what I'm attempting to do." On those occasions she'd been tasked with manipulating, deconstructing, or even constructing new memories, she'd found it was always better to take certain precautions. It was inconvenient for her patients to suddenly withdraw their touch in the middle of her efforts and it was far safer to orchestrate those situations in a way where she could control it. She'd even gone so far as to suggest hypnosis before, to keep her patients still and pliant beneath her machinations. "Back when I didn't know why or how I saw the things I saw, I didn't go around accidentally ruining the minds of all the other children on the playground. Erasing has only really only ever happened with some sort of.... intent. And well... at the lake, obviously, but I'm sure this won't be like that. Y'know, zen and all." Her eye drew sidelong, studying the far end of his kitchen for a brief, considering moment, before she glanced back at him and let her excitement wane to an acknowledging grimness. "I... have made mistakes before, but only because I was actively trying to do something." The austerity was fleeting and she offered him a small, encouraging smile to replace it. "Just don't try to wreak havoc and I think we'll both be fine. I believe in you... apparently."He withdrew his fingers from where they lingered on her cuffed wrist and positioned his hand beneath the one she still held slightly aloft. Her lips parted slightly and she took a deep inhale as a chill crept its slow way up her spine. Even as a part of her acknowledged how ridiculous it was to hold such a bated breath over the meagerest of touches, she found herself holding it anyway. When he curled a finger to brush gingerly at her palm, her eyes lifted back to his face. She searched for any inclination that he'd seen anything. A twitch to his brow, a shadow across his eyes, anything at all that could indicate he'd gone somewhere else in the split second he'd touched her. But she saw nothing, nor did she feel anything. She'd always wondered whether or not those touched by her could feel some remnant of her gift working on them, but there was no inexplicable tug at her mind. No sensation of ghostly fingers raking through her psyche. She breathed out shakily, an excited grin pulling across her face, unable to be contained, as he chuckled. Whether or not he'd seen anything, he'd obviously sensed them. She was always aware of their presence on some level; ever conscious of that slight push against her resistance, even when the door was soundly closed. It was almost bizarre, for him to touch her and for her to feel nothing. She was always expecting it and the absence that greeted her was unfamiliar in an almost alarming way. The faint void in the back of her mind, that still-present sensation of snapped thread, felt more apparent than ever, and it nearly made her ache. He looked at her, decidedly serious, and asked whether or not she was ready for the real thing. Whether she was certain she wanted to proceed. Tawny's grin remain fixed on her face, even as she willed herself to match his gravity. "Yes, yes, I'm sure!" She laughed, the chimes tinged with encouraging impatience. Her palm itched with the growing desire to shove aside caution and simply grab him, but she knew better than to force the contact without his preparation. Knew full well how grating it was for the memories to take her by surprise. "I'm not so terribly shy and I don't think I could be convinced that you are either. If you see something a bit..." her face scrunched as she searched for a way to put it eloquently, "Handlebar-mustachey.... it'll be nothing you haven't seen before. Just try not to linger." They were two consenting adults and her life was likely pretty tame in comparison to his. There was nothing terribly explicit that he could see that would shock him. Certainly, there was ample room for embarrassment, but Tawny had sifted through enough memories, purposely and incidentally, to have a fairly good grasp on what might be uncovered. If she could still smile normally at her Starbucks barista after catching a glimpse of his rather colorful nighttime activities, then order her double-shot expresso as if none the wiser, she imagined Noah could as well. She could handle a bit of tease in any case, as she hoped she'd proven. Hopefully, he wouldn't see something too horrifying. But if he recoiled from her in disgust and demanded she leave, it was a simple matter of ordering an Uber and never talking to him again. Their paths would likely never cross if they didn't seek one another out. The thought tugged a thread of doubt through Tawny's chest just as it encouraged her. She would be a bit disappointed if this... whatever it could be called... ended abruptly. Noah had been pleasant and intriguing company so far. But it wouldn't be the first or last time a potential friendship ended up on the cutting room floor. Someone, a very sweet and sensitive boy who wanted nothing more than to treat her well for the rest of his life, had told her — after she admitted to him she felt things had gone a bit too far, had become too serious for her tastes, it was her, not him, and that he was going to make someone so happy one day — that she was very good at treating people like accessories. To be tried on and taken off. Thrown in the drawer and forgotten, until one day she thought of how nice it had looked on her neck and went digging for it. That comment had been barbed by sadness, by betrayal, and yet Tawny had felt more relief than guilt when he'd finally turned from her. Even if it did end abruptly and ugly... she would be okay. So she disregarded that small feeling and let her grin tuck inward at one corner, her eyes bright as she waggled her fingers above his palm with anticipation. "Unless you want to," she shrugged, one eye closing in a quick wink. "I won't know if you do or don't. But wouldn't that take a little bit of fun out of the teasing? Making new memories would be so much more interesting, after all."She forced her crooked smile into a serious line, though the shine didn't quite leave her eyes. "I won't be weird," she lifted her other hand and held out her pinky, just as he'd done to her when leading her through the woods. "Promise.""I'm assuming this isn't the first borrowed gift you've taken for a spin, and I don't know how fast you pick up on these things. But if it helps at all, I would say it's much like a book being opened to a random page at first. Then another random page. And then another. With a bit of practice, you start to get a feel for the pacing of the story. Where the approximate chapters are, if that makes sense. How far back or forward you need to flip to get to that page you're looking for. And how to keep them from turning long enough to read." He wasn't looking for anything specific like she oft was, but she felt the words might still prove helpful if the memories took him somewhere he didn't particularly want to be. At the same time, it also felt a bit demeaning, to reduce someone's lifetime to pages to be rifled through, but she steeled herself from an inward wince. Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:279 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 1, 2022 9:58:17 GMT -5
Noah listened to her explanations carefully, almost hungrily. Again, he marvelled at how much easier life would be if other gifted were as accommodating as Tawny. He wished he’d recorded their conversation, something to dissect later and perhaps figure out how to maximise control in the event of borrowing her gift again. Maybe he should start keeping files on other gifted. Look for patterns in his use of their powers... She was encouraging and surprisingly more visibly eager than he was, her blue eyes sparkling like she’d won an all-inclusive holiday. It was easy to get swept up in her excitement, despite constant internal reminders not to get too cocky. He set some rules for himself: don’t fight the gift, let the gift do what it wanted, don’t think about shrinking anything out of existence. He hummed, nodding enthusiastically. “Like a book, no intent, won’t be weird. Got it.” He was going to be so pissed at the both of them if their experiment went wrong. He shot her a wink. “See you on the flip side.” Then his hand lifted and held onto hers. He was met with a cheesy love song and the slow, gentle strokes of a paintbrush. Unfinished canvases were propped against the wall of a somewhat chaotic apartment, numerous enough and overlapped in a way that suggested abandonment was a common practice of hers. Short grey hairs stuck to her sleeves. The culprit, a tabby, snoozed on the table. Its twitching tail threatened to knock over a paint pot, so she reached out and moved it to safety rather than disturb the cat’s slumber. The gift tugged at him, like a current floating him downriver, and he let it. She was suddenly much closer to the ground, clinging onto the leg of a man. There was gentle coaxing with a smile, but Noah recognised pleading in his eyes, desperation under the patience. She shook her head so frantically that her vision blurred. Then the man was sat opposite her, now wearing a suit and bowing his head, hiding his face as she tucked into a table full of sympathy casseroles. A bed. Sunlight poured in from windows at sunrise and dragged across the room until sunset. She did nothing, nestled in her duvet. Her phone was alive throughout the day, ringing, ringing, ringing, but she didn’t pick up, didn’t check to see who wanted her. She simply waited until the screen turned dark again, then rolled to face the other way. A neat desk. Clean room with comfortable warmth, enough to relax but not to make drowsy. Skimming through written notes, patient profiles she put together herself, then across printed words. Instructions to alter, to make forget – what? Why? Who was telling her to do that? Despite the rules he set himself, Noah tried to dig his heels in. He wanted to read more but the gift wanted to move to the next memory, pulling his sleeve like an insistent child even when he told it to shut up. There was a watermark at the top of the page, in her periphery. Its shape was vaguely recognisable. If she would just flit her eyes over it so he could know for certain – Small again. She held her breath as she tiptoed past the room with constant whirring and beeping. She glimpsed the withered creature inside it. Took off running. But the man was there to pick her up, read to her, cheer her on, hold her hand, make her laugh, serve soup with her. Safety. And he was always there – no matter what happened, he would always be there. He was propped up in a hospital bed, eyes void of recognition. His confusion turned to fear, asking for help, asking where he was, asking what was happening. Choking sobs wracked her whole body. Vision blurred away to nothing. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Avoiding, all the time. Always layers of clothes that covered up, always shifting backwards, always unanswered notifications on her phone. But people liked her. She was friendly and accepting so they tried. Playful ‘where have you been’s and interest eventually lessened, conversations became more polite as she stretched the distance between them. She watched hopeful gazes darken with disappointment. Other times, expectant stares became angry as she pulled away. Noah pulled away too. Back in his kitchen, he whistled lowly. His eyes felt wide and his lips had parted slightly, so he closed them both, schooling his expression into something more contemplative. There was a lot more to see, he was sure of it, but there was already much to unpack – and not just about Tawny. He’d never really considered other people… as people. He knew everyone was unique, driven by differing motivations (part of his job was uncovering what each potential recruit would find desirable about Blackstorm), but it was freaky to think that Tawny had a whole life, as vivid and multifaceted as his own, filled with individuals he would never meet. He gave another quiet laugh to hide his discomfort. It was probably better to tuck those thoughts away. Let them rot in the dark before they could be applied to anyone else he knew, past or present. He was still holding onto Tawny’s hand, the current imploring him to dive back in, and it was with smug satisfaction that he refused it. He couldn’t control the complexities, couldn’t decide the duration or order or theme of the memories it had showed him, but containing power was his thing. He gave her hand a little shake and waggled his brows at her, eager to show off. To his immense relief, Tawny herself seemed fine. She wasn’t slapping him away or asking who he was at least. “Wow,” was his conclusion. Then he sighed, because being annoying was in his blood. “I can’t believe it…” He straightened up, and moved the hand his chin was resting on to wipe away an imaginary tear. “You’re so short. The world is such a big and scary place from your point of view.” Not his cleverest joke, but he needed his levity back. He snickered, giving her hand a final squeeze before releasing it. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re dying to know how I did.” He moved to collect their empty coffee mugs. “ Mainly, it made me want a casserole. So that’s dinner planned.” Weaving around the kitchen island, he pulled the handle to the dishwasher in the corner of the kitchen. He opened it just enough to tuck the mugs in the top, then closed it again with his hip. He spun back to face her, hands waving around as he spoke. “It was like watching one of those art films, y’know? Like the director had a general plot in mind but wanted it to be subjective, so all the scenes are shuffled and afterwards you come out of the theatre and say, ‘wow, so much happened in that film, I can’t believe it was only one hour.’ Not because the movie felt long or boring at any point, just – in hindsight there was a lot going on. A lot to process.” He hadn't even begun to pick it apart. Barely knew where to start. He glanced through to his living room, at his couches, then back at Tawny, raising an inquiring eyebrow. Regardless of what she wanted to do, he felt like sitting down. It had been a long day of rescuing and power testing and it was beginning to take its toll. With a inviting jerk of his head, he pushed off from the kitchen counters. “I tried to stay in one of the memories. Didn’t work. Needs practice, I guess, but I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure I didn’t mess anything up, so… woo! Rah-rah go team!” He beamed and lightly pumped his fist in the air. Then, remembering the first memory he encountered, he clicked his fingers and pointed finger guns at her. “Also, I’m gonna break into your place and steal your paintings. Sorry. My house needs them.” Some of the walls were completely bare; it’s not like he had an abundance of family photos he wanted to adorn them with. He flopped down onto the couch with its back to the sliding doors, leaving enough room for her to sit next to him if she didn’t want to sit opposite him, on the couch on the other side of the coffee table. Noah wondered if he should comment on anything else he saw. He’d tell her if she asked; obviously she’d had no qualms about showing her memories to him and it was her gift that let him see them, so it was only fair. Bringing up the confused father or the bedridden sick person (who little Tawny had seen as a literal monster) would be a downer, though. The most obvious thing for him to ask about was the memory he tried to linger in. The one with the unfortunately familiar letterhead. “Oh right – so, correct me if I’m wrong, but did I see something about you doing things for The Sector? I mean, really?” he groaned. “You know those guys suck, right?”Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 3, 2022 10:06:12 GMT -5
With only a few affirming words and a quick wink, Noah took the plunge. His hand lifted to hers and Tawny's breath held once more in her throat as he clasped their palms together, her own appearing dwarfed within his. She searched his face for any subtle hints of what could possibly be playing behind his eyes, half-expecting them to glaze over, even when she knew they wouldn't. As she suspected, there was no notable time lost. There was no way to tell how much he'd seen nor how long he'd spent wading through the depth of her memory; only a brief moment passed between the touch of his fingers and the whistle he breathed from slightly-parted lips. His eyes slipped closed and Tawny leaned marginally closer, tipping her head with a smile (more tender than excited now) as she willed them back open, eager to prod their dark depths for any clue of how he felt. She herself felt unchanged, but that was hardly shocking and the relief of being unfractured was delayed by her curiosity. He laughed quietly and Tawny had to repress the urge to shake him down and badger him with a dozen questions at once. What had he seen? What did it feel like? Would he do it again? Did he have any control? Did that one dress make her look fat? She was admittedly impressed with how well he was taking it but, then again, he had been prepped for it much better than she had as a child. There had been no one with any similar insight available to advise her how to handle the chaos. Not only that, but Noah was likely used to experimenting with gifts he didn't know how to control. As if they were new toys, tossed to him to be puzzled out. He waggled his brow and shook their still-clasped hands between them, making it clear that he was having no trouble keeping that figurative door shut. He looked awfully proud of the fact and Tawny was glad for it — because with his next words, the very first thing to be said after experiencing the surreal and incredible wonder of casually surfing someone's memory, was another teasing jab at her height. She deflated, blowing her held breath out with an exaggerated scoff and eyeroll. Emboldened by his cockiness, she curled her fist and punched it lightly into his arm, confident enough now that he could stop an unwarranted onslaught of images if he wished to. "Hey now, you promised!" She wanted to jut out her bottom lip and offer him her best imitation of a pout, but she couldn't force the smile from her face and only nodded with knowing excitement. "But it's a trip, right?" She had never before considered how different being tall made the world look, until she witnessed the mundane and ordinary through the eyes of some six-foot-four man. They saw over the shower door! Looked down at people! Had to bend down to see the boxes of spaghetti at the back of the grocery store's lower shelves! She always forgot how unnaturally big the world seemed as a child, until she was once again looking through the eyes of one. Had no idea how small she looked to others until she was peering down at herself wrapped in their arms. Noah moved away and began cleaning up their dishes and Tawny beamed at him as he finally shared how it felt. She began to step after him when he departed for the next room, but paused and glanced back at his phone, forgotten on the kitchen island with its open list of Uber rides still awaiting her confirmation. After a considering moment, she reached out to lock the phone and left it behind. She felt no sense of urgency and the inviting toss of his head didn't imply he was incredibly eager to be rid of her just yet. As he apologized in advance for breaking into her apartment to steal her half-finished paintings, Tawny shot him a suffering look. She took a long moment to study the admitted lack of decorations adorning the walls of his living area, quirking her mouth to the side and humming thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, I think anything of mine would be a little too bright for your tastes," she admitted, bringing up a hand to tap at her chin and shifting her weight on one leg as she appraised the space. "It'll have to be a whole new piece. And ah, yes... I can see it now. A portrait. You'll be tastefully nude. Nothing dramatic, of course. Open shirt. Slipped nip. Steed or no steed? Or perhaps a bearskin rug and the whole Burt Reynolds?" She pretended to muse over her options for only a moment longer, before turning away and continuing toward where he'd plopped himself upon the couch. Her step faltered as he brought up the Sector, surprise flitting briefly across her face. She had considered it likely that he would catch a peek of paperwork and patient notes — she spent what felt like years of her life writing and transcribing an endless mountain of documents, after all. But she didn't anticipate something actually catching his notice. It would all seem so boring and menial. Most Gifted were aware of the Sector on some level, but typically they didn't force themselves upon someone unnecessarily, unless that someone was creating trouble for them. What was his experience with them, and why was it bad? Of course, as with any organization, some people who worked for the Sector did so for the wrong reasons. Some believed in what the Sector did, some did it simply for the paycheck, and others worked there with an ugly, deep-rooted hate for all Gifted. Sometimes a very blatant and allowed disdain. Tawny could name a few of her coworkers who only tolerated her reluctantly and could all but spit at her with their eyes. Had he met one of those? "We don't all suck," she mumbled finally, blinking quickly as she recovered and finished moving across the room. Unzipping his hoody, she pulled her arms free and folded it into a neat pile upon his coffee table. No longer in dire need of its heat, and no longer fearing an incidental brush or unanticipated touch — they'd already taken a foray into one another's mind, after all — the added layer only felt stifling and too-big now. She still made a mental note to take it home with her, so she could at least wash the coffee from it. "But, yes. I work for them. As you can probably imagine, they find many uses for what I can do." With only a brief consideration for the other sofa in the room, Tawny nestled into the cushions beside Noah, her body angled in his direction and her legs brought up to tuck comfortably beneath her — feet poked purposely over the couch's edge. Some people didn't like feet on their furniture, even if they were clean and freshly socked. He'd already glimpsed her untidy apartment and was somewhat aware of what a mess she was, but still, the cleanliness of his home made her a little more conscious. One arm she held at her side, hand grasping her ankle, and the other she propped on the back of the couch, resting her temple against a closed fist and studying the side of his face thoughtfully. "Why don't you like us? Don't tell me you're a part of that absurd, bothersome upstart, Black-whatever?" Blackstorm. She knew their name, of course. The emerging rebellion was stirring up quite a ruckus in the Sector headquarters. Their members were brazen, persistent, and troublesome; it felt like Tawny was constantly being called upon to clean up their messes where she could. She was used to doing so, but after Blackstorm's surfacing, the scale of unexplainable, Gift-related incidents in Los Eurosia had tipped in a way that made many in her department wonder just how long they could keep sweeping things under the rug. How long would it be before they did something that was just too big to hide? In any case, she left most of the stressing and worry to those far above her own paygrade. But it had meant more paperwork and assignments in her lap. Her inquiry was spoken jokingly, but as she looked at him, unable to keep her eye from following the hard line of his jaw, it slowly occurred to her just how fitting Blackstorm would be for him. The rugged glamour of rebellion, with its hungry cry for liberation and power, befit his rogueish charm. He wasn't only familiar with gifted individuals but fairly practiced in utilizing their abilities, as he'd proven. Blackstorm would certainly enable that, themselves being a community of gifts and powers for the plucking. And that would certainly explain away his admitted disdain for the Sector. "Oh God, you... are aren't you?" As she spoke, she bobbed her head in a convinced nod, lips pulling tight as it all finished falling into place and clicked together. "You must make a terrible legal consultant."Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:279 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 4, 2022 3:47:45 GMT -5
“You wanna paint me like one of your French girls?” Noah laughed. He stroked his chin, squinting as he pretended to weigh up Tawny's suggestions. “The horse thing is weird. I don’t get why anyone ever thought that was a good look – leave the poor animals alone. We’ll do a Burt Reynolds and hang it above the fireplace, but I refuse to grow a ‘tache.” He shook his finger at her. “And that’s final, young lady. If you’re into that sort of thing you can take my neighbour’s number and paint him instead.”Unfortunately, his good humour took a hit when his suspicions were confirmed. She worked for The Sector. And why wouldn't she? It was obvious why they’d put their grubby little paws on her. Keeping the existence of gifted secret was their whole raison d'être, and with Tawny around, even the humans who found out could be made oblivious sheep again. They probably worshipped her – she who solved all their problems with a simple touch. Probably had a party for the ages when she was hired. He studied her as she settled onto the sofa beside him, so unassuming when he’d first laid eyes on her. It was truly a shame The Sector had gotten to her first. Could he convince her to deflect? Or were her values too tied in with theirs? He reflected on her memories, on the constant dodging and pulling away and being unable to explain to those people why she didn’t want to touch them. If being gifted were normalised, most humans would be more understanding… Then she brought up Blackstorm, and all Noah could think to do was to blink innocently at her. It didn’t work. She took one look at him and connected the dots. He could almost see the cogs in her head turning, clicking into place as her expression took on a defensive edge. Shit. Would she snitch on him? He couldn’t have The Sector keeping tabs on his movements. He’d thought the two of them were getting along well but maybe her sense of duty was stronger than whatever opinions of him she'd formed during their encounter. Maybe he shouldn’t have made so many short jokes. Maybe he could reach out, try to make her forget. Her arms were bare without the hoodie, easily in range. But then he would have either a very confused stranger on his hands or a very angry Sector agent who knew exactly what he’d attempted. Memory alteration wasn’t a viable option, leaving the ‘you owe me for saving your life’ card as the most inoffensive choice. “Rude,” he chided her flatly, though the quirk of his mouth made it clear he wasn’t displeased. His head fell back on the couch, stretching his neck out, his face turned in her direction. There was no point in denying his involvement in Blackstorm. She’d see straight through him. The best he could do was remind her how chill and nice he was and try to convince her his organisation wasn't as sketchy or insane as she seemed to believe. “I cannot confirm the accusations made against me, but what I will say is: they’re not doing anything illegal. Even the whole wanting gifted to be public knowledge thing – none of that is covered in the Constitution or Californian Law so technically it’s all legit. They can’t be taken to court. It’s just frowned upon by your Sector buds who then blackmail everyone to keep hush-hush.”Despite the connotations of its name, Blackstorm was a relatively peaceful movement. The flyers speaking of liberation and chains were a bit dramatic in Noah’s opinion (he needed to find out who kept printing those), but they got the point across. Their main wish was for gifted to stop needing to hide, to live among society without fear. And sure, perhaps there were a handful of members who wanted to be placed above humans in the world’s social totem pole, yet that fact alone didn’t make them criminals. Noah, on the other hand, tended to get swept up in illegal shenanigans on a monthly basis, but Blackstorm never made him do those things and never praised him for it if they found out about them. And his intentions were never motivated by greed for money or to be bad for the sake of it. There was always a reason. Self-defence. Retribution. Something to protect. Didn't he deserve some points for that? As he considered whether it was worth unloading all the issues he had with The Sector onto Tawny, he could feel her power starting to fizzle out in his head, preparing to ooze back to its owner. His own gift had set the return in motion. No matter how much he disagreed, it seemed to think he’d had enough time since the initial ‘attack’ to defend himself and therefore no longer needed a weapon. He rubbed his face. Departing with gifts always sucked. Not because it hurt or caused discomfort, but because it was so disappointing. It almost felt like a breakup, with him pleading for an incomparable lover to stay while they packed their bags and told him they were going back to their ex. Noah shifted, body angling in Tawny's direction as he slung an elbow over the back of the couch. His other arm laid loosely along his side, hand resting on his thigh. “Listen, I obviously think you’re great, but the people you work for can be very mean. And they offend my sense of justice.” He sniffed, trying to keep the mood light. He kept smiling, even if his words weren't the type of thing someone should smile about. “They just – sweep all the bad things that happen to us under the rug. Doesn’t matter that there’s literal hunters out there, tracking us down, killing us – oh no, humans are the ones that need to be protected, from knowing. Who cares if a gifted is defending themselves? The fact that a human saw is obviously the most reprehensible part of the situation.”Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 4, 2022 12:17:10 GMT -5
Noah craned his neck and settled the back of his head against the couch with his face tipped toward her. Tawny felt a small drop in her stomach as he spoke, neither explicitly affirming nor denying her suspicions, which was a confirmation in itself. Her mouth tugged into a small frown as her eyes lingered upon the jut of his Adam's apple, the slope of his throat, and the peek of his collarbones at the neck of his shirt. It was a shame he was so pretty and charming. Had been so accommodating and enjoyable. It made it harder for her to pigeonhole him into the image of some reckless, revolutionary airhead that she'd been told to expect of Blackstorm. Her frown deepened slightly at his words. While it was true, Blackstorm wasn't itself, in name, doing anything illegal, it remained an ugly truth that there were individuals rallying behind their banner for the wrong reasons. Gifted with less than good intentions, emboldened by the idea of a rise to power, who aligned themselves with the movement only for the vehicle it provided. To claim a purpose behind their actions. A reason to flex their abilities over others. A name to hide behind. Whoever was running Blackstorm, did they accept just anyone into their ranks? Enforce accountability for what their members did? Tawny had no way of knowing, but she could only picture chaos and mismanagement. An inability to control what they'd already put in motion. Before she could form these opinions into a spoken rebuttal, or perhaps a couple of questions that she suspected Noah would (understandably) refuse to answer, Tawny became aware of a faint, swimming warmth in the back of her skull. It seeped slowly into the peculiar vacancy she felt there, raised the hair upon her arms, and as she watched Noah scrub at his face, she realized it was her power returning to her. He must have reached his limit. Her eyes slipped closed in a slow, fluttering blink as her chest yawned with a cold spread of unanticipated sorrow. A prickling ache of loneliness as the power settled familiarly in her mind, like a sleepy, entitled feline curling up in its favored nook. It had felt strangely cathartic for Noah to wield the gift. For someone else to experience the weight of it and its ever-present pull that she burdened, embraced, or ignored every minute of her waking life. To maybe understand the reservations she wove so tightly into her everyday existing as a result; an understanding made infinitely more real and comprehensive than any simple explanation — ineffectual words and analogies — could ever impart. No matter how much her superiors liked to believe they knew her gift inside and out, no matter how thoroughly she explained it to her coworkers, they would never actually experience it. They knew its uses and how to capitalize upon them, but they didn't — couldn't — understand how it looked and felt. Likely didn't even care to know anything beyond its practicality. Noah had actually flirted with it, courted it a bit — was quite possibly the only person who ever could in such a capacity — but Tawny knew its intricate depths intimately, was married to it. It would always return to her, unable to truly be shared. A part of her had known, even whilst suspended in their synergetic excitement and enthusiastic exploration, that it was a fleeting moment. And as it slipped away from him, she wondered if there was anything else they would be able to share in its absence. The emptiness threatened to spread, blossoming from her chest and knifing through her limbs. It was a swift and cold metastasis Tawny was well-acquainted with. She knew it would numb her fingers if she let it; would sap at her energy greedily and implore her to shrink inward. Force her to hold herself tighter and make herself smaller. Speak less. Seek the nearest exit and nestle herself away. But as she blinked her eyes open, she settled them upon Noah's face with a decided determination to smother that ache. To only let its draining talons graze instead of wound. She steeled her eyes and acknowledged the yawning chill with a wistful tip of her head and an attempted pout, too disjointed to be convincingly insouciant as she intended. She listened to his words, his sore perspective on the Sector's doings, and after a careful, considering moment, she shifted her weight; untucking her legs and turning her body from him. She settled more normally on the couch, with the balls of her socked feet touching the hardwood floor, her neck rested on the couch's back and her face tipped upward, eyes trained upon his ceiling. She folded her hands over themselves in her lap and pursed her lips thoughtfully. His words had been light, perhaps an attempt to maintain the levity that'd defined the majority of their engagement thus far, but Tawny found she was unable to latch onto it. As much as she wanted to return a smart retort, or to laugh his statements off and continue as they had before, she suddenly lacked the verve. She tried, for only a moment, to consider the world Blackstom desired. But immediately her mind wandered to the many days she'd spent in the office of her elementary school guidance counselor. Of how the women had swept a young, doe-eyed Tawny under her wing with immeasurable patience and warmth. Had been gentle and kind as she explained to the impressionable five-year-old all the wonderful intricacies of possessing such a Gift as hers, and the importance of holding that knowledge close to herself. Of what could happen if she didn't. Tawny had spent many afternoons in that office, basking in the woman's maternal affection and hanging onto her every word, accepting her to be the wisest person in her life and never wanting to disappoint or displease her. Wanting only to imitate her. Even when she graduated campuses, grew older and moved on to middle and then high school, she had still sought the woman out on a regular basis. She'd even helped her get her job in the Sector. As Tawny recalled her counselor's purring cautions, she scrunched up her nose and finally spoke, still watching the ceiling. "But don't you think going public will just make more hunters?" She asked, the words quiet, uncertain if she wanted to extend the effort required to argue any point she may or may not have. It always made her tired or thirsty for something dark and strong. It was always easier to pretend and agree. "The ignorance we enforce — I've always figured it as protecting us, not them. To keep us from being hunted like the witches of old by powerless mobs, either fearful of us or bitter and angry they've no such power in their own hands."She thought of the last assignment she'd been given, involving an elderly gentleman, gifted with chlorokinesis, defending himself against a hunter. He'd ended the attempt on his life with a barbed vine through the attacker's eye and out the back of his skull, unaware of his neighbor peeking between his blinds. The witness had been brought in to Tawny for counseling after, understandably, contacting the police. She'd revised the night in his mind. Reshaped the scene to be more believable. Changed the key ingredients so it was easier to swallow. Put a gun in the Gifted's hand rather than an unfathomable power. And if she hadn't? A weekend would inevitably come where the witness would be sharing the unbelievable story with his buddies in the bar. By morning there'd be a group of belligerent drunks, dragging their Gifted neighbor — whom they'd known their whole lives and who only ever used his power to keep his houseplants thriving — out into the street and beating him to death. Simply because they were afraid of what he could do. And if he chose to fight back, used his gift to save his life and take theirs, then what? Outrage and hysteria. Mass fear. A manhunt with every Gifted labeled as unstable and dangerous. And then what would Blackstorm do to protect their people? Retaliate? Start a war? "But let's assume it doesn't come to that. Let's assume it goes well — it surely won't, but let's pretend. What happens to 'Californian Law' once our existence is common knowledge? There'll have to be new laws made to regulate us and our abilities. To make the ungifted feel safe. Who will make them? People who don't understand us? Are afraid of us?"Tawny finally let her head tip back toward him, eyes appraising as they found Noah's once more. Her hands squeezed themselves tighter. "Will I be legally required to wear a warning sign? 'Privacy risk; touch at your own caution'?" The words were spoken with an exaggerated flatness, but she could hear herself the icy bite that underscored them at the end. Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:279 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 5, 2022 4:41:50 GMT -5
Tawny turned away from him, lifting her gaze to the ceiling. Noah’s fingers flexed. While he was mostly content to wait and let her process it all at her own pace, part of him squirmed in discomfort – part of him that always wanted attention, always wanted others to just look at him. He stared at her side profile, her dark lashes, the ski-slope of her nose. Maybe if he counted her freckles the waiting wouldn’t feel so long… Her lips parted to voice her concerns. They were grounded and he couldn’t fault her for any of them, but she still wasn’t looking. Pettily, he was tempted to reach out and take her arm. Get her eyes on him and her power back in one fell swoop: two birds, one stone. Yet now he knew she was a Sector agent there was even more reason to protect his memories from her. His gift was quick, automatically latching onto powers without his say-so and sometimes before he was aware they were being used on him, but hers appeared to be quicker. How much would she see before his kicked in? Would she uncover Blackstorm’s hideout? The faces of those he’d recruited? She finally looked at him again and that restless part of him settled, like a burn being coated in salve. He sighed softly through his nose, lips tentatively twitching upwards from where they'd fallen into a frown. Tawny, however, was not so contented. Her ‘joke’ earned her a small shake of his head. “No way. There’d be major backlash against something so blatantly discriminatory. I’m sure most humans would agree that it’s wrong to put visible indicators on any group.” There was no heat in his voice, only calm and certainty, doing all that he could to soothe. Meanwhile, his brain was rapidly flicking through his mental handbook of 'reasons to join Blackstorm'. He now doubted she could be convinced by the prospect of being open with her gift; even if gifted were public, she’d probably still want to keep it a secret because doing so almost guaranteed safety. What arguments could he use instead? A higher purpose? Think of the children? Most therapists had some degree of selflessness and desire to help. If not for herself, could he convince her that it would be better for others? Though, he didn’t have a good answer for the question of who would make laws about gifted. Their kind were numerous enough that he could believe some were already in positions of power, and he imagined Blackstorm would push forward some individuals with persuasive gifts to whisper in the ears of officials. But it wouldn’t be a good look if that ploy was exposed and who was to say those gifted politicians would be opposed to strict rules? He licked his lips. “People are inherently good.” Some of his colleagues might have found that funny, coming from his mouth; he imagined Rotty’s responding bark of laughter, eyebrows raised to his hairline and his arms holding up Noah’s recent mistake, literal evidence to the contrary. But strange as it was, Noah believed what he said. Most people didn’t want violence. They wanted peace, to live their life and enjoy it, and they felt sympathy (and oftentimes moral outrage) for those who faced hardship. “There may be more hunters, but there’ll be many more people who will want to protect us. People who’ll be openly against those playing at judge, jury, and executioner. They'll raise awareness, and in turn that will force the government to do more about it.”He looked at her imploringly. Come on, trust me – you know you want to. “I’m not saying there won’t be any chaos, but the dust will settle. Just look at human history, how far they’ve come. Sure, there might be a few places that will want nothing to do with us, there might be some… hostility, but the progressive states will welcome us and over time, being gifted will be normalised.” They were words he’d repeated to many sceptical individuals before her, with varying levels of success. Though he certainly wouldn't complain if she did, he didn't need her to believe him straight away. He just needed her to listen. “My point is: the humans will get over it. The sooner we rip the band aid off, the sooner we can integrate and the sooner we can leave a better world for those who come after us.”He shuffled closer so he could nudge his knee against hers, a small closed-lipped smile on his features, then dipped his head and lowered his voice like he was telling a secret. “Y’know, some people think we’ll be coveted. Can you imagine how much easier life would be for everyone if we could openly help? You yourself use your power in therapy, Shortcake.” His hand moved from his side to lightly poke her in the ribs, and idly he wondered if she was ticklish. “Imagine firefighters who can dispel flames with a wave of their hand, healers who can cure with a touch – who wouldn’t want that?”He bit his lip, forcing silence upon himself. As strongly as he felt about these matters, he didn’t want her to withdraw from him the way he’d seen her do from so many others. Changing someone’s mind in one day wasn’t always possible. He’d have to work on her. Try to mould her over time. “We don’t have to talk about this,” he decided. “Did you have any questions for me?” What he saw in her memories, what other gifts he'd borrowed – Consequences be damned, he laid his hand in the small space between them on the couch, and wiggled his fingers, grinning. “We could do some experimenting. I know you joked about passing moustachio-man’s nudes back and forth, but do you really think I could see other people’s memories that you’ve seen? And vice-versa?”Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 5, 2022 16:03:53 GMT -5
Tawny's initial desire was to pull away with an unconvinced scoff when Noah assured her that nothing of the sort would happen. There was no way he could possibly know for sure; no way Blackstorm could guess how things would go or know how they would end up. Most progressive movements in human history were built off the backs of war and hatred; the way to change paved by riots and bloodshed. Things would surely be ugly and disheartening before they approached the ideal world Blackstorm imagined. But as Noah spoke, his tone certain and pacifying, she could hear in his words how much the movement mattered to him. How much he believed it. And so Tawny did her best to smooth the reservations in her chest, the innate want to battle back with her own pessimistic rationality nurtured by the Sector's schoolings. She had no desire to meet his imploring calm with barbed cynicism, to sour the mood and create a battle where there didn't need to be one. He held no disillusion that it would be perfect, acknowledged it would likely be chaotic at first, but then he wasn't only thinking of them in their time, but the generations to follow. When he shifted closer and nudged his knee to hers, Tawny closed her eyes with an cleansing breath through her nose and knocked her own back. If legal consulting ever did fall through for him, he'd make an efficient insurance salesman. "Well. I don't know if I'd be so easily employed if my patients knew just how I come to some conclusions," she admitted sardonically, letting her head roll back more comfortably, blinking her eyes back open to gaze once more at the ceiling, this time with a marked lack of concern. As he'd teasingly mentioned, her gift was a bit like cheating. It was possible some people might actually like the prospect of her accessing their memories, if only to have a second pair of eyes on certain events; for her to witness what had transpired with total accuracy and be able to dissect it with them openly. It was an opportunity for empathy, perspective, and a true comprehension of what'd happened; much like how Noah had actually experienced her gift rather than simply being told about it. But surely many others would be vehemently opposed to her invasive prying, if they knew about it. "But it is a noble idea," she conceded simply, before her mouth tugged into an amused smile; a return of levity as she forcibly wrestled the rest away and glanced back at him. "And in this perfect world, I could simply Yellowpage some... metalbender to fish my keys from the lake. That would be mighty convenient right about now." It was undeniably true that the world had a lot to gain from gifts and it was a shame that they were a long way from having the capacity to accept them. She considered those Gifted individuals with physical mutations, unlucky people who spent their whole lives tucked away from society because their gift was worn obviously, unable to be hidden. What it would be like for them to be able to walk the street unabashedly, free from scrutiny and fear. But what of those whose powers were volatile or dangerous? Would they be forced into institutions because they could never be trusted? And people like her, who didn't want themselves to be known, would that still be possible in Blackstorm's world? She stamped the thoughts out before her mind could make off with them again; before endless questions and 'what-if's could run her in tiring circles and leave her seeking out her bed and its covers, where she felt she could shut them all away. Instead, she let her eye fall to the hand settled on the couch between them, fingers wriggling with invitation. Instinctively, her own hands clutched themselves tighter in her lap. Despite his smile and his continued, soothing pleasantness, she couldn't stifle a knee-jerk twinge of wariness. Now that he knew she worked for the Sector, was he concerned about something she might have seen? A glimpse of something she'd assumed innocuous, but could be used as fodder against Blackstorm? If that was the case, would he try and erase something this time? And if she refused, would the niceties fall away? What would stop him from taking the gift from her anyway? Tawny raised her eyes back to his face, to study the grin stretched comfortably across his handsome features. It was an unchanged smile, still casual and propitiating, not notably darkened by worry or hidden intention. Despite her inner dubiousness, she felt no answering stir of discomfort as her gaze lifted from his smile to his eyes; no wrench of uncertainty to justify hesitation as she pondered what thoughts could lie just beyond their dark depths. As much as her mind wanted to challenge the fact, Tawny decided, with a final certainty, that she wasn't afraid of him. So with a curious tip of her head, she pulled herself from where she'd nestled in the back of the couch and angled once more toward him, folding one leg under herself and placing a hand next to his own. Not touching, but so that only a twitch could lay her pinky over his thumb or vice-versa. The closeness threatened to awaken another stir of eagerness in her chest, but she tempered it. Their earlier experiment had been successful with no severe repercussions, but doing it again with equal verve felt too akin to Icarus and his wax wings; tempting fate and asking for something to go wrong. Blanketing her returning enthusiasm with forced composure, Tawny ruminated on her earlier suggestion of swapping neighbor nudes. She'd meant it only jokingly, but now she wondered if it was actually possible. She wondered if Noah had seen anything earlier that wasn't hers, but someone else's. With there being no time lost, despite what it felt like in the moment, she imagined it would be much like dreams. Just a blink of the eye; a tiny blip, unable to be pulled apart and examined. But there was no way of knowing for sure. "You're concerned about the Baywatch shorts, is that it?" She spoke with a mischievous lilt, looking up at him through her lashes, pleased with how the words sounded without any lingering troubles. "Don't worry, they looked..." she tapped a finger upon the couch, lifting her chin and twisting her mouth as if recalling the particular, fabricated scene; making a slow, exaggerated show of mulling it over and then coming to an unfortunate conclusion. "They looked okay." With a quick wink and then a noncommittal shrug, Tawny ceased her tapping and let the pretending fall away. "I don't know if we'd be able to see anything like that or not. I wouldn't think so, but we wouldn't know unless we tried." She waggled her brow, a confirmation that she was willing to do so, then schooled her expression into one of contemplation as she capitalized on his invitation for questions. "Can you stop yourself from taking a gift? Can you return them at will, or is it always... timed? Can you hold more than one at a time? Are more powerful gifts, like the chaotic, uber-powerful ones... harder to hold on to? Or do they all feel about the same until you use them?" There were dozens of other things she wanted to ask, like what was the most interesting gift he'd borrowed, if he wasn't as prone to caution as she believed and had hurt himself before, or when he was going to kick her out, but she limited herself for the moment, thinking it better to understand first the mechanisms of his power. "And lastly," she paused, letting the still-musing curve of her lips pull more neutral as she blinked at him. "Do you think it's a good idea? You know, with the whole, totally cliche, thing of us... being pawns on opposite sides of the board? You're not worried about what I might see? Afraid I'll go back to the Sector and pour my heart out to them? Warn them about the devilish rogue in the woods, scooping endangered Gifted into his home and turning them to Blackstorm with his hospitality and irresistible charm?" Her chest cleaved with its rebelling cry for caution, begging to be acknowledged despite her feelings, and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "I like you, and I trust you — we can blame the charm and good looks — so you're not going to try and make me forget all this, right?"Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:279 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 6, 2022 14:31:06 GMT -5
Tawny was clearly unconvinced, but she was gracious enough to humour him. Watching her, Noah knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t going to give up on her anytime soon. He had to have her. Along with the obvious advantages of her gift, having someone with inside knowledge of The Sector would be invaluable, and he enjoyed the mental image of showing her around Blackstorm’s hideout, smugly showing her off to the other members who could only dream of finding a gem like her and being persuasive enough to get her on board. One talk might not have been enough to rearrange her mindset, but he was determined to get her on side someday. He visibly brightened when she swivelled towards him (he could almost feel his eyes gleam as she laid her hand near his), and he chuckled as she pretended to have seen him wearing Baywatch shorts. She left him no choice; he’d have to buy some, fully commit to her nickname for him. Perhaps he’d get her a matching swimsuit or at least a lifeguard float in case she braved approaching water again. Maybe he could teach her to swim himself… He listened to her questions intently, planning to answer them honestly in the hopes she’d return the favour when it was his turn. But something in her expression shifted, becoming more neutral as she pointed out the clichés of their situation and asked whether she could trust him. He blinked. Then, despite the seriousness of such concerns, his smile grew of its own accord. “Charm and good looks, huh?” he purred, leaning in. “Irresistible? Can I get that in writing for my Yelp page?” His hand lifted from the couch to play with a strand of her hair, still faintly damp from the shower. As much as he desired to keep teasing her, he couldn't ignore her questions. A careful response was needed. Flat-out denying that he would ever do such a thing would probably sound insincere, no matter how earnestly he tried to say it. Noah smoothed his expression into one more considering, his lips pressing together. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said softly. His head tilted as he studied the strand slipping between his fingers. “It would be a lot easier for The Sector to tail me if I didn’t know my cover was blown, but I trust you wouldn't do that to me either. Believe it or not, I'm not the only one here with irresistible charm.” It was tentative, a very instinctual trust rather than the type that came from knowing someone for a long time and seeing their words reflect their actions. Nothing Tawny had done had implied malicious intent, and she'd seemed genuinely sorry to have messed with his memory before. He was also somewhat banking on his own gift to put a stop to any major alterations she might try to make. The forgotten rescue mission was proof enough that she could do it but that was probably only five minutes of his life. How much time could she remove at once? If they kept speaking about The Sector and Blackstorm for long enough, would she be able to get rid of all that talk in one go? His hand moved back to its previous position beside hers, and he looked down at her pinky, so near to his thumb. It would take less than a second to close that distance. “I would have done it already if I thought it was a good idea,” he admitted, raising his eyes back to hers. “It would only create more problems, even if it went perfectly. You’d surely know something was up and I like talking to you; this week was so boring before you came along and I don’t want to scare you off now.” Even if he removed her recollection of their conversation and was able to create a placating excuse for her memory blip, who was to say she wouldn’t stumble across it in his memories later? And if he was unable to see the memories of other people in hers, he wouldn’t be able to swoop in and remove that discussion from her head for a second time. Her trust in him would be completely shattered along with any chances he had of getting her involved with Blackstorm. He licked his lips. “Of course I’m worried what you’ll see. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t actively search for revolution info and, uh, if you were to see anything… odd… I’d like you to ask me about it rather than draw your own conclusions. Context is important y’know.” Damage control would be key if he were to keep letting her inside his head. He didn’t know exactly what morals she held but he could take a guess based on who she worked for. It was a huge risk, strangely exhilarating. The prospect of getting better acquainted with her gift alongside the threat of being caught doing something unethical made him feel like a live wire. He had to dig his heel into the floor to prevent his leg from bouncing. “Most of all I’d be very grateful if you didn’t tell anyone. About what you see, about my dalliances with a certain movement. Very grateful.” His lips twitched. He pulled back so he was facing forwards, then stretched his arms over his head, one hand grabbing the elbow of his other arm as he arched his back, his shirt helpfully riding up to show a sliver of his stomach. His eyes slid closed and he tilted his head back. “If only there was some way for me to repay you,” he groaned with the exaggerated breathiness of a poorly-acted porno. He cracked an eye open to look at her, then snorted a laugh at himself and slumped back into a normal sitting position, one arm falling on the back of the couch behind her head. “But seriously, I won’t tell anyone your secret organisation’s secrets if you don’t tell anyone my secret organisation’s secrets. And if you did tell…” He heaved a sigh, his brows sloping together as his other hand clutched at his shirt over his heart. “In addition to feeling incredibly betrayed and heartbroken, I guess I’d have to get out of here, maybe fake my death. Which sucks ‘cause I actually like this house, and all those women I save on a daily basis will have to hope the next occupant is as noble as I am.”
He knocked his knee against hers again, quirking a brow. “Now for your other questions… Ready for Gift Borrowing 101? Or do you have any other reservations about... us?”Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 7, 2022 22:32:34 GMT -5
Tawny's mouth pulled into a tiny smirk and she rolled her eyes amusedly as Noah seemed more than satisfied with her admission of his attractive charm. When he reached to pluck a bit of her hair to twirl casually between his fingers, she watched his eyes as they studied his own toying, wondering just what thoughts played behind them as he did so. It didn't make her uneasy, but it did make her curious. What was he thinking? It would be so easy to tilt her face and press her mouth to his knuckles, she had to repress the instinctive urge to do so — what would he do or think then? Her expression sobered as he continued, explaining how he felt about their circumstances, and she was pleased to find that they thought much the same. He did share similar worries about her, and that was certainly expected, but it appeared they were operating on a similar level of trust and a general lack of disdain for one another. She nodded along to his statements, her head tipping slightly at his request to ask him about anything strange she saw in his memories rather than make her own assumptions. It made her briefly curious just what he might be concerned about, what could possibly be misinterpreted, but then again, she imagined there could be a many number of things. She'd been catching random glimpses of memory from (mostly) random people for what felt like her entire life — it certainly hadn't taken long for her to understand that context was indeed important. That a tiny snapshot from someone's entire life wasn't enough to form an opinion upon. And some seconds by themselves weren't enough to understand the complexities of a situation or altercation. She knew full well that some images and glimpses had to be taken with a grain of salt. Then Noah shifted, arching his body like a sleepy feline as he suggested "some way" to show his appreciation for her secrecy. Even as she barked a small, contained laugh at the obvious mimicry of some 'made-for-DVD' erotica plot-line, her gaze fell inevitably to the peek of pale skin revealed by the hike of his shirt. She'd been quick to turn away at the lake, but now she couldn't help but appreciate the suggestion of hard, smooth planes there, and... had that been a scar? Tawny stifled her urge to playfully shove him over or whack him with one of his couch pillows — doing so could very well be dangerous if allowed to escalate, as she acknowledged there was too much that begged to be explored there. Perhaps once they'd exhausted their questions and were left with nothing else to say, then she would test just how much honest threat existed behind his waggling brow and suggestive tease. He let the imitation fall away with a snort, then settled comfortably once more, and Tawny lifted her eyes back to face, not feeling any inclination to hide the fact she was indeed looking. Her mouth quirked at the corner. "Yeah, I suppose you're right, we can't have that. I mean, what if the next occupant was even more charming? Even more good-looking? Geez — we poor, drowned damsels just wouldn't stand a chance." She lifted the back of her hand to her forehead, giving a small sway as if pretending to swoon and then faint. She let a second pass, poking her tongue from her lips, before she blinked her eyes back open. "But it's a deal. I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."She straightened herself then considered his inquiry of any further reservations. Her eyes made a brief study of his face, her lips tucking into a thoughtful line before she gave a small shrug. With a decided abandon of hesitance or second-guessing, Tawny shifted her position once more. She turned her back to Noah and brought her legs up, stretching her body across the length of the couch and leaning back to settle the back of her head against his thigh. Her feet rested on the couch's arm, crossed at the ankles, and she curled and uncurled her toes as she settled, folding her hands over the groove of her stomach as she looked up at him. "No, I think we're... good?" She lifted the last word into a question, similarly lifting her brow as she shifted more comfortably against him, offering him the chance to squirm away or roll her off the couch and into the floor. "So go on, tell me all about it. What you can do, how it works, and the coolest gifts you've ever borrowed, I'm ready. And feel free to embellish if you want, I won't fact-check you." She offered him a wink, one corner of her tugging slightly. "But I believe my first question," her gaze dragged from his face to the arm he still had slung across the back of the couch above her. "Was whether or not you could stop yourself from taking gifts." Moving slow enough that he could stop her if he wished, but not so slow as to seem tentative, Tawny lifted an arm to brush her fingertips over his hand, careful to keep any memories from awakening beneath her touch. She could feel them brace against her, their silent insistence to be allowed in like the pull of an invisible thread through her skin, but she ignored them. Shoving aside their querulous demands was as simple a task as breathing, when she was prepared and both parties were largely collected. She coaxed his arm down, guiding his elbow to rest against her side as she smoothed her thumb into his palm; bidding his fingers open so she could study the shape of his hand before her. She waited for that slight ache, that subtle feeling of absence that was her power being pulled from her, as she stroked her thumb against his fingers and let her eyes follow the trace lines of his palm, seeking scars, callouses, or anything else that could be commented or inquired upon. Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:279 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 8, 2022 15:02:36 GMT -5
Tawny regarded him thoughtfully, and then she was moving, spreading out on his couch to lay her head on his thigh. Noah kept completely still, nearly compelled to hold his breath as if the tiniest twitch would send her running like a startled deer. At the same time, a smug satisfaction warmed his body at the sight of her so relaxed, at the feeling of her reclining on him. His stare flitted appreciatively over her collar bone which peeked out from his too-large t-shirt, then slid down the rest of her body to her wriggling feet on the couch’s arm. He snickered, pleased she was making herself at home, and met her eyes as they lifted to his face. “Comfy?” he grinned, and when she reached for his hand he didn’t resist in the slightest. Despite expectations, there was no responding pressure in his head when they touched. It seemed she was keeping her gift contained for now and he wondered how much effort that required as she brushed her thumb over his long fingers, her gaze fixed on his palm like it was an interesting book. His workouts and recent woodcarving endeavours had roughened his hands somewhat, and he’d earned a couple of shallow cuts on the side of his index finger, now tiny pale shimmers that indicated they’d finished healing but weren’t going away anytime soon. He didn't think there was anything particularly interesting about them, yet nothing could make him complain about her touching him. His head tilted. “Are you secretly a Mystic Meg type? Gonna read my future before you watch my past?” he teased. Although, part of him was curious what she’d say if she did believe in palmistry. Those sorts of things could be fun, even if he didn't believe in them. Before he could get too distracted by that trail of thought, Noah remembered he owed her some answers. “For your first question, the simple answer is no, I can’t stop myself from taking other gifts. If they’re used on me, boom, that’s it – mine now. No toys for that person until they learn to behave.” He lightly tapped her on the nose with his unoccupied hand, shooting her a wink. “But technically the answer is also yes? I still need to get hit with the gift first, but I can return it almost immediately if it’s unpleasant enough. Heightened senses, for example. Not as fun as you’d think, and my gift seems to understand when something’s harming my chances of survival rather than helping them. So even if I’m still in range of a person’s super hearing or whatever, I can stop myself from taking it back.” He’d twisted the truth a bit. A gift didn’t have to be unpleasant (he could return any power whenever he felt like it) but he wanted an excuse to hold onto hers for as long as possible. It couldn't be helped – he was greedy. He stroked her hair away from her face, a silent apology, then continued with his lesson. “I can only hold multiple gifts if they’re connected or if they rely on each other in some way, otherwise I’ll swap to the gift most recently used on me. They all feel different – and some of them have a taste, oddly enough – but how powerful they are is impossible to tell until I try them.” He paused. “They’re not exactly harder to keep but… I suppose… You know how people say a shock can get rid of hiccups? I’ve lost a few gifts in a similar way when they’ve been a lot stronger than I expected.” He guessed he shouldn’t tell her his borrowed gifts could also be lost if their original owner died. She’d only ask how he knew that, and then things would get really awkward. “Now for the fun stuff: coolest powers. Let me think…” he hummed. The first to spring to mind was Rotty’s matter ingestion, and though he was reticent to bring up Blackstorm members, he figured Rotty’s identity would be safe if he solely discussed the power without referring to the man who held it. “So, one gift allowed me to literally eat one of my sweaters. I can’t say it tasted good but, hey, I did it. It was… an experience.” Just thinking about it made him roll his eyes. It had taken some trial and error to trigger Noah’s ability to borrow that gift, each suggestion becoming more chaotic than the last. Eventually, he’d ended up being bitten with just enough force to draw blood. That had done the trick, and though he’d found it funny to destroy evidence in such a unique manner, the gift hadn’t altered his taste buds; he couldn’t pretend he was chewing anything other than fabric and he was almost one-hundred percent sure he didn't need to borrow that gift again. Thankfully, the bite mark hadn’t scarred. He’d hate to have to lie about it to curious strangers every time he wore a t-shirt. His thoughts turned to Esha, who’d fixed him up after a recruitment mission went wrong. That wound had scarred. It was still there on the left side of his waist, a neat horizontal line roughly the length of his middle finger. The gift that inflicted it didn't deserve to be mentioned; using it had been no fun after the damage it had dealt. Esha's gift, however, was an interesting one. “Another one I borrowed turned my hair into blowfish quills. I guess you could say I felt prickly that day.” Esha probably wouldn’t have appreciated that pun, which was fair enough since she had to live with her gift and deal with all the pitfalls of its physicality. Still, if Noah kept practicing, he had hope that he could absorb abilities completely someday. Remove it from her life for good. Then she might laugh at his stupid jokes. “But my favourite gift would be controlling the weather – I can make it rain like no other.” He waggled his brows. “Sometimes I feel like that should have been my original power, not this borrowing thing. Though I have to admit this has its perks.” He lightly brushed his thumb over Tawny's cheek, sliding along her jaw to her chin before coming to rest where her neck met her shoulder, gently rubbing circles there. How different his life would’ve been if it he could control the elements like the rest of his family. He’d probably be as stuffy as they were, always worried about getting caught, still stuck being miserable in Portland without the faintest notion of Blackstorm or The Sector. “Your power is quickly becoming a favourite of mine too,” he decided, smiling down at her. “So, what about you? What’s the coolest thing you’ve seen with it? Or the weirdest?” His gaze was drawn to her hands. “Does holding it back get tiring? How long can you do that for?”Tawny Vokes
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Oh, I heard once — you only love when you're lonely
GROUP:Sector
AGE:27 yrs old
PRONOUNS:She/Her
HEIGHT:5'2''
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
GIFT:Memory Manipulation
OCCUPATION:Therapist
WRITTEN:119 posts
POINTS:
Post by Tawny Vokes on Aug 9, 2022 18:59:46 GMT -5
Tawny kept her eyes on his hand, only offering a swift snort at his tease. "No, I'm no Mystic Meg," as if to make her point, she titled her head inquisitively, squinting at the lines of his palm and humming thoughtfully, as if the unique shape and draw of them could reveal to her his fate. She tapped at one of the pale, raised welts on the side of a finger; an injury that had healed over and would likely fade with time. "Ah yes, this line here. It's called... a scar." She stepped on the word mystically. "You see how it arcs? That means you're likely as unpracticed a woodworker as admitted." She smiled, feigning being rather pleased with herself. Palm reading did interest her, as did mediums and astrology, but she'd only ever dabbled in the arts as a backburner hobby, simply playing with the tarot when boredom led to intrigue. She had run through their compatibility in her mind when he mentioned his zodiac sign, she couldn't help herself, and considered letting him know their signs were notoriously compatible in the bedroom, but she kept the fanciful knowledge to herself, choosing to instead listen contentedly as he explained his gift. So, he wouldn't be able to take her power unless she used it on him. That was good to know. It explained why she hadn't felt it slip from her yet. She could keep it from him if she needed to, though she imagined he'd gathered well enough — had witnessed — that there were ways to take her by surprise and force the gift from her. She'd admitted herself it required a mental guard to keep the memories at bay and forcing that guard down wasn't a particularly difficult thing to do. Her lips pulled into an intrigued frown as she imagined him eating a sweater. Somebody had such a gift? An "experience" he called it, and she didn't doubt that. With his borrowing only being temporary, had that caused any issues for him when the gift eventually slipped back to its owner? She imagined consuming clothes wasn't the type of indigestion that a simple antacid could remedy. At the mention of blowfish quills, Tawny's thoughtful frown tugged into a smirk. What a funny thing to imagine. But also so intriguing to think someone out there possessed such a gift for themselves. Had Noah sought these people out? Were the meetings harmonious, in good faith, like their own had shaped to be or... did the fact that he'd borrowed the gifts mean they'd been used against him in a bad way? Had someone tried to eat him? Her eyes widened slightly at the possibility, lips parting as she considered how such a thing could have come about. "Has its perks indeed," she finally breathed, wetting her lips. She felt a brief, cool sweep of jealousy at the stories, at the idea of him being able to meet such interesting people. To learn about them and their abilities and then try them for himself, much like he'd done with her. Her family aside, she never met any Gifted individuals that didn't pertain to her work for the Sector, and even then, it was never a personal, empathetic meeting. How could it be, when she was so private with her own powers? "It must be very... interesting... to be able to play a sort of roulette with gifts. Try them on for size. And then return them when you're done. Like grandparents with their grandkids, always able to send them back home when they get too cranky." She considered his fondness for controlling the weather, her mind briefly flashing back to the image of a woman, framed through the eyes of a child, with the wind whipping unnaturally about her. A parent or guardian, perhaps. Had she had such a power? She wondered where she was now. If it was his favorite gift, did he have someone close to borrow it from? Perhaps one of the other children she'd also glimpsed then? As much as she would like to ask, the questions felt intended for another time, if at all. They would almost sound misplaced in the space between them, unearned, as if the short time they'd been acquainted didn't quite allow something so personal. She could crawl in his lap, they could exhaust themselves with talks of gifts and experiences, even take uncensored forays into one another's memories, but inquiring about family felt like a line to be crossed. Or perhaps she only feel that way because she herself held such things too close to herself, always dismissive when someone, too soon, leaped at the opportunity to discover such things about her. "But then it must get so boring for you when there's no one around to borrow from?" She tipped her face briefly against the thumb rubbing small circles against her collarbone, then tipped her head back to peer up at him. "Would you trade the borrowing thing for something of your own, like weather manipulation, if you could?"When the questions were volleyed back to her, Tawny puffed up her cheeks, eyes slipping away once more to study the empty air before her, trying to conjure a story that could begin to compare. She wished she could say she'd helped solve a kidnapping with an incidental brush of fingers upon the morning bus, or put an end to a decades-long murder mystery with a handshake, but nothing of the sort had happened to her. Recalling Noah's earlier question about whether or not she had ever worked with criminals, Tawny considered briefly whether her gift could better serve in such a way. But that would be even more paperwork and she could easily imagine the endless searching, dead-ends, and disappointments stacking heavy in her lap. Not to mention the questions that would eventually arise around her. She blew out her held breath. "Well, I don't know about cool. But when I worked my family's soup kitchen, homeless war veterans were a frequent." It had always saddened her to see so many of them, seemingly abandoned and forgotten about once they returned home. She could remember their gnarled hands, their stern faces always inherently proud, and the something that lingered behind their eyes, even when they smiled kindly at her. "I couldn't say exactly why, but I would never block their memories." Perhaps a desire to know what weighed so heavily on them, what kept them so low as to need the bowls of soup and minimal shelter Tawny's father had to offer. A desire to see what that something was so she could understand what followed them and what scars existed beyond the ones they wore upon their body. "I'd make it a point to graze. To take a peek into the hellish things they endured and did. It was always fascinating, in its horrifyingly brutal and honest way. I don't think all the history books, TV shows, and documentaries could ever shine a light on one man's experience there." She was always sure to slip them an additional piece of bread. An extra helping. A more sincere and appreciative smile as she clasped their hands. "And then, my mother died when I was just a little thing," the words had the potential to be heavy as they left her lips, so — not particularly eager to leaden the mood with the topic of lost loved ones, and feeling as if she were toeing the same, thin line that'd kept her inquiries at bay before — she twisted a crooked smile across her face and fixed him with a half-lidded, knowing stare. "Yes, as unbelievable as it may be, I used to be even littler." She rolled her eyes playfully, keeping the grin tucked at one corner of her mouth to dispel any airs of grief or grimness as she continued. "But I feel like I got to know her through my father's memories. That was pretty neat. To see her, y'know... young and happy. Or fierce and catty — she was kind of a firecracker, always keeping my Dad on his toes." With every stolen glimpse into their lives, it was blatantly evident, even to her as a child, how much her parents had loved each other. No matter the arguments and fights, or even the lazy, boring days. The frowns and pouts would always melt away when her father slipped his hand in hers. "It was all so very authentic; something faded pictures in a photo-album just wouldn't put justice to.""Otherwise, the things I see tend to be rather mundane and lackluster. Like," she hummed thoughtfully, "The checker at Costco had a fight with his girlfriend the night before and slept fitfully on the couch. The teens who work at the Denny's near my apartment do unmentionable things to the food. The mother of one of my younger patients is having a rather passionate affair with his schoolteacher." Tawny blinked her eyes closed, a quiet laugh breathing from her curving lips. "I admit I'm actually kind of invested in that one. I sneak a peek every now and again. Her husband is beginning to get suspicious." "Y'know, just your everyday human things. Although," she pursed her lips with the amusement at her sudden thought, her thumbs pausing in their thorough, massaging knead into his palm, "I did discover recently that one of the coffee-shop baristas Downtown has a second job as a Dominatrix. Super convincing. Definitely gets in character. Bet she makes a killing. And before you pop in curiously one day to try and make some guesses, I promise you... she's the last one you'd ever suspect."She released his hand, letting it fall as she instead raised her own to stroke now at his upper arm, tracing along the smooth suggestion of muscle there. "Perhaps one day I'll finagle my way into more interesting, well-traveled crowds. Meet some characters like you have and live vicariously through them." She returned a wink of her own, then let her gaze pull to the lazy trails made by her fingertips; focusing on the subtle sensation that was blocking his memories as she considered his inquiry on whether or not doing so was tiring. "I wouldn't say stopping the memories is exactly exhausting. It's easy enough when I'm not... y'know... dying. Or overwhelmed." It was true that there were some memories that broke through no matter how hard she tried to stop them, but she was never able to put a finger on what caused such a thing. Why some pushed at her with more strength, breaking through the barrier she'd erected with no expectation of such force. She half-assumed it had to do with a person's emotions and how strongly they were feeling in the moment, but it was an untested theory. She tended to simply avoid such situations when they arose. "I could do this until I decide not to, I suppose, or until I'm too... distracted to keep it up." Her smile went awry, a bit suggestive as she tipped her head to look back at him, letting her gaze linger upon the curve of his mouth before darting to his eyes. She lifted her brow innocently. "Why, are you ready to try it again?"Noah St Cloud
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you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth
GROUP:Blackstorm
AGE:29 yrs old
PRONOUNS:He/him
HEIGHT:6'1"
SEXUALITY:Pansexual
GIFT:Power borrowing
OCCUPATION:Blackstorm recruiter
WRITTEN:279 posts
POINTS:
Post by Noah St Cloud on Aug 10, 2022 10:15:02 GMT -5
Noah hummed in agreement. “It gets so boring. All by myself in this big empty house – maybe I should start an Air BnB for gifted.” As he said it, he was hit with the mental image of pyrokinesis holders setting his kitchen ablaze while shapeshifters in dog form dug up his lawn. His nose wrinkled. “On second thought, that would be awful. I’d rather be bored.” He wasn’t a fan of having people in his space anyway. Tawny was an exception because a) going to his house wasn’t strictly her choice, b) she was visually and aurally appealing, and c) she was open to letting him try out her gift. A perfect houseguest, really. He turned her question in his head, tried to consider it from all angles. Continually having an ability at his fingertips sounded heavenly. It sounded right. He imagined a life of steady, comfortable sunshine, using soft breezes to close doors and creating downpours over individuals he found annoying. But then he thought of how Tawny’s gift could have wiped more than a few minutes from his head, and how gifted attackers tended to flee when they realised the bullets were emptied from their gun. Conjuring clouds would not be such an efficient form of protection. “Honestly? I don’t think I would. This gift definitely saved me from some problematic situations. What I really want is for it to be less temporary, and for it to work without needing stuff to be done to me first. Then I could take gifts from people who don’t want them, maybe become some kind of underground gift dealer...”Tawny's morbid curiosity was a little unexpected. He wouldn’t have guessed she was skimming through violent war memories while she happily served soup, chatting with her dad and the veterans whose trauma she'd just dumped on herself. Some people might have considered that a red flag, yet Noah figured it was a good thing; any gore she found in his past shouldn’t be too harrowing if she’d already desensitised herself to such sights. He was unsurprised to hear her mother had died, quickly connecting her statement to the sick woman he’d glimpsed in her memories. But he wondered about her father, whose presence had almost been as constant as the sun throughout her life. Was he still alive? Still confused? And was his confusion the natural forgetfulness that often came with old age, or was his own daughter the catalyst? Before, when Noah had confronted her about the gap in his memory, Tawny confessed it could have been a lot worse. Was she speaking from experience? Despite his dark musings, Noah momentarily adopted a playfully wide-eyed look as he mouthed ‘really?’ at the height joke Tawny made at her own expense. Her ensuing fond recount of her father’s memories prompted him to reflect on his own parents’ relationship. He knew, logically, that they had been in love. Bonded enough to stick together for over twenty years. Yet it was difficult to recall their dynamic beyond them simultaneously stiffening up whenever they noticed his presence. They’d always been… nervous. And if not nervous, then scornful or angry at him for creating trouble and/or stealing his siblings’ gifts. He had difficulty picturing them doing anything lovey-dovey – not even holding hands – nor did he remember them being sassy with one another in the way Tawny described her mother had been. It was a wonder Noah was so affectionate. He couldn't imagine who he could have learned it from, since it certainly wasn't them. Tawny’s tales coaxed him away from that trail of thought. He was incredibly glad to have never been a patron of Denny’s, and she provided him a newfound interest in Downtown’s coffee-shop baristas. He’d make a game of it, perhaps text her his top guesses as to who the dominatrix was. He laughed. “I’d hardly call any of that ‘mundane’. You’re a bit voyeuristic, aren’t you? Checking in on that woman’s escapades like it’s a TV drama. Sounds like you’re already living vicariously through others – no seeking of ‘well-travelled crowds’ necessary.” Though, he wondered if her definition of 'interesting people' was the same as his. She could learn everything there was to know about a person with a touch – did that become boring? Were most human experiences truly so similar and, if so, was that what motivated her to seek out those veterans’ memories? On a similar note, why bother continuing to speak to someone when there was nothing new to learn? It was something Noah was guilty of; once he felt he had torn open every scar and uncovered every skeleton, he tended to lose interest and move on to the next person. The process occurred a lot more frequently with the humans that stumbled into his life (without gifts they had far less to offer him), but he couldn’t deny that gifted had been discarded as well. Since Tawny had released his hand, he casually draped his forearm over her middle. He was content just sitting and feeling her fingertips ghost across his bicep, watching the way her lashes kissed her cheeks every time she blinked. Her gaze lingered on his mouth. And the longer she lingered, the more he wanted to touch her, to show her exactly what his mouth could do. Her innocent question was met with a deadpan look, telling her he knew what she was doing – putting thoughts in his head. He eyed her for a long moment, searching. Then he spoke, his voice dropping into a low murmur. “I think I’d like to try something else.” He dragged his hand halfway back across her middle and then slipped it under the hem of her shirt to curl around her waist, stroking his thumb along her lower ribs. She was so warm and soft, frustratingly far away despite her closeness. It was too awkward of an angle to duck down and kiss her, so he readied himself to pull her up, preferably into his lap with her legs tight around his hips. But he reconsidered her question. It was a dilemma he’d never faced before: get hot and heavy or borrow a gift. Could he do both? He wanted both. Holding back her memories felt easy enough while they were calmly situated in his kitchen, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he wouldn’t struggle if someone as practiced as her could get distracted. He sighed. “You little temptress. How am I supposed to get anything done with you around, hm?” He needed to think with his head, and his head was telling him that her gift was something he couldn’t find in anyone else. It should take precedence over the other parts he desired. “Come on then. Let’s see how many memories you get before my gift kicks you out. Then maybe I’ll give you a… house tour… or something…” He was trying very hard to be good, trying to figure out if it were possible for him to influence which memories she visited even while his mind drifted to ways of getting her in his bedroom. Though, he really wasn’t fussy; the couch would work just as well as his bed – hell, the kitchen island would do too. Any flat surface. Tawny Vokes
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