[Noah St Cloud]

It had been easier to leave Tawny alone when the ball was in her court. She had his number and address – it was her move; Noah could do nothing. He'd steadily gotten better at ignoring her existence entirely, and as days passed he was reconciled to never hearing from her again. Then it had arrived on his doorstep. The basket. Holding his clothes and the whiskey bottle and the card with the note.

He’d stared at the phone number in disbelief and absently traced his thumb over the scribbled-out P.S. message. He spent a long time wondering if it was a trick, if calling that number would somehow be considered an admission of guilt and the Sector would kick down his door. Nonetheless, he'd added it to his contacts under her preferred nickname with the cake slice and purple heart emojis beside it. It was embarrassing, really, the amount of times he typed and backspaced on a message. He'd never felt like he was on such thin ice, where one wrong word could plunge him under and scare off the tentative outstretched hand. Everything he wrote felt too light, too blatantly avoidant of the threats he’d made against her. But sending her something serious would be much worse.

Although she remained on the periphery of his thoughts, almost another week passed without incident until the one particular evening he decided to get out and enjoy Los Eurosia’s nightlife. One bar led to another and he ended up tagging along with a hen party. There was a drinking contest, feather boas, and the ladies agreed that yes, phones were too much pressure, and then he’d had the brilliant idea to meet Tawny in person again. Forget phones. Face-to-face was so much easier. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

He squinted up at the downtrodden building his Uber history insisted she’d been dropped off at. Someone happened to be leaving, and they must have thought he lived there because they held the entrance door open for him to rush inside. Very nice of them. Very unsafe. He drifted around the halls, blinking up at faint fluorescent lights and examining walls that looked like they’d benefit from a fresh coat of paint. Not the most attractive place he’d been in but not the worst either. It was all astoundingly mediocre.

He started knocking on doors, made a great first impression every single time (the residents who met him with tired scowls and biting inquisitions like ‘don’t you know what time it is?’ didn’t count) until one guy actually listened and recognised his description of Tawny. He knew her door number, directing him to the second floor, and Noah, though grateful the search had been shortened, gave the baffled man a solid glare for knowing and told him to watch himself. What kind of person kept track of who lived in their building to that extent? Who did he think he was, the landlord? And who would freely tell an inebriated stranger where a nice girl lived? Noah could have been dangerous; some people were way too naïve and trusting.

There wasn't an elevator (not that he’d use it to go up one floor; that was plain lazy) so he trudged up the stairs, having the impression that there would be dried chewing gun under the handrail if he looked. He didn’t. He reached the next level and was faced with a corridor that made him feel like he’d been dumped in a kindergarten classroom. There were too many colours, a battlefield of toys, and amongst the casualties were an assortment of letter blocks with at least half the alphabet missing, a vividly pink pig plushie, and a plastic dial-up telephone with cartoon animals instead of numbers on its surface. It made his head hurt. And to make it worse he could hear muffled shrieking and laughter through the wall to his left, and the piercing screams of a toddler tantrum to his right.

Noah knew, if his mom had been right about the Bible, this was what his hell would look and sound like. Except the kids would be let loose rather than kept behind closed doors.

Oh shit. Hang on. What if they were Tawny’s children? His stomach plummeted. The blood drained from his face and he flung an arm out to clutch the wall for support. He’d never considered she might be a mother. The possibility hadn’t crossed his mind for a second – and why would it? He’d seen no evidence of kids in her memories aside from when she herself had been one, and she’d never mentioned having to get home quickly to relieve a babysitter from duty. But... the evidence of the corridor was pretty damning.

He narrowed his eyes at the pig. So what if Tawny had kids? It didn't matter. He’d come this far. It would take more than a couple of snot-nosed, undergrown humans to stop him.

He took one step. And instantly tripped over the plastic telephone thing. It mooed.

Noah's second attempt to move along the hall was notably more careful and successful. He located her door and was greeted by a welcome mat with ‘Home is where the cat is’ printed across it in swirly writing alongside a few paw prints. Very sweet. Very Tawny. But it reminded him of yet another issue; hanging out might be a bit awkward if her cat turned his legs into a new scratching post. For reasons unknown, cats and dogs didn’t like him very much. He didn’t think it was very fair because he’d never been unpleasant to any animals, let alone the domestic ones that should want to be petted, but the fact remained that they would either give him a wide-berth or attack on sight. He could only hope Tawny’s cat fell into the first category.

He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, hands in pockets, ankles crossed. Trying to look suave and sober in his nice black sweater and dark jeans, nevermind the fact that his hair was a bit mussed and he was pretty sure there was still a small pink feather stuck in it from the party. It took a solid five seconds before he remembered he needed to knock first.

He did so to the rhythm of ‘shave and a haircut’ and waited for the door to open. It was darker in the corridor than in her apartment and he squinted against the light, rapidly blinking until he recognised her dark hair and big blue eyes.

“Tawny!” He beamed at the sight of her, though his unfocused gaze made it difficult to truly drink her in. He’d done it. Tracked her down like he was some super spy – he ought to sign up for the FBI or, hell, maybe even the Sector! They’d be impressed by his resourcefulness, he was sure. The side of his head thunked into the doorframe and it took him a moment to roll it upright again. He’d had a plan, things he was going to say, but the issue of her potential spawn left little room in his mind for anything else. His smile dropped and he tipped forward slightly, his forehead creasing as he tried convey his sincerity through his eyes. “Listen, if you have kids I’ll do my best but – I’m telling you now – I do not know how to talk to them.”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

The only light in Tawny's apartment was the soft, warm radiance of the string lights strung above her couch, the glow from the TV across the room — playing a movie she'd seen dozens of times on mute — and the laptop screen before her. She was seated on her couch with the computer on her thighs, feet propped upon the coffee table, and a throw blanket draped across her middle. A ferret lounged across her bare shoulders like a scarf, limp and snoring, his feet giving the occasional twitch as he dreamed. On one side of her, the curled form of a grey-striped tabby cat pressed against her outer leg, and on the other side of her was a bowl of dry Froot Loops. Music played from a speaker on the shelf built into the wall above the couch and she tapped a socked toe along to the beat of it, eyes darting across the patient notes she'd been typing at for the last hour.

As she finished reading the written words and found she still wasn't pleased with them, she sighed and glanced up at the television; watching the words she knew by heart play silently across the actors' lips as she popped a piece of cereal into her mouth. She pushed the reading glasses further up her nose and glanced back down, switching windows to peruse her email in order to give the notes a much-needed break. Clicking through the endless stream of spam and advertisements was much more brain-numbing, allowing her to hum along to the music and momentarily forget that there was still work to be done.

There was a melodic knock at her door, startling both her and the cat beside her. The ferret slung across the back of her neck raised his head at her sudden jolt, then stretched his whole body with a wide, squeaky yawn. Myrtle — who passionately despised the apartment building's maintenance man and automatically assumed every knock preluded his entrance — bolted off the couch and skittered across the living room, launching herself at wall-mounted ledges and scrambling into a small hidey-hole. Tawny glanced at the door, then at the clock mounted just beside it. At this hour there were only a couple of possibilities, and she wasn't sure which would be worse. With a suffering sigh, knowing full well she would never achieve her current level of comfort again after getting up, she threw her blanket aside and stood. She placed the laptop on the coffee table and scooped the ferret onto the floor, where his eyes immediately alit upon his brother, snoozing under the couch. The ferret squeezed under the furniture to attack him, freshly invigorated from his nap and ready to tussle, not one bit minding the fact the other was still sleeping.

Tawny smoothed down her shirt and moved across the living room, nearly tripping over the wrestling ball of squeaky ferrets as they rolled mindlessly across her path and disappeared into the kitchen, one obviously more irritated than the other. As she approached the door and lifted on her tiptoes to look through the peephole, she tried to guess who was on the other side: a friend, ready to drag her out to the bar no matter how extensively she protested, the crotchety man from upstairs asking her to turn down her music (although it was only just loud enough to muffle the screaming children next door and Tawny was sure the man was half-deaf anyway), or an exasperated mother begging her to watch an irritable baby as she made a "quick" grocery store run.

Tawny quickly fell flat on her feet, heart dropping in her chest, as she recognized a familiar face through the peephole, only not one she was expecting. She unfolded a hand and pressed its palm to the wood of the door, mind whirring with a sudden flurry of possibilities. Why the hell was Noah here? It'd been about two weeks since she'd nearly drowned in his backyard and one week since she'd dropped the basket with his clothes and a gifted bottle of whisky at his doorstep. In that week that followed, she had wrestled with the notion of him reaching out to her, completely undecided if that was something she desired or feared. She'd decided to leave the envelope with her note and phone number in the package after all, forcing the prospect of further contact in his hands, as was her modus operandi. But as the days ticked by, she figured he'd made his mind up to keep an eye on her from afar. Or to have someone else babysit her and make sure she didn't put him in danger by running her mouth.

Which she should have been more than happy with, considering the circumstances. And yet, she hadn't been. Not entirely.

Realizing she couldn't just stand there and do nothing, Tawny took a quick breath and flicked on a lamp to flood her living area with more light. She peeked at herself in the mirror mounted beside the door and silently lamented the simple, ready-for-bed clothes she currently wore — a plain tank top and boxer-like shorts — it was a far cry better than swimming in his too-big clothes, but still, would there ever be a meeting that she was half-decently prepared for? She considered pulling on the cardigan that was draped over the chair to her right but then sighed in resignation — only taking another moment to make sure she didn't look as surprised as she felt before unlatching and opening the door.

He wobbled in her doorway, body held in such a way that suggested he was trying to look cool; the illusion immediately broken by his wide beam and the cheery way her name left his lips. Tawny blinked at him, fingers tightening upon the door handle as she watched his head thunk against the wood and the way he raised it with a bit of difficulty. She took in his bleary, unfocused eyes, his slightly-unbalanced tip forward, and the overall look of dishevelment to him, and realized — oh my god, he was lit.

"Noah! Uh, hi. What..." the words tumbled from her mouth as she reached for something to say, to ask him why he was there, but then her eyes lifted to the pink feather poking from his tousled hair, and a smile tugged at her lips. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come in before you're seen." The words were spoken as if he'd had to convince her to be invited in; had pestered her endlessly and finally beat her down enough for her to relent. She wondered if he would have.

With a touch upon his arm, she pulled him inside, gaze snapping toward the door across the hall. She knew, just knew the nosy, hawk-like woman who lived across from her was watching. In the morning, she'd be loitering in the mailroom at the front foyer as she always did, waiting for her chance to grab Tawny on her way out the door; to inquire about the handsome man she'd invited in with a hungry gleam to her eyes and a disapproving 'tsk' on her lips. She never missed a thing. It happened so often, Tawny was half-convinced the woman lived with her eye glued to her peephole, just waiting for a child to step too close so she could tear her door open with a screech. Occurring to her as a fanciful afterthought, Tawny wondered if the woman would have anything to say if she were to mysteriously vanish. Would she lend a helpful voice to the police poking around Tawny's apartment or was her constant monitoring for gossip purposes only?

She quickly dismissed the thought.

"Kids, best behavior!" Tawny shouted as she clicked the door shut behind Noah, making sure to give her best imitation of the crack-whip mother she'd heard so many times through the walls. Tone sharp and brooking no argument. "Your new step-daddy's here!" She knew it would be obvious from the lack of toys littering the floor and the somewhat comparable silence that came with her shutting the door behind him, that she was only joking. But she didn't quickly leap to reassure him of her teasing, not wanting to miss any bewilderment that might cross his drunken features. And as she glanced about her apartment and its mess of cat toys strewn around, pretending to see it for the first time, she wondered if it was so obvious after all. Oh well — it was better to let him sweat, even if only for a second. A bit of retribution for showing up unannounced.

She whisked past him and crossed over the small living area, glancing back over her shoulder. "Just kidding." She moved the bowl of cereal from the couch to the coffee table before closing her laptop and taking off her glasses to fold atop it. She kneeled across the couch to turn down the music to a more ignorable volume; a level that they could comfortably speak over, but loud enough that the soft tones would fill any lulls in conversation. It would have been easier to adjust the volume on her phone, but she'd purposely forgotten where she'd left it hours earlier, not wanting to acknowledge the neglected text messages from everyone trying to pull her out to enjoy the weekend.

With that finished, Tawny figured there was nothing else she could pretend to busy herself with, so she straightened and faced Noah squarely, planting her hands on her hips and tilting her head as she watched him wobble. "So... I'm assuming this is a friendly visit." As if sensing her owner's appraising, Myrtle popped her head from her wall-mounted cubby hole and, seeing no maintenance man, clambered out to settle atop it. The small tabby flicked an ear at their visitor, tail wrapping tight around her legs as she stared at him, unblinking. "I mean, I've been so good! Not a peep!"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Noah’s eyes adjusted to the light and glided over the ivory skin left bare by her tank top and shorts, entranced by subtle curves that were previously hidden from him. Tawny shouldn’t have answered the door dressed like that; there could have been a creep on the other side. But had she worn it deliberately for him? Ah wait, no, she hadn’t known he was coming. He shook himself, lifted his gaze to her face again and realised she was wearing glasses. Huh. Cute. Something new for him to terrorise her about.

“Yay,” he purred and smiled at her touch on his arm as she led him inside. Eagerly, he waited for the pressure in his head – for her gift to pass over to him. It did not, and he remembered skin-to-skin contact was needed for it to work. Damn.

Before he could pout, she raised her voice with an authoritative snap that made his jaw drop. Oh God. She really did have kids. He blanched, stumbled at her referral to him as ‘step-daddy’, and kept his worried stare upon her as he tried to glean what plans she had in store for him. Was this an entrapment situation? Was raising her children the cost of her silence? He had enough finances to coast along on his own but he’d have to get a proper job if he was going to put their kids through college (it seemed like something they would eventually want to do, since both he and their mother had earned degrees). Would they want to move in with him? He had the room for that, and his lawn would be safer for them to run around on than Downtown’s streets. But would he be a good role model and his house was his space –

Tawny glanced over her shoulder, seemed to recognise he was spiralling, and told him she was joking. Noah released a rush of air, tension seeping out of every pore. He could have wept, too relieved to even send her a playful glare. Yet with the child problem confirmed to be non-existent, he did his best to collect himself. Right. She’d been a good houseguest; he would be too. He toed off his shoes, holding his arms out for additional balance. Success. He followed her further into her home and tried to hide the sway in his step perhaps less successfully, though he hoped it went unnoticed as she was busy moving her things around.

Her apartment was the same as it had appeared in her memories, the most obvious difference being it was night-time instead of day. There were still a lot of random items strewn about, mostly art supplies and sketchbooks he was determined to flick through at some point, but he didn’t recognise the music she was playing this time, being far more used to the mainstream House and EDM tunes they played in nightclubs. He decided it was nice. Calm. And he wondered if he could get his hands on her playlist, try to decipher whether their lyrics were meaningful to her or if she simply liked the sound. A familiar little grey tabby was settled on a wall-mounted cubby hole, watching him. He stared back for a moment, equally unblinking, and was pleased that the creature didn’t immediately charge him. Maybe his legs would be safe.

Tawny faced Noah and told him she’d been good. He nodded vigorously, taking another step towards her. “I know, I know; I read your note. I came to say thank you and I brought the whiskey–” he glanced down at his empty hands – “I left the whiskey at home, but it’s good stuff! Thank you. I thought we could drink together and I meant to call you but then I thought a call would be too much pressure so I was gonna text, but then I couldn’t think what to say and now I’m here because I wanted to see your place in person, see how you’re doing…”

His rambles trailed off as he slowly turned, looking around the apartment. So many cat toys. So many canvases to steal. It was good Tawny was alive. Although he’d mostly been able to push their encounter to the back of his mind, he’d taken some time (mainly when he was laid in bed, slipping into sleep) to think about why he didn’t kill her. He reckoned it was because she was like a good book; one he was invested in. The plot – her ties with the Sector and her gift – had potential. And the cover was pretty. And there were a few supporting characters he was curious to see more of. Why stop reading? Why throw a perfectly good book away when it wasn’t over?

He put his hands on his hips, blowing out a puff of air at the sight of yet another cat toy near his foot. “I’m so glad you don’t have kids. I don’t know what I would have done if some six-year-old was running around and started asking me crazy shit like, ‘why don’t horses eat meat?’” He looked back at her, the hypothetical being enough to ramp up his stress again. “I don’t know the answer to that, Tawny! Horses eat grass and that’s just the way it is, but you know a kid’s not gonna accept that.”

In the corner of his eye, something scuttled across the kitchen floor.

Noah twisted towards it, forehead puckered. Her cat was still on its perch and he hadn't seen other pets in her memories. Did she have a mice problem? He wouldn't be surprised; as nice as the late night venues were, Downtown was a relatively cruddy place to live in. The kitchen was a little difficult to see in his inebriated state so he strained his ears, trying to hear what it was. There was a squeak. A blur of brown tumbled into his line of sight, then out again. Way too big to be a mouse.

“WOAH!” Despite being nowhere near the thing Noah automatically stumbled again, closer to the couch, and spun to face Tawny with his eyes as wide as saucers “Holy fuck. Did you see that?” He held onto the back of the sofa and flung his other arm out, pointing to the space where the blur had disappeared. “That was the chonkiest fucking rat I’ve ever seen! No wonder your cat’s hiding up the wall.”

Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Tawny couldn't help the soft, amused smile that pulled across her face as she watched Noah utterly deflate, taking a moment to breathe out the tension she'd forced upon him with her little fib about the children. And then he launched into a rather digressive explanation about the events leading to him knocking at her door. Her gaze searched his face and razed down the length of him, and she had to briefly wonder how she was ever afraid of him. It was difficult to imagine now — as she watched him sway a bit on his feet, with his dark eyes glassy and his face pulled lax by drink — that she'd been trembling in fear as he touched her not even two weeks earlier. Big fat tears slipping down her cheeks.

At the thought, her chest gave a small flutter. It really was foolish of her, wasn't it — to invite him in so easily, like he was a helpless stray with nowhere else to go. He hadn't even needed to break out the puppy-dog eyes. A part of her chided herself for her abandoned sense of self-preservation; it was a niggling voice in the back of her mind, cautioning her to not let her guard down completely and reminding her to be careful. And yet, as the drunken rambling trailed off and Noah began to make a slow, unbalanced spin to observe her apartment, Tawny was aware of a much louder voice, a much more present part of her, imploring her to wrap him up in a blanket, pop him some popcorn, and make sure he got to sleep alright. Insure he didn't wake up in a ditch somewhere as he stumbled his drunken way home. And there was another tiny whisper somewhere among the fray, a part of her that she stifled, that was already considering taking advantage of him; conniving ways to get him in her bed at the end of the night instead of the couch.

Tawny pushed all the warring thoughts away; shut out the voices before they could wrestle her to a stand-still. With a steady breath through her nose, she decided she would just... see what happened. She couldn't imagine they'd get too far into the night before the subject of threats and murder was breached more seriously, but she'd wait until he stepped on the first eggshell. Until then, she'd play along; pretend it was a moot point and that this was a visit like any other. Just any other inebriated friend showing up on her doorstep unannounced.

With all indecisions decidedly shed, Tawny felt herself relax a bit, and allowed her gaze to follow Noah's as he looked around. Her apartment was small, and made to feel smaller by the clutter and mess she had strewn about. A far cry from his spacious, tidy home. She might have cleaned up a bit, had she known he was coming over, but then what would have been the point? He'd likely seen it at its worst already in her memories. The front door opened into the carpeted living room. There was a greyish-tan L-shaped couch with a couple of brightly-colored, differently-patterned pillows backed against one wall and a TV, still playing a muted movie, stacked on an entertainment center on the opposite wall. The entertainment center had glass windows, its cabinets completely stuffed to the brim with books. The couch was just slightly too short for Noah to stretch across comfortably. Between the couch and the entertainment center was a low coffee table, hardly large enough for both of them to prop their feet upon at the same time. Other furniture included a desk and chair right beside the front door, a cat tree in the corner, and a bookshelf between the cat tree and the couch. The kitchen was visible when you walked in, separated from the living room only by a half-wall, but there was a room across from it — what was obviously supposed to be a dining area, if Tawny hadn't elected to use the space for her painting. With its big windows that lead to the balcony and fire-escape, it was the best place for natural light during the day. Instead, Tawny had stuffed a small, wooden table between the couch and the kitchen's half-wall. It was only large enough for two chairs, and was likely meant to serve as her dining table, were its surface ever cleared off. There was a small alcove beside the entertainment center with two doors — one that led to the bathroom and the other to her bedroom — both of them cracked just enough for a cat or ferret to slip in. There was hardly an inch of empty wall space to be seen. Where there weren't photographs or some sort of framed artwork (none her own), there were ledges, lounge seats, and little cubbies to provide her cat and ferrets plenty of vertical space to climb and sleep upon. And to add to the clutter, there were canvases everywhere. Leaned atop one another, against the bookcase, against the cat tree, against the spaces between every bit of furniture.

Noah's gaze eventually settled on a cat toy near his foot, and Tawny wondered if the chaos of her place was dizzying, especially when his world was likely already spinning. She lifted her brow, amused, as he expressed his relief about her not having any little-Tawny's to pester him, then exasperated himself with the notion of explaining simple facts to them. She considered it. "It can't be that bad," she mused. "If they don't accept the boring facts just make something up that they do like — horses eat dreams, that's why cowboys and farmers are so tired all the time. Then just trust that public education will set them straight when they're old enough."

Noah's attention snapped toward the kitchen and Tawny turned to see one of the ferrets scamper from the kitchen into the would-be dining area. Her gaze skipped back to Noah as he jolted and stumbled back, assuming the little weasel was an oversized rat. Tawny lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle the laugh that wanted to bark from her lips; smearing it into a contained smile that she hid behind her fingers. For a split-second she wanted to be offended — she didn't have rats — but then took into consideration that her apartment building definitely looked like the kind of place that had rats. Had he not seen Finch and Lark in her memories? Oh, she wasn't done making him sweat yet. There was more retribution to be reckoned.

"Ugh, I know!" Tawny rolled her eyes with a heavy scoff. "And the landlord just won't do anything about them!" Closing the space between them with a step, Tawny clasped the hand that Noah had raised to point toward the kitchen and guided him around the couch's edge, backing him against the cushions and forcing him to plop down upon them. It wasn't too difficult and she could feel the precariousness in the weight of his limbs as she moved him, as if the control he had over them was delayed. Once he was seated, she gave him a quick, stern look that said 'wait', and then turned to make a brisk stride toward the dining area, steps made purposely heavy with feigned vexation. As she rounded the corner, out of Noah's line of sight, she quickly spotted the ferret trying to squeeze himself into a thick roll of unstretched canvas. Sensing her footfalls coming toward him (lighter now as she let the pretending fall away), he backed out of the tunnel and made to bounce away from her, his tiny maw opened wide to squeak his excitement. But she was too quick and scooped him up before his claws could find sufficient purchase on the tile.

Tawny returned to the living area, cradling the wriggling ferret in both hands with a broad beam. "They probably wouldn't be so damn chonky, but I admit, I've been feeding them. Poor, misunderstood things." She bent her head to shower Lark's face with exaggerated kisses, then made her eyes wide and bright as she lifted them back to Noah, hoping to find a blooming horror on his features as she rained affections on what he suspected to be a rat. Maybe he would think she was absolutely unhinged. That she was the one to be wary of, as he scrambled out of her apartment with the conclusion that meeting her again was a very bad idea.

Tawny didn't break stride, didn't heed any protest Noah may have made, but swept right over to where he was seated on the couch and let Lark clamber from her hands onto the cushion next to him. Then she stepped back, fists returning to her hips as she smiled at the pair, preparing to intervene in case Noah reacted badly and decided to whack the little weasel. She felt a tiny set of claws against her ankle and glanced down to see Finch, his cream-colored fur puffed out, bounce away with his own wriggly display of joy, not wanting to be left out and enticing her to chase. She scooped him up on the couch as well. "The darker one's a gold digger, watch your wallet."

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

At Tawny’s scoff, Noah glared over at the kitchen and decided to kick her landlord’s ass. He was about to inform her of this plan and suggest making it happen sooner rather than later, but she took his hand and guided him away. Again, no gift accompanied her touch, and his forehead creased despite reminding himself it was a good thing. He should be wary of her looking in his head. There were other happenings in his history he wanted to keep secret, childhood memories he didn’t care for and adult ones saturated with violence. Yet equally he wanted to dig deeper into in her life, see what she’d been up to since they’d met, watch her pick out the card and the whisky especially for him. And he figured, if the blackmail was working for the 'mind-blowing' incident, it should hold strong for anything else she saw too.

He dropped down onto the couch and blinked dazedly up at her, completely forgetting pests and gifts for a moment as he contemplated grabbing her waist and pulling her down with him – nope, too late. She marched away, a woman on a mission, and Noah snorted a laugh as he wondered if he was about to watch her fight some rodents. Then she came back, holding one of the things. Kissing it.

Noah’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline. His mind raced. Rats could be clean, but the wild ones she’d found in her kitchen? Ones which probably spent the majority of their life in Downtown’s sewers? They couldn’t be safe. They were bound to be carrying some sort of illness, if not the second coming of the bubonic plague. The brightness of her eyes, suddenly more shark-like than Bambi-style, made him scoot along her couch in the opposite direction. She’d taken ‘make love, not war’ too far and she wanted him to join her, striding towards him with purpose. In a more sober state he would have clambered over the back cushions to get away, but his limbs felt too heavy. All he could do was hold his hand out in weak surrender. Try to talk her down. “Uh, Shortcake – sweetheart, hang on a sec–”

Ignoring him, Tawny put the creature down on the couch. Noah stared, his feebly outstretched hand flopping back to his side. He stared some more. It was roughly the length of his forearm, its tail too furry to be a rat’s. Its whiskers twitched as it blinked at him. “What is this?” he whispered, wide eyes briefly darting up to Tawny’s. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew it was a ferret. But why did she have it? It couldn’t be her pet; it had no use. Cats hunted. Dogs guarded. He understood why people would want them in their home. But this little thing? With its stubby legs and lanky form and teeny-tiny ears? What could it possibly do?

Tawny appeared to summon another ferret – a cream one – from thin air. Noah felt like his eyes were about to bulge out of his head. It was placed beside the first, and he was about to ask why she had two useless pets when it made a mad dash for his fingers. “Ow! Hey!” Sharp little teeth dug into his skin and he yanked his hand upwards. It clung on for a moment, tiny paws floundering and tail rippling in the air like a flag before it dropped, only to immediately spring up again to nip at his elbow instead. He tried not to laugh, pressing his lips together, but unmanly giggles slipped through along with whisper-yells and muffled shrieks as the other ferret joined its sibling in terrorising him. He tried to squirm away, pressing back into the couch, but his endeavours were futile. The ferrets were determined to use him as a chewable climbing frame and he sensed their chittering sounds (which reminded him of rubber soles squeaking on linoleum) were a war cry.

Wheezing, he tried to scoop the cream one up. It refused to be contained and wriggled and twisted around in his hold to scurry up his arm. Paws scrabbled at his skin and then the sleeve of his sweater to find their balance, more of a tickling pressure than anything else. He eagerly lifted his gaze to Tawny, wanting to know if she was seeing this crazy experience. “It’s like – it’s like they don’t have bones. They’re liquid.” The darker one rolled around on his lap, twisted into a donut shape before springing back out of it as if to prove his point. He pulled the cream one off his shoulder, using both hands to hold it up by its armpits. “Jail.” He told it, and it squawked and flailed indignantly. “That’s what you get.” He looked up at Tawny again, grinning. “Do they have names? When and why did you get them? These are the dumbest things I've ever seen.”

The darker one was sniffing at his trouser pocket with investigative zeal, and Tawny’s warning swam to the forefront of his mind. He put the cream ferret down and attempted to protect his wallet by twisting his hips away, but the cream one wanted retribution. Suddenly it was airborne, and another muffled shriek-giggle was incited as it landed on Noah’s chest. It scrambled upwards onto his shoulder and stretched up on its hind legs with its front paws balancing on his ear, seeming to find interest in the top of his head. Meanwhile, the other ferret took advantage of the distraction and dived headfirst into Noah’s pocket, yanking itself back out with his wallet clutched in its jaws.

“Oh shi–” Noah dived sideways in pursuit as it darted off. The ferret on his shoulder scrambled across the back of his neck to his other shoulder, then ran along his side before leaping off his hip. The thief bounced away with a triumphant squeak. Noah lunged after it again, aiming to catch it mid-air as it hopped off the sofa edge, and was rewarded for his efforts by falling off the couch and onto his face.

He stayed there for a moment, questioning his life choices. Maybe the ferrets weren't so dumb after all. Eventually, he groaned and rolled over, laying flat on his back as he stared up at his host. “Assaulted and robbed in broad daylight.” He sniffed. “I thought it was your turn to save me from a perilous situation.” His pout faded away, easily distracted as he eyed her bare legs. It had been so nice when she’d been laying in his lap… He reached out for her, curling his hand around her calf as he tried to fix her with his best come-hither look, but the grin that stretched wide across his face felt far too sappy for it to be effective. “Make it up to me?”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

The ferrets wasted no time and immediately went in on Noah, his drunken cries only fueling them further to savagery. Tawny made to move a couple of times, fingers ready to lift the nuisance-noodles away, but she stopped herself from coming to his rescue, placated by his giggles as he twisted and floundered beneath them. They climbed all over him, relentlessly and unashamedly obtrusive. When he looked back up at her, asking their names and how she'd gotten them, and expressed how ridiculous and dumb they were, she crossed her arms and shifted her weight more to one hip, assuming a stance.

"Hey now," she spoke lowly, dressing the words with a bit of warning tease, as if he were terribly close to hurting her feelings. "They're very smart and elegant creatures." Her mind flashed with images to evidence the contrary: Lark leaping in the toilet, skittering through wet paint and tracking colorful pawprints across the floor, tumbling off the bed, getting stuck in the blinds or overturned mixing bowls. Always pushing his luck with the cat. The list was endless and it seemed to always be Lark. With a musing pull to her mouth, she amended her statement. "In their own... roundabout way."

"My brother got them for his daughter a couple of Christmases ago." Briefly, Tawny wondered if she should even mention her family, considering Noah was using them against her. She didn't necessarily want to highlight their existence or emphasize their importance to her. Perhaps she should have made something simpler up. Said she rescued them from a shelter or that they were given to her by a patient. "But kids get bored so fast. The novelty wears off, they become more work than they're worth, and next thing you know — off to the shelter with 'em." The story reminded her faintly of her own relationships. She wondered if she was the bratty child in someone else's narrative, dropping girlfriends and boyfriends once it was realized how much attention and care they needed from her. How little energy she had to expend for them. "He had me take them." Tawny shrugged. "I brought them home instead."

She laughed freely as Lark bounded away with Noah's wallet between his tiny teeth, Finch covering his brother's retreat with his own renewed assault. She had warned him. Noah dived after the squirrely thief and ended up facedown on the floor. Finch, not missing a beat, used Noah's back as a landing pad as he leaped off the sofa, then launched himself just as quickly off the tumbled man in pursuit of his brother. Prepared to tussle over the loot of their successful heist. The wallet was hastily dropped as Lark was ambushed. The pair thumped into the far wall, twisting and dancing around one another with gleeful hops and playful nips.

"The klepto is Lark, the angel in comparison, Finch. Myrtle is the cat. And she's the boss bitch around here, so watch yourself." The words were spoken to Noah's back and Tawny uncrossed her arms after a moment, wondering if laying flat on the carpet was enough to take him out for the night. She listened for the tell-tale snore and considered the grueling prospect of having to wrestle his much heavier body back to the couch. But eventually, with a long groan, he rolled over to gaze up at her, pouting.

As she stared down at him, Tawny thought that maybe she was done fucking with him. Maybe he'd suffered enough. But then his lips split into a wide, maudlin grin and she wanted to rescind the notion entirely. Because how dare he be so adorably drunk. His hand raised to wrap fingers gingerly around her calf and she finally considered letting his memories seep through the touch. Just to see what he'd gotten up to tonight. See how exactly the night's events had pointed him to her door. How he'd conquered the toy-strewn corridor of her apartment floor. Maybe she'd skim back and see how he'd reacted to the basket left upon his porch. If he'd considered texting or calling her before he broke open the bottle of whiskey. But then she knew the power would slip from her and he'd know she was taking a swim. Would question what she was seeking. There was always the chance she'd see something she didn't want to and they'd have a repeat of prior events. And above all, she wasn't sure if she wanted him to be able to poke about her own head in his current state. Didn't know if he'd be able to stop himself from seeing, as drunk as he was.

"Make it up to you?" She scoffed incredulously, wriggling her leg free from his hold and prodding lightly at his ribs with her toe, going for the tickle. She squatted beside him, balancing her weight expertly in the balls of her feet with her elbows upon her thighs. She dragged her eyes across his face, taking a long, weighted moment to trace the hard line of his jaw and the slope of his mouth, feeling her mind pull back to the moment she'd stretched across his couch, when they'd studied and teased each other with ever-decreasing shame, inching closer to a line neither of them seemed reluctant to cross. When she'd been blissfully ignorant of the more darkly-alarming things he did in the night. Tawny tilted her head, finally meeting his eyes with an innocent frown. "How do you propose I do that?" She shifted her weight and reached out with one hand to coax the hair that'd scattered across his forehead back out of his eyeline. Her fingers picked out the persistent pink feather that'd somehow survived the ferrets' attack and twirled it between them. "Personally, I'm of the opinion you were probably due for a little assault."

Tawny let the feather fall to his chest as she stood. "Come on, up you go. Before the little birds come back for round two." Her gaze flitted toward the front door, where Finch was trying to shove his entire, too-big body into one of Noah's shoes. His butt and hind-paws wriggled in the air and Lark nipped and tugged at his thrashing tail before bouncing around the other shoe. She looked back down at him, offering a hand to pull him up, even though the idea that she could was laughable. "I'm dying to hear what you got up to tonight. I'd take a peek myself, but then you'd know I was peeking, and where's the fun in that?"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Noah’s grin remained even as Tawny slipped out of his grasp. She crouched beside him, and he was about to give some very detailed suggestions to her inquiry when she swept his hair from his eyes. Oh hell yeah. His eyelids fluttered with an approving hum. He tried lifting his head, wanting to feel her fingers to cart through his hair, drag over his scalp, but it was too heavy and all she did was pull out a pink feather. He went a little cross-eyed looking at it as she twirled it in front of his face. Crap. Maybe she knew he wasn’t sober. And to add insult to injury she told him he deserved being beaten up by her minions. He gaped at her, his brows drawing together in faux outrage. “Hey! ‘Due for a little assault?’ You’d repay me for my ridiculously manly, life-saving heroism by making me a victim of ferret violence?”

She stood. Keeping up the offended act, he glared at her extended hand and envisioned yanking her down to the floor with him. Maybe he could use her as a human shield against her wriggly roommates, refuse to release her until she promised to be nicer to him. And he would have done exactly that, had the thought not crossed his mind that he might wrench her arm from its socket or bruise her knees when she hit the floor. He sighed. Sometimes being mindful was such a pain. Their interactions would be far easier if he could do whatever he wanted and not worry about the consequences. But then, if he did that, their interactions would be far fewer as well.

Pouting again, he reached up to lightly hold onto Tawny for balance as he heaved himself to his feet. He swayed, smirking down at her as he pulled her hand to his chest. “Are you sure you don’t want a peek? Forget about tonight’s events, I know some fun solo memories that might be more of interest to you.” Dark spots swam into view as he spoke, his head suddenly far too light as blood rushed back to the rest of his body. His smirk twisted into a queasy grimace; he’d stood up too fast. “Er – maybe not right this second.” Desperate not to shatter his (undoubtedly stunning) image by passing out and flattening her, he dropped her hand and staggered back onto the couch. He shook his head, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his vision, and when he could see again he swung his legs around and laid flat on his back with his head in the corner of the couch’s L-shape. He noted, with some amusement, that the sofa was too short to contain him. More than his ankles hung off the edge.

“Feel like I’m about to be therapized,” he mumbled. He intertwined his fingers and laid them across his stomach, trying to arrange himself into the stereotypical patient pose which he was sure no one seriously did in real life. Comfortable enough, he stared up at the ceiling and launched into his story.

“The evening starts off pretty normal. I make a nice dinner, I try some of your whiskey and it’s great, love it, but drinking alone is a bit pathetic so I go out. First bar is nice enough and there’s some good company, but they’re a little quiet and I don’t feel like my choices are being supported.” He frowned at the memory. He’d let slip to a couple of university students that he might have ‘accidentally’ threatened the girl he was weighing up the pros and cons of contacting. He hadn’t mentioned why or told them what type of threats he’d made, but they’d been a little too quick to tell him to leave her alone. Hah. Like that was going to happen. “I go to a second bar, less wild west and much more nineties neon. Me and the bartender have a good thing going and I’m getting half-price drinks, but then… they find me.” He glanced over at Tawny, his expression sombre. “Pamela’s hen party.”

After briefly pausing for dramatic effect, his mouth curled once more. Those shrieking ladies with their feather boas were insane. Fondly, he hoped he’d never see them again; he didn't imagine they'd be so wild in the harsh light of day. “Jen’s already tipsy and mistakes me for the stripper she hired, so suddenly I’m surrounded by a herd of cougars and everyone’s yelling at me to take my shirt off – whatever, don’t worry about it – ten minutes later I get coerced into karaoke and we’re doing songs from that John Travolta musical, you know the one –” He cleared his throat, sitting up slightly to grab an imaginary microphone. He deepened his voice and adopted an exaggerated greaser accent as he sung without grace. “Well-a well-a well-a, huh! Tell me more, tell me more, did you get very far?” Next his voice pitched high into a bray that was meant to be feminine. “Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car? Uh huh, uh huh – you get the point.” He slumped back again, tone returning to normal as if nothing had happened. “Crushed it. Literal mic-drop, applause from the whole bar. Anyways Suzanne keeps being like ‘betcha can’t handle another shot of tequila’ and I refuse to tolerate slander so we get into a competition–” he threw his arms in the air, grin triumphant – “and look who got sent home in the cab of disgrace while Noah’s still out on the town, living it large!”

His arms fell down, one smacking back across his lower ribs while the other hung limply off the couch. He blew out of puff of air, analysing the ceiling again. “The Suzanne thing sobers some of the party up and we have a little talk about the epidemic of phone communication. Then the girls are trying to take me to a secondary location and I’m thinking ‘huh, no one’s mentioned prostitution and they’ve all been lovely, but you can never be too sure with these sorts of things.’ So I bail. Run for my life. Pamela’s not my type, y’know, and I haven’t seen you since we first met. I thought I should check in. Say hi.” He beamed at Tawny for all of two seconds before his smile dropped, remembering the trials he faced on the road to finding her. He blinked innocently. “Sorry if some of your first-floor neighbours seem annoyed with you. I don’t know what their problem is.”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Noah considered her outstretched hand, face twisted in a mock display of outrage that quickly shifted into a pout. But he let her help him to his feet, then pulled her hand to his chest with a smooth slur. She met his smirk with a slight upturn to her lips and splayed her fingers where he placed them, appreciating the warmth and firmness beneath her palm. It might have been a tempting proposition if not for the massive gap in their sobriety levels. She prepared to articulate this unfortunate fact, but Noah made the point himself — dropping her hand with a staggering sway before plopping back down on the couch. "Yeah," she agreed, nodding solemnly. "Another time perhaps."

As he stretched out on the couch, Tawny moved toward the kitchen — pausing for only a moment to stretch her fingers encouragingly toward Myrtle, still settled upon her wall-mounted perch, but now with her paws tucked comfortably beneath her. Contented yet watchful, still deliberating her feelings toward their new guest. After a quick, comforting stroke, answered by the quietest of mrrows and a tipped head, she continued to the kitchen, casting Noah an amused glance over the pony wall as he began his description of the night's events. While he spoke, she turned away and opened her fridge to grab two beers and... after a considering moment... a bottle of water. She wasn't sure if drinking more would be the best move for him, so giving him a choice seemed only fair — if he didn't want the beer, she'd drink it for him, making it clear she wasn't planning on driving him home herself. She twisted the tops off and threw them on the countertop, gaze pulling to the unopened whiskey bottle — identical to the one she'd purchased him — shoved beside the coffeepot. Being a terrible lightweight, unable to pace herself smartly when taking shots, Tawny was more accustomed to sipping daiquiris and mojitos, but she'd bought the whiskey to try herself. To make sure she'd gifted Noah something good. While the idea of breaking it open was somewhat enticing, she figured Noah was too far gone at this point for her to play catch up. So she simply snorted a laugh at his mention of Pamela's hen party — voice laden with doom — and whisked back into the living room.

Tawny paused at the edge of the couch, another thought occurring to her. She turned on her heel, eye drawing to the small trash bin set next to her wooden table. The bin was half-full of papers — crumpled to-do lists, abandoned grocery lists, half-hearted sketches, about a dozen drafts for the note she'd left in Noah's basket, a started note to her brother in the event she disappeared, and the torn-open packaging for new pens and pencils that she most certainly didn't need — but it'd do. Just in case his wild night out ended up catching up to him too abruptly. Shifting the water bottle to the crook of her other arm to free a hand, she smashed the papers down, picked up the bin, and skirted around the couch. She set it on the floor next to him with an amused look, then nudged her laptop further down the coffee table to set down the beer and water. Before it could be dragged off and squirreled into some obscure hidey-hole, she retrieved his wallet from the floor — half-expecting to be bulging with a night of well-earned one-dollar bills — and tossed it on the table as well.

She grabbed her bowl of cereal and settled on the opposite end of the couch, folding her legs beneath her. Then nearly snorted on her first swig of beer when Noah broke into a quick, but admittedly dedicated, rendition of his karoaking. Of course she knew the movie. She could remember dancing on her father's feet to Grease numbers after a peek into his memory revealed that he and her mother had dressed as Danny Zuko and Sandy for a high school reunion. After delving further and longer through the lifetime they shared together, she had found the whole thing amusing, because if anything, the roles were reversed. Dione had been the tough, smooth-talking heartbreaker who'd swept up Tawny's poor, sweet, too-pure father, leaving him pining and hopeless. And like any basic bitch, Tawny had dressed up as Bad Sandy, perm and all, for a college party — one of the few she'd allowed herself to be dragged out to. That night had ended terribly.

She imagined him belting out the lyrics, leg bouncing, hips gyrating, and a table of drunken ladies screaming him on — one of them hunched over the table with her forehead pressed against the cool glass, fist still held high in encouragement. It made her consider again reaching over to grab the hand hanging limply off the couch; to take a look for herself and see if the scene was as fun and wild as she imagined. She was fairly confident she knew the bar he was talking about and wondered if she herself would have ended up there, had she relented to the begging of her friends and been taken out. What a pleasant shock it would have been, to stumble upon his performance. Perhaps she would have leaned over to admit to her friend that she knew him. Been gassed up to join him.

At his apology for the neighbors, Tawny only snorted. "They live here for one." She would be hard-pressed to call any of her neighbors friendly and she couldn't blame them really. She'd lived in the building for two years and had nothing good to say about the place, other than it was cheap and only a short walk away from more entertaining venues. "They'll be alright, not much sleep to be had around here anyway." She quirked a brow, allowing the statement the cursory pause it warranted, but then let it fall as she continued. "It's summertime which means the kids have no bedtimes." Though school time didn't provide much relief. It was bad enough trying to sleep next to the brood of children, she couldn't imagine trying to sleep below them. She was fortunate enough that her bedroom wasn't situated against a shared wall.

"Hightailing it out of there was probably a good choice," Tawny concluded, popping a Froot Loop in her mouth. "No doubt the ladies were planning to rough you up a bit more thoroughly than the ferrets did. And Pamela's getting married." She wondered if that was why she hadn't been his type, or if such things mattered to him. Debated on whether or not she would be surprised either way. "I've seen enough movies to know how that goes — there's always one bridesmaid, no doubt with eyes for the groom, who wouldn't keep that secret."

"And ah yes, to say hi." Tawny shot him a wink, a teasing grin pulling across her face as she lifted her beer. "You know, my Uber driver that day warned me about you reaching out again. Or how did she put it," she tapped her bottle against her lips, trying to recall the specifics of the woman's long-winded ranting. "Something along the lines of not being seduced back into the clutches of evil? She was a very imaginative woman. Decided she didn't like you as soon as I climbed in her backseat. I was such a mess. Anyway, men are devils, blah blah blah, don't be blinded by a hot ass, the pretty ones are the worst, you get the idea." Tawny let the bottle drop back to her lap, shaking her head sadly as she heaved an exaggerated sigh. "She would be so disappointed in me for letting you in. I can hear her 'tsk'ing now."

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

As Tawny assured him that her neighbours could handle a bit of late-night disruption, Noah sent her another sly smirk and eased himself upright, careful to avoid any sudden movements that could dizzy him again. He shifted to put his feet back on the ground and eyed the bottles she’d placed on the coffee table, finding it oddly amusing that she had beer. He had no issue with it, but it was a beverage he associated with sports fans and macho-men with something to prove – not a playful, artistic therapist. He’d imagined her as a cocktail sipper or even a wine girl, swirling a glass of red in one hand while the other dragged a paintbrush across canvas.

Two minutes ago he would have chugged the beer without hesitation. Finished it at record speed, just to show off. Now though, seeing she’d made water an option and taken the precaution of placing a bin within his reach, he was prompted to re-evaluate how inebriated he was. His motor skills were admittedly a little sluggish. His mental skills? Difficult to gauge (and he was distracted for a second by how crazy it was that his drunk-brain was scrutinising itself). His stomach wasn’t rolling but there had been instances throughout the night when the room spun and he’d felt more than a little uneasy. For obvious reasons it would not be charming to be sick in front of his host. And it was probably stupid to have his guard down so low; as difficult as it was to imagine her being capable of violence, he also knew people could do some crazy shit if they felt cornered. Maybe she was only pretending to be at ease with him. Maybe she was biding her time, waiting until he was most vulnerable to strike.

He reached for the water with reluctance. Took a sip. Then swung it back and gulped down half the bottle when it registered how parched an evening full of alcohol had made him. God, he'd needed that. He put it back down with a contented sigh and, remembering his manners, thanked her quietly, mentally reprimanding himself for being so paranoid. Maybe he would have made diabolical plans if he were in her position, but she wouldn’t be whipping out a knife as soon as he dozed off. The woman was sitting in her PJs and eating Froot Loops of all things. He was projecting.

Tawny agreed that fleeing the hen party had been wise and Noah nodded solemnly, opting to lay down again. While he wouldn’t deliberately seek out a married person to fool around with (more effort to persuade them, plus they’d probably want to go to his place rather than theirs if they decided a bed was a necessity), he wouldn’t be put off by a ring if someone interesting or attractive enough approached him. Being unfaithful was their choice. He didn’t know nor care for their partner and he’d lose no sleep over it. But Pamela truly wasn’t his type (she was whiny and painfully human) and even if she were, he wouldn’t be fully immersed in the experience since he was currently a tad fixated on the idea of being roughed up by someone else. It made going out a smidge less fun than usual. His flirtations less enjoyable.

Tawny winked as she called him out on his innocent excuse for swinging by her apartment, her lips pulling up into that familiar teasing grin that he'd missed ridiculously during their weeks apart. He grinned back, caught but not sorry. He had intended to seduce her – once he’d snooped through her things and (he’d falsely presumed) calmed her down. Honestly... he’d been expecting much more resistance. Even though she had given him a nice present and her number, he would not have been shocked if the waterworks started up again when he darkened her doorway without warning. It was all too easy to recall the feeling of her trembling against him, the sound of her trying to stifle her sobs, the way she looked, blotchy-faced and wet-eyed and perhaps disappointed when he made it clear he didn't trust her as much as he said he did. Thinking about it made him uncomfortable. He pushed the memory down.

He wasn’t surprised the Uber driver had noticed Tawny’s sorry state and warned her against seeing him again. If he had a heart, he'd probably do the same. “And I tipped her so well…” he sighed. His mouth downturned, a brooding line appeared between his brows. “This betrayal wounds me. I can’t believe she would call me evil when I never even followed through on the threat thing. If she knew all the stuff I could do on a daily basis but choose not to do, she’d call me a saint – it’s even in my name: St. Cloud. But y’know what?” He grinned again. “If she really said I was pretty, I’ll forgive her.”

In the back of his mind Noah had the sense he’d said something he shouldn’t have, but rather than dwell and figure it out, Tawny’s earlier words concerning where she’d gotten her ferrets from finally caught up to him. His brow shot up. “Wait –” He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his forearm, eyes bright and eager. “You have a brother? How did I not know this – is he gifted too? And your niece?” On some level (even if they skipped a few generations), gifts appeared to be genetic. His own family was glaring proof. Their gifts had been almost exactly the same with the exception of his, and he wondered if her family's gifts would focus on internal processes like hers. Or perhaps they would be completely unrelated, centred around controlling elements in the physical world. He’d love to get his hands on some storm powers again. But regardless of what they could do, if Tawny’s family were gifted Noah would have more powers to borrow, more potential recruits for Blackstorm. He assumed the niece would be a bit young for that, but in the meantime she could be a good incentive for the brother to sign up. A future to invest in…

His excited expression faltered, lips pressing into a pensive line. When he’d threatened Tawny, he hadn’t held anyone specific in mind. Maybe just her neighbours so she’d hear the news and know it was her fault if she went on the run. She seemed like the kind of person who’d feel guilty about that, even if she didn’t feel any attachment to them. Family, however, might be a bigger incentive to keep his secrets. While he didn’t know what it was like to feel fond of someone he shared blood with, he knew it was a common thing for people to bond with those they were raised by or alongside. Then again, he didn’t see her brother in her memories – or maybe he had, but they’d been so reserved around each other that he didn’t recognise they were close. He needed another look through her head. Needed to understand. But without her gift in his hands he had to investigate the old-fashioned way. “Are they the reason you’ve kept quiet?” he asked softly, unsure if she'd want to talk about them at all.


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Noah sighed and Tawny smirked as he came to terms with the Uber driver's opinion of him. Then the grin slipped entirely from her mouth at the mention of abandoned threats that followed. Half of what he said after was lost to her as her mind whirled, but then he was waggling his brow and shifting on the couch to peer up at her eagerly, and she forced herself to attention. She smiled back reflexively, blinking rapidly to recall what he'd just asked her.

She considered the question, tapping her fingers against the side of her bowl. She had admitted to him that day that she wouldn't have told anyone, even before the threats, and in the couple of weeks that she'd had to ruminate on the entire ordeal, the truth of that held still. She did like him. He'd saved her life, was charming and disarming, and they'd shared a couple of laughs and teases as if they'd known each other longer than they did. It was an ease Tawny wasn't entirely accustomed to and she figured it was partly due to his understanding of her gift and the fact that his was so interesting as well. It was something Tawny couldn't, or wouldn't, share with anyone, no matter how close they got to her. But Noah had experienced it for himself, had laughed at the wild stories that accompanied it, and had stories of his own to counter them. The prospect of experimenting had been strangely exhilarating as well (before it'd gone terribly wrong); to test what her power could and could not do with someone else willing to take part with equal eagerness.

And above all, Noah had let her go. Released her back into the wild, knowing what she knew. She imagined it would have been very simple to get rid of her, especially if it had been so easy to dispose of the hunter she'd seen in his memories, but he'd let her leave. She figured she hadn't made it easy for him, reacting as badly as she did. She could cringe now, recalling the glimpse of herself in the Uber's rearview mirror and how she'd shuddered beneath the weight of him in the kitchen. And yet, here he was, drunk on her couch, staring at her with bright eyes, and — for some unfathomable reason — she only felt at ease.

"They're not the whole reason, but yeah, I wouldn't want anything to happen to them. Or really for anyone to go through terrible shit just because they know me." Her gaze dropped to study her bottle as she rolled it slowly in her palm, mind running through the faces of her friends. Their smiles and encouragement that felt more like badgering and hounding when she tried to stretch a bit of distance between them. Their unrelenting persistence in the face of her forced reticence and the forgiveness that came, often without even being asked for, whenever she finally pulled back to them. Always a figurative (and sometimes literal) hand stretched out to her, even after she slapped it away time and time again. What a terrible way it would be to repay them — for her to run away, yet again, and leave them to bear the consequences. The fact that she was so opposed to it was almost ironic. It was all she ever did. A sardonic smirk tucked at one corner of her mouth as she took a drink and lifted her eyes back to Noah, letting the amusement toward his eagerness take her back over. More often than not, she would withdraw at such a personal question, but she didn't feel the need. It would feel almost ridiculous to withhold information when he'd already taken a dive through her memories. And when a part of her hoped they would be able to do so again when he was sober.

"I have two brothers." Tawny began, her smile slowly pulling more genuine as she raised a hand with her fingers folded in a lazy peace sign. She never did ask what Noah saw when he took a stroll through her memories, but she wasn't surprised he hadn't seen any allusions to her siblings. It had felt like only her and her father for most of her life, her much older brothers basically enigmas to her beyond what she was able to glean from Franklin's memory as she got older. Cooper had come around for a couple of Christmases in her youth but otherwise spent the majority of the holidays with his wife's family or within his own. Tawny hadn't really gotten to know him for herself until he moved his family to Los Eurosia to take over the soup kitchen when Franklin's health deteriorated.

"And six nieces and nephews between them — mostly nieces, poor guys." Spoiled brats, the whole lot of them, with their father wrapped around their pinkies. Cooper reminded her a lot of their own father in many ways, and his bombshell, firecracker of a wife was much like Dione. When Tawny first met her she'd been pulled into a rib-cracking hug before she could even say hello, and the memories that'd immediately poured in were enough to immediately know Cooper had his hands full. Was punching well above his weight class as well. But Elise had taken her into the fold, often treating her like another daughter rather than a sister-in-law, and Tawny loved her for it. "Coop's not gifted, but neither were our parents. Most of his kids are though. His wife, too."

"Emeli has some sort of gift." Tawny pursed her lips, the fond smile on her lips falling a bit at one corner. "But I couldn't tell you exactly what it is." Where Cooper had been an enigma to her as a child, Emeli remained an enigma to her to this day. There was no Sector file on him. He'd been their parents' first child and an introduction for them into the world of Gifted. She'd seen them, through Franklin's eyes, speaking in low voices in bed at night, always cryptically and with some uncertainty and fear that they expressed openly between each other. Dione and Emeli had fought often. Always butting heads and getting in screaming matches while Franklin threw up his hands in feeble attempts at mediation. Emeli had left as soon as he was able and his daughter was only a couple of years younger than Tawny herself — in diapers at the same time as her. She'd been her parents' first grandchild and Tawny had seen the memories of Dione crying, begging her son to let her meet her before she passed. But for whatever reason, Emeli hadn't. Tawny had only met him herself twice. Once at their mother's funeral and again at their father's. Cooper kept tabs on him but even they weren't close. She'd stopped asking about him when Cooper made it clear there was little information he wanted to share, then implored her not to seek it out in his head. Tawny had respected those wishes, accepting the implication that there were things she wouldn't want to know.

Whenever she thought of Emeli, she could only picture him as a scolded child, face pinched in anger and eyes brimmed with furious tears. She often wondered if her childhood might have been different if he had been born human. If Franklin and Dione hadn't already spent all their apprehension and mistrust on him and then regretted the wall it erected between them. She'd been coddled and adored all her life, but if Dione had been stronger — hadn't gotten so sick so quickly — and Franklin less desperate — beaten down and needy by his loss — perhaps they'd have treated her differently.

Tawny shook her head to clear it, dismissing the wandering thoughts and focusing again on Noah. She recalled the memories of his she'd seen, the children that had been there, eyes unkindly appraising. His affinity for weather manipulation and the strained face of the woman, who after much deliberation, Tawny decided to assume was his mother. It hadn't felt appropriate to ask him of his childhood and his family before, when she'd been largely distracted by the idea of wrapping herself around him and peeling off his clothes. But he'd asked about hers, so it only seemed natural to volley back the inquiries.

"Okay, your turn. What of your famil— wait, wait, hold on." Tawny shook her head again, this time more fervently, as she abruptly pulled back to his earlier statement. "I'll come back to that," she shifted, untucking her legs and leaning forward to set her bottle on the coffee table. "You didn't follow through on the threat?" She stared at him, expression smoothed as her eyes flitted between his. Then she tossed a Froot Loop at him and watched it bounce off his head. "You mean I've been paranoid all this time, needlessly!? Noah!" Her voice hitched, fringed with the bewilderment he'd distracted her from. "We got a new postman this week and I spent literal days wondering if he was some secret Blackstorm..." she flailed a hand between them, reaching for a word to sum up the type of person she imagined Noah had given her scent to. "Assassin... sent to pressure me. He is waaaay too ripped to be a postman! And what happened to nice old Horace, the regular postman? And why did he look at me like that?" Tawny heaved a sigh and fell back into the couch's cushions, head bent over the back as she blinked at the ceiling, remembering. The man had peered at her, eyes seeming to pierce right through her, and she'd all but sprinted out of the mailroom. What had he thought, then? When she spoke again it was quieter, more relenting. "And he's so terrible, too. Do you know how much of my neighbor's mail I've gotten?"

Tawny levered herself forward again, moving the bowl of cereal from her lap. "I guess I should be happy and relieved, though. Say thank you, even?" Her gaze lifted back to him. She had understood why the threats were necessary but why hadn't he gone through with it? Had he trusted her after all? Or was he confident enough that a bluff itself would be sufficient enough to keep her quiet? Would the distrust come now, the bluff made real, now that she knew? She didn't think he was lying — it slipped from him with such natural indifference that she suspected the admission hadn't been intentional — but it was always possible he was testing her. Seeing what she would do, how she would regard him, if she knew the lives of herself and her loved ones weren't in consideration. A part of her, too late, chastised her for even speaking up. He might not have realized what he'd said, or forgotten about it entirely by morning. She tilted her head, crossing one leg over the other and propping an elbow atop them. She squinted at him as she leaned into her fist, the toes of her lifted foot curling and uncurling and her lips pursing as she watched him thoughtfully. "But why not?"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Tawny was compassionate enough to care if others faced consequences for her actions. An endearing yet alien concept to Noah who, briefly, wondered what it was like to have such a conscience and empathy for others. He wouldn’t care if his neighbours got taken out, nor would he feel grief upon the deaths of his Blackstorm recruits – even the ones who showed fondness towards him and kept him amused. They could be as easily dismissed as strangers, their passing more of an annoyance than a genuine upset; leaving him with less individuals to test his power on and potentially interrupting his and Blackstorm’s plans. If his family were alive... No. He didn't need to think about it. Nothing would move him to want to protect them.

Apparently Tawny had two brothers and there was a whole brood of gifted kids in her family. Noah listened with rapt attention, fighting an excited grin. As much as he disliked anyone under drinking age he was eager to learn more (specifically, about their gifts), and he wondered if their worldviews aligned with Tawny’s or whether they were still fickle enough to be persuaded away, to be interested in rebelling – in Blackstorm. And what of her brother’s wife? What could she do? What were her views? Before he could ask, Tawny spoke about Emeli.

Emeli was… interesting. Even in his intoxicated state, Noah noticed the falter in her smile when she spoke his name, and the mystery of his gift was alluring enough to spawn another round of questions in Noah’s head. He leaned towards her, feeling like he’d been given an unexpected yet incredibly desirable birthday present. “Point me in his direction and I’ll tell you what it is.” With enough poking and prodding Noah was convinced he could get Emeli to use his powers on him, and once it was in his hands he’d be able to test its effects and find out exactly what it could do. But was it the kind of gift that could be ‘used’ on others? The kind that Noah could borrow? Tawny hadn’t given him the slightest clue as to what it entailed, and he wondered how she of all people didn’t know what it was. If she couldn’t comprehend it herself, couldn't she have seen the perspectives of others and pieced together enough theories to make sense of it? She apparently had a whole herd of other gifted to consult (admittedly, many were kids, yet they were bound to have some ideas that could be childishly outlandish enough to be true). But then there was also the brief unhappiness in her expression to consider. Did she not like him? Why? Could she point Noah in his direction? Or had they been estranged, Emeli disappearing years ago and perhaps using his mystery gift to do so? Maybe that was why no one had figured him out; he didn’t stick around long enough for them to try.

Tawny was done talking about her family, turning the questions back on Noah. But she cut herself off with a firm shake of her head, and the pit of dread that opened in his stomach at the words ‘okay, your turn’ snapped closed again. Her expression smoothed, eyes searching his as she brought up his lack of follow-through on his threats.

He blinked wide, brows drawn together. Finally, he understood what it meant to feel like a deer in the headlights. How did she know? Had she looked through his memories, skimmed through the past weeks and found no sketchy ‘hey, will you kill this girl if I disappear’ meeting? She threw a Fruit Loop at him and he stared at it, where it had bounced from his forehead and made its way onto the floor, as she chided him for making her paranoid for no reason. “Postman?” he echoed, quiet voice steeped in confusion as he dragged his gaze back to her face. He tried to recall if there were any Blackstorm agents in the delivery sector, shaking himself when he realised the postman was the least important part of what she'd said. He swung his legs around to sit up again, limply holding up his hand as a silent plea to wait while he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uh, hang on, when did I…” He had to have said something to give it away. At no point during his visit did he feel her gift in his head. He needed to intimidate her again. Needed to keep her quiet. It seemed like the reasonable thing to do.

Eyes snapping open, Noah slapped his hands on his knees and scooted along the sofa until he was close enough to lightly tug on a strand of her hair. Despite his intentions, he was still careful not to actually harm her. “Well, first of all, I have a knife so let’s not get too cocky.” The words felt clumsy. Weak. It was a threat that lacked subtlety and made him feel like an edgy teen on the playground, loudly claiming he'd shank someone after school. It wasn't a lie; he usually kept some type of weapon on him and he could feel the switchblade in his pocket, positive weight. But he doubted he looked like a dangerous criminal at that moment – eyes lidded, speech still a little slurred, hair messy. He tried to glare at her. “Be scared. Very scared. Actually, no –” he shook his head, the image of her tearful and dishevelled flashing through his mind's eye again – “don’t be too scared. Have a healthy caution.” He winced, then sighed at himself as he slightly turned away and ran a hand through his hair, resigned to being too drunkenly-stupid to frighten her properly. Though, maybe he was underestimating himself. Maybe it would work, but... did he really want it to? If he had, he would have fisted his hand in her hair. Yanked. Pinned her down with his knife to her throat and demanded silence.

The thought made him sick.

He huffed, crossing his arms and slumping back on the sofa. “Second – I gotta see this postman. Would you describe him as freakishly ripped or attractively ripped? This is very important. I can’t have you ogling him now you know he’s not been sent to intimidate you.” Although said in jest, it was entirely possible that Noah felt possessive. Hasselhoff was his nickname. It would be distressing if Tawny found someone burlier to attribute it to, and a bit difficult to explain why she was no longer allowed to look through his memories after her postman mysteriously disappeared.

“Third…” He licked his lips. The question of ‘why not’ rang in his head, a query more familiar than he would have liked. It was something he’d been asking himself for the past two weeks, and though it would be easy (and honest) to say she lived because he enjoyed her company, he’d had no qualms hurting people he liked before. And it didn’t explain why he hadn’t made arrangements for revenge if she ever did squeal. “Well I figured you just needed to believe I would, and –” He stopped himself. He doubted she would be impressed by his book analogy. It was perhaps a bit impersonal, perhaps not a very normal reason for not wanting to hurt someone or their loved ones. The whole situation was all very weird, very conflicting, and in times like these the best way forward was to deflect with humour.

He schooled his expression into something sufficiently sombre and prepared to match his tone to it. He sat up and twisted towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders while he looked intently into her eyes as if he were preparing to make some grand confession. “And I decided it would be terribly sad… for you to meet your end before you grew tall enough to go on all the Disney rides.” He gave her a squeeze and a wink, keen to kill the seriousness of their conversation and pretend she hadn't asked about the threats at all. “Don’t worry. They’ll let you on Thunder Mountain someday and you can finally leave It's a Small World behind.”

Unable to hold back a grin any longer, he pushed her back against the couch and quickly shifted around so he could lay down and use her lap as a pillow. It was only fair; she’d done the same to him at his house. Unfortunately the size of the couch meant his legs couldn’t comfortably lay flat. He frowned at the sight of them, elevated on the back of the couch, then returned his attention to Tawny and pointed a finger gun up at her. “If you’re gonna be all morally righteous and refuse to take advantage of a vulnerable drunkard, you can thank me for being so benevolent by playing with my hair instead.” Asking was a little degrading and it made his face feel warm, but she’d seen him be attacked by ferrets and she’d seen him fall on the floor when robbed by those same wriggly critters; he’d make repairs to his cool-guy image in the morning. And he’d not forgotten how she’d been about to turn the family questions back on him. If she returned to that line of inquiry – if he had to talk about them – he felt he deserved compensation.


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

The admission had been unintentional after all, the fact made evident by the knit to Noah's brow and the confusion in his tone. His eyes pulled between hers searchingly and Tawny felt her lips smooth into a neutral line under the observation. He sat up and her bouncing foot slowed to a still as she watched him wrestle with his thoughts, unable to read what sort of reaction he was reaching for. A prickle of regret licked at her chest as she again reprimanded herself for speaking too quickly. If she could only bite her tongue, think before reacting, and keep herself blithely composed — especially on that morning two weeks ago, when that particularly-graphic memory first unfolded beneath her prying touch — it was very likely she could have avoided this situation entirely. She would have to learn to be more cautious, most especially when he'd sufficiently disarmed her; done enough to lower her guard and make her feel comfortable.

When he slapped his hands against his knees and moved closer to her, tugging at a strand of her hair and slurring a somewhat ham-handed threat, she couldn't decide if he was joking or not. If the intimidation was intended to be sincere, it was unable to make a deliberate cut through the bleary haze that alcohol had steeped him in. Or perhaps it was the fact that Tawny was in her own home, separated from her neighbors only by thin walls, that made his domineering attempt less daunting than before. There was a small comfort to be had in his current condition as well (intoxicated clumsiness proven once already by his earlier tumble to the floor), though she entertained no delusion that he would be unable to overtake her if he wished to. There would always be an imbalance of strength and power between them, sobriety alone unable to tip the balance completely in her favor. But if he hadn't made good on his threats before, was it possible he was bluffing again? Simply alarmed by her knowing that she was surrounded by people, now with no terrible, imminent repercussions to keep her from running to them? Was this only a hasty attempt at damage control? If so, she wondered if it would be enforced more seriously, now that her confidence in his threats could be considered shaken. She hadn't picked enough from his head, hadn't seen enough, to know what truly motivated him when it came to violence. She'd decided to take his word that the motel fiasco had been an accident, his gift largely to blame, but still, she couldn't help but wonder if she would have to really force his hand for the knife to be drawn or if she might find it at her throat on a whim.

Noah glared. Winced. Sighed. Settled back against the couch with his arms crossed, looking abruptly cross. Tawny's brow lifted with subtle surprise, a hand raising to absently stroke her hair back in place. It was obvious he was agitated, but it was less obvious whether it was because he'd let the information slip unwittingly, because of his fumbled attempt at re-establishing control, or because of something else entirely. She blinked at him, her lips twitching, flickering between a smile and a frown, not sure which was more appropriate. The huffiness and scowling, exaggerated by his drunkenness, reminded her of a disgruntled child and dared her to be amused, but a hushed part of her cautioned her to be warier, picturing a caged beast pacing restlessly behind bars, all too eager to bare its teeth if prodded.

With a familiar, regretful pang, it occurred to Tawny that the moment was beginning to resemble their initial meeting, as she watched him curiously, undecided how she should feel as she feebly tried to guess what he was thinking and found it difficult. She considered whether or not she was flirting too close to a dangerous line; tempting a predatory feline by assuming it would nip only with a measured, playful bite. And then, as he steered the conversation to his second point, inquiring about the postman, she stifled the urge to scoff a laugh, the questions causing her to lean more toward the imaginings of a brooding child.

The postman was certainly attractive. She tried to recall if his eyes had been handsome, now that she knew their piercing depths weren't darkened by malicious intent. She was sure she hadn't made a great first impression, regarding him suspiciously with her car keys clutched defensively between her fingers, and then bolting like a frightened doe when he only looked at her. But perhaps there would be a way to turn that into some genius conversation starter; a funny and flirty anecdote to break the ice. Then again, starting something with the postman had the potential to be brutal. What if things ended badly and, federal offense or not, he did something to her mail? He was likely very high-maintenance and she could only feign interest in gym-mirror selfies for so long. And what if his idea of a date was waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to go on a run? Working out? The more she thought about it, the more she quelled the idea entirely. It'd be fun for a minute, but it wouldn't end well. 

Tawny offered Noah a noncommittal, disinterested shrug and he continued on to his third, arguably most important, point. He began to explain why he hadn't followed through with his threats. But the words died out halfway through and Tawny tipped her head, the hands she'd now clasped across her knee tightening their hold upon one another when he moved. He sat up and turned to face her squarely, his hands coming to her shoulders and his eyes capturing her own, holding them steady. Her lips twitched finally into an uncertain smile, chest fluttering from the sudden intensity in which he stared at her, his dark eyes stilled and imploring enough that he seemed momentarily sober. When he started again, she found herself holding her breath, anticipation hitched by his pause as she wondered just what could warrant such sudden severity.

And then what followed was a characteristic joke about her height and Tawny rolled her eyes, head falling to the side and hands slipping to her thighs, dispelling the bit of clamminess that'd sprung to her palms. She would have smacked him with a couch pillow if he hadn't seized the initiative and pushed her back so he could turn and stretch out with his head in her lap. "Wow..." she breathed as she shifted to more comfortably accommodate him, voice soft with awe and disbelief as she stared out across her living room, eyes widened with faux wonder. "Thunder Mountain... do you really think so?" She let the imitation fall away as the last word left her lips, allowing her expression to become decidedly unamused as she glanced down at him, so pleased with himself beneath her. The humorous deflection wasn't altogether unexpected, and it loosened the cool prickles of question that'd begun to spread across her skin, but she wasn't satisfied with the answer. But his stupid grin and his request — or was it a demand? — to have her play with his hair made her relent. As much as she wanted to quirk a brow disapprovingly, perhaps even insist on her curved inquiry, she let the prospect fall away.

"So needy," she tsked quietly, but obliged, batting away his finger gun before letting a forearm settle lightly across his chest and raising her other hand to his hair. The dingy scent of the bars, the stench of booze, and the lingering hints of women's perfume radiated from him, but Tawny could still pick out the distinct redolence of his shampoo, soap, and cologne. The scent of him, of his home, persisted through the other smells that tried to smother it, and it reminded her of the hoodie he'd sent her away in. Her landlord had made it as difficult as possible to get back into her apartment — somehow managing to be an even bigger ass than she'd anticipated — and it'd been night by the time she'd finally stepped through her door. She'd crawled into bed immediately, ready to release the slew of tears she'd fought against for hours, but fallen asleep before she could even slip off her shoes, let alone cry. When she'd woken hours later with her face buried in her arm, she'd been comforted by the woody scent of him, before remembering how distressing the entire ordeal had been.

"This is you being benevolent, then?" She mused as she started first by smoothing the hair from his face, sifting her fingers gingerly through the thick locks and watching them slip through them with interest. "Showing up unannounced, in such a state that I can't with a clear conscience drag you to bed, threatening me in my own home, belittling my ferrets, and making more terribly-mean jokes at my height?" She sighed, the exaggerated breath laden with gloominess, though the slight pull at the corners of her mouth as she dragged her eyes to his face made it clear the complaint lacked honest displeasure. "What's next? Breakfast in the morning?" She scoffed incredulously. "You'd think I owed you my life or something."

"But fine, I'll simp. How do you like your eggs?" She drug her nails against his scalp and ignored the slight, thrumming pull that kissed at the very tips of her fingers, her gift uncurling itself at the touch and inviting her to dig deeper, to pull the memories straight from his head and take a stroll through them. "I'll ignore the cop-out on the previous question, only because you're being so nice. Back to your family. You have siblings too, I think?"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Noah all but glowed, even as his finger gun was smacked away to once again dangle over the couch edge. He left it there, his other hand coming up to rest on the forearm she’d laid across his chest, and allowed his eyes to slide shut with a contented, closed-lipped smile. Although her comment on his neediness and her summary of his terrible behaviour would usually warrant an exaggerated gasp and a volley of playful excuses, he was too pleased about having his request obliged to think up any witticisms. Under her touch his worries simply melted. All thoughts of needing to threaten and control her, of being frustrated with himself and the situation, were swept away with each brush of her fingers. The calm his empty head provided was more than welcome; he’d felt and shown too many emotions lately. Too much had been unorchestrated, too much had strayed from the agreeable, all-is-right-in-the-world persona he wore like a second skin.

Upon being asked how he liked his eggs, Noah’s eyes blinked open again with the realisation she was letting him stay the night. It was unexpected, but certainly not displeasing to a man who'd assumed she’d kick him out way before the sun rose, sending him off in a taxi home regardless of how well or awfully their second encounter went. “You’d really make me breakfast?” He peered up at her, delighted at the mental image even if she was joking. His gaze briefly pulled sidelong to the bowl on her coffee-table as he hummed thoughtfully. His presence alone would already make her deviate from her typical routine; if she didn’t usually cook in the morning it seemed unfair to ask her to. “If you’re serious… I’ll have them however you have yours, though I’d be satisfied with stealing some cereal if it’s a hassle.”

Then came the dreaded questions about his family. She asked about his siblings in a way that told him she was already half-certain he had them. It was alarming to know she must have seen part of his childhood, and he wondered if she’d done so during the rescue at the lake or during her second look, later at his home before the murder memory had turned their encounter sour. How much had she seen? What had happened?

A pleasant shiver ran down his spine as her fingers gently dragged over his scalp, distracting him before he could the stress could stiffen his muscles. If it were physically possible he might have purred. Noah, for as much as he loved tugging on other people’s hair, enjoyed having his own locks messed with a lot more. There was something about it that he couldn’t quite put words to. It could be the proximity to the face and neck (vulnerable, sensitive parts of the body right within reach – parts he’d aim for in a fight) or maybe Noah had a thing for hair. Not that he would say that aloud. Not in this context at least.

He forced himself to focus on her question. It was very simple, technically an easy one to answer. But when was the last time he’d spoken about his family honestly? Probably in the dark corner of a nightclub somewhere, more wasted than he was now and fishing for a sympathy hook up. While most of the time his confessions were met with awkward shifting or pitying condolences, his ‘tragic backstory’ was an alarmingly effective aphrodisiac for some people (saviour complexes, he supposed) whereas in a few others, he was surprised to discover it sparked relief. He recalled an ex-girlfriend-but-not-really from a few years prior who, upon hearing he was an orphan, had released a breathless little giggle. She’d been sat cross-legged on his bed, filling in a sudoku puzzle while he picked out what to wear for the day. ‘Thank God,’ she’d said, winding a red curl around her fountain pen. ‘I hate meeting parents.’ Tactless, perhaps, but he’d found it very funny. How would Tawny react? Would she be pitiful or nonchalant or something else entirely?

In any instance of his family being brought up he’d always omitted the gifted part. He’d also omitted how they’d treated him like crap for twenty-something years before they finally kicked the bucket, because if he were to tell someone they didn’t get along, the listener would wonder why. They’d ask questions. Ask why he was such a problem child and how he was the sole survivor of that weird storm that took them out. It was much easier to say his family were alive and too far away to meet up with, or that they were dead and he mourned them dearly and it was all too sad to talk about.

He nodded at Tawny, smiling lazily. “Yeah, big sis Hannah and little bro Joseph. And I had five cousins who were always around, always annoying the hell out of me, so it was like I had seven siblings rather than two.” A whole litter of blondes – varying shades, some more dishwater than golden but, even so, he couldn’t have been more of a black sheep if he’d tried. There’d been a few months when he’d earnestly investigated whether he was adopted, and a few especially tumultuous weeks when he’d accused his mother of having an affair. “Everyone had biblical names of course. We were the type of family that had church every Sunday, nativity-themed Christmas cards – that sort of thing.” He patted Tawny’s arm and dipped into a sarcastic drawl. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how holy and pure I am by now. That’s the real reason I ran from that hen party y’know; it would’ve gone against my vows…”

He considered leaving it at that and steering the conversation back to her family, but Tawny... Tawny could be privy to a bit more than anyone else had been allowed. As a treat. And because the hand in his hair said it wasn’t as big a deal as he was making it out to be. “You might recall that one of my favourite gifts is weather control,” he continued. “And that would be because everyone in my family had it: mom, dad, siblings, all those annoying cousins, my grandparents, aunt – the lot of them. For a while no one realised I had a different gift, especially since it started out as copying rather than borrowing and, c’mon, let’s be serious, I promise you there’s not a kid on Earth that would readily admit they couldn’t do something their siblings could. You can’t blame young-me for trying to keep it quiet.” He’d always been getting in trouble, always trying to stir up emotion in his siblings to make them use their powers. He’d once shoplifted a lighter from a corner store with the sole purpose of setting his little brother’s beloved teddy on fire, all so he could have between five and ten minutes practicing with Joseph’s gift. He could hold onto powers for longer periods now, yet he felt like he’d made such little progress. Every time he pushed at that elastic band, urged it to stretch a little further, it always snapped before he was truly content.

“Hannah noticed first and completely blew my cover. Be glad you don’t have a sister,” he added after a moment. His brow twitched but he managed to fight away the frown that threatened to encroach on his forehead. Instead, he playfully rolled his eyes as if Hannah’s watchfulness and subsequent tattling hadn’t made life so much more difficult for him. Her ‘discovery’ made him work harder. Made the rest of his family turn on him for good. Pushed him to extremes.

Noah tilted his head slightly, careful not to move too much lest Tawny think he was shaking off her ministrations. He decided he’d given her more than enough information and if she disagreed, it was up to her to ask for more. In the meantime he wanted to know more about her family and about her in general. His palm on her arm drifted along to lay atop the back of her hand. “What can your brother’s wife do? And the kids? Annnd what’s your favourite thing to paint, hm? Scenery, portraits, abstracts?”


Tawny Vokes

[Tawny Vokes]

Noah seemed all too pleased as she played with his hair, not apparently bothered by the allusion to her having seen a bit of his family already in his memories. She matched his smile and listened passively as he spoke of them, blinking in surprise as she tried to imagine seven children running amok. No wonder his mother had seemed so strained. A whole family with the same gift of weather manipulation, except for him. What was that like during heated arguments? She could only imagine constant storms and whipping winds. It was curious how some gifts seemed to be inherently genetic and others weren't. Tawny recalled the quick glimpse she'd seen of them as children. With his description, she tried to match names to faces and identify the grim appraisal she'd seen across their features. Had it been difficult for him, being different from them? It was the only thing she knew of to attribute it to, but it was impossible to come to any conclusion with only a brief moment of memory to go off of. She tried to imagine Noah as a child at church, dressed in his Sunday best, and couldn't help but think of him bored out of his mind, wanting to be elsewhere.

Tawny chuckled when he expressed how grateful she should be for not having a sister. She tried to imagine what it might have been like to grow up amid similarly-aged siblings. She'd been raised practically as an only child, closer in age to her brothers' eldest children than them. She liked to think it would have been nice to have a sister; someone to divide the attention and adoration of their father. To have someone to argue and fight with. Or to giggle in bed with when they should have been sleeping. She thought of what it might have been like if she'd been born sooner, close enough with Cooper and Emeli to be an annoying little sister to them. Nettling them to take her with her everywhere. Running to daddy every time they told her to piss off or hurt her feelings and then smiling like a smug brat when he forced them to oblige her. She'd witnessed that chaotic sibling dynamic between her nieces and nephews plenty of times and heard it many more times through the thin walls of her apartment. It was always so loud and so dramatic, a headache for sure, but then... Tawny felt that might have been more ideal than the quiet, oft-amicable solitude she'd grown up accustomed to. It would have been nice to have a sibling to grow up alongside, to hate as passionately as she loved, and to swing between the two on a whim. She'd gotten to know Cooper too late in their lives to really feel that and Emeli was more of a stranger than anything.

"I don't know about that, I think having a sister would be... nice. My brothers were much too old for me to be all sibling-sibling with them. I didn't even get to be the big bother you seem to imply that we sisters are."

Tawny became infinitesimally more aware of the pull of her nails against Noah's scalp and her gaze drew down to appreciate the way his hair twirled between her fingers. The imaginings made her want to look. To withdraw her resistance and let the memories (always hungry and aching to be embraced) seep through. To see what it'd been like for him. Why the caution against sisters? Had Hannah been a brat, a thorn in Noah's side, much like Tawny imagined she would have been to her brothers? Did they have their moments, between the feuds, where they could laugh and share things with one another? Did they ever recover from the tattling? And Noah's brother and cousins? When the whole brood of them were together, had it been a terrible storm even without their gifts?

Tawny tugged her lips to one side, inwardly sighing. It was always too easy to take a dive. To be nosy and intrusive. Her gift made it too convenient and too enticing to learn what she wanted about people. As much as she desired to, it felt like it might be too private. A slice of his life she had no right to snoop upon, at least not without permission. Noah's gift made it more difficult, too. He'd know she was taking a peek and then would be able to peek in turn. It would be better, more polite, to simply ask. To let him tell the story as he wanted to, as he remembered it, than for her to take a mosey through the memories and draw her own conclusions, likely muddled by her own bias. By her own romanticizing of what she thought it might be like. It was all good fun to peek through a stranger's head for a bit of entertainment, but doing so under these circumstances, and for this purpose, felt more like a breach of conduct.

But she did want to know more. Wanted to inquire about his siblings' whereabouts and their standing relationships, or to even ask about his mother, but Noah seemed contented to redirect the questions back to her. Despite how openly he'd divulged her initial inquiry, Tawny wondered if it might be one of those situations where she'd have to pull the bits from him where and when she could. In the little amount of time they'd spent together, Noah struck her as someone who, though appearing casual and open upon prodding, was likely more private than initially suspected. Talked a lot but only gave what little he wanted to, not prone to oversharing or providing answers when a question wasn't asked. She was similar in that regard and it made her wonder... if she asked too many questions, persisted to poke and prod in a desire to get to know him better, if he'd grow prickly and disinterred as she oft did. Throwing her back up to those who seemed too eager to know everything they could about her. Perhaps it would have to be painting completed one measured stroke at a time. She'd pull a thread only every now and again, when the time was right and she could pluck a stray from the surface without intrusively pulling the rest into a too-tight bunch. Collect the threads slowly and covet small details until she had enough to sew together into some readable tapestry.

He asked about Cooper's family, inquiring about the gifts of his wife and children, and Tawny couldn't help but snort as a smirk pulled across her face. "Oh yeah, like I'm telling you." She leveled a knowing look at him, fingers pausing in their gentle scritching. "So you can scout them into your radical Blackstorm schemes?" Her eyes closed slowly and she breathed a steady exhale through her nose. She thought of her sister-in-law, Elise, whose powerful gift would be put to good use in Blackstorm, and how her eldest children — old enough for sure — had inherited similar abilities. Elise had opinions and beliefs that rivaled how Coop and Tawny had been raised to think and it often served as arguing points between them when the younger children weren't around. She wondered how they'd ever decided on getting married and having children when they had such different ideas on how to raise them in the (likely) event they'd be Gifted. Cooper had been raised by parents who, for most of his life, were uncertain and fearful of Gifted. Witnessed how Emeli's gift had caused interpersonal strain within the family. And then Elise was Gifted, knew what it was like to hide a large part of herself, and wanted better for her children. Tawny understood both of them — at the end of the day they only wanted to protect their family. Just had opposing ideas on how that could be best achieved.

Tawny blinked her eyes back open, letting them settle upon Noah's with careful consideration. "I think my sister-in-law would be quite suited to Blackstorm, to be fair. My work with the Sector is a forbidden dinner topic, if you know what I mean. Bound to start an argument." Her smirk pulled wider, more genuine, and she chuckled, picturing Elise's narrowed eyes and the twist to her mouth as she prepared some barbed retort. Eyes burning and words prepared to fleece. Cooper's dumb gape as he watched the shadows form across her face, looking so much like their father as he fumbled for immediate mediations. "And trust me, she's not one to lose an argument."

"But I don't think she'd appreciate me blabbing about her and her children's abilities to someone I met just a couple of weeks ago. Not to mention someone who made threats on them. Followed through or not." She softened the words by resuming her carding through his hair and flipping her free hand beneath the one he'd lain atop hers, spreading her fingers to draw her fingertips lightly from his palm and down the length of his fingers. She gave them a squeeze. "But I think you'd like her. The whole 'Blackstorm's ideal world' that you pitched to me on your couch. She'd like that."

Tawny knew that, while she hadn't told him exactly what he'd wanted, what she had said was still too much. But perhaps Noah knowing that her sister-in-law was likely a sound candidate for Blackstorm meant he wouldn't be so quick to put her family in harm's way. If he chose to pursue her, to involve her in Blackstorm, Tawny knew Elise well enough to be certain she'd only bite if she felt it best for her family. Tawny couldn't and wouldn't fault her for it. And Elise was strong-willed enough to set Noah straight and send him away, forcibly if needed, should she decide against it.

"As for painting..." Tawny raised her eyes from his face, tone made light and cheery to compensate for the previous topic. Her gaze traveled across the living room to regard each cluster of abandoned canvases, the sight of them instilling a bit of weary guilt as she acknowledged not one of them was finished. She really needed to get rid of most of them. As much as they beckoned for her to continue them, she knew she wouldn't. Tawny hummed. "A bit of everything I think. Portraits are nice, but I always feel a bit more guilty about not finishing them. I think I mostly like to paint scenes. Sometimes abstract versions of scenes, I suppose? Memories? Mostly of others, but some of my own. Things I can't unsee. Images that really stick with me. That I need to put down on paper. That need to be transferred and seen in some other medium. As if doing so will help me make sense of them." She shrugged, not exactly pleased with the explanation. "Maybe that's part of the reason I can't ever finish one. Maybe I never completely understand what's going on. How it should make someone feel when looking at it."

She dropped her eyes back to him, squeezing his fingers again and sticking out her tongue. "But that's a boring question. If it's twenty questions now, let's break out the big guns. How do you think you're going to die? And is there anything you're allergic to?"

Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

It wasn't too surprising to hear Tawny would have liked to have a sister, especially now Noah knew why he hadn’t seen her brothers in her memories. They were much older than her, presumably old enough to have left home by the time she could walk, and while her father had been a constant presence in the childhood recollections he’d glimpsed, Noah imagined there would have been quiet moments when he had to work or was busy doing other things. Times when a young Tawny had wished for a similarly aged playmate. Noah tentatively understood. Despite the size of his family he’d been given more than his share of space. Avoided when he was stirring trouble and ignored when he tried to play nice. They didn’t trust that he was being genuine (and honestly, even he wasn’t sure he had been) but... if his siblings had let him borrow their powers, simply handed them over rather than clutched them close to their chests and made him force the gifts from them, he believed everyone in that household would have been a whole lot happier. If he’d had just one person to indulge him – one person to encourage his curiosity rather than snub him – maybe they wouldn’t all be six-foot under.

Tawny stopped toying with his hair and smirked down at him, quick to let him know he’d been unsubtle with his intentions. He blinked back at her innocently, despite knowing it was already too late and he'd been way too obvious. The drink was to blame for his clumsiness, though if he were honest with himself he’d probably be just as flagrant if he were sober. Almost everything in his life revolved around Blackstorm’s movement, how could he not think about recruiting when presented with another gifted? He still very much wanted to recruit her. Thankfully she didn’t seem angry, closing her eyes and appearing to thoroughly consider his questions. His mouth threatened to downturn, already missing the feeling of her gaze on him and her fingers weaving through his hair, but he forced himself to be patient; at least she was thinking of him, in a way, and he doubted she’d forget his presence while his head was laid upon her lap.

He studied the angular edges of her face, softened by her cherub nose, her long, dark lashes and the doe eyes they framed. So pretty. Unfairly so. It would be hard, but Noah was determined to wear away at her morals like the ocean over stone. He would make her forgive him for his bloody hands. Steal her away from the Sector. It could be as easy as telling her he’d rather have her over anyone else, that he’d leave her family alone if she joined him instead. But he wanted her to choose Blackstorm of her own volition, without coercion or threats. She would be so invaluable. And not only to the organisation.

Tawny’s eyes opened again, and she revealed that not only was her sister-in-law not a fan of the Sector – to the point that Tawny’s work was an avoided topic – but she would like Blackstorm too. Basically, a perfect recruit candidate (Blackstorm really wasn’t that picky; if a person wanted gifted to be free, they were in). But Tawny was stingy on the details, refusing to share her sister-in-law's name, let alone her gift. Stifling a sigh he consoled himself with the knowledge he could do a proper background check on Tawny later. Find out for himself. Or he could simply pluck the information from her memories... if she ever let him take a look again.

In response to his other question, she told him she mostly liked to paint scenes. Images and memories that stuck with her and needed making sense of. A tiny spark of alarm prickled the back of his neck. Did that include the head-popping incident? Or were the scenes she painted the much more tame, everyday memories of the average Joe – coffee shops and parks and home interiors? He turned his head slightly to scan her apartment, seeking red. The movie (still unidentified by him) continued to play on mute on her TV. He could still hear her ferrets scuffling nearby and the soft beat of her music. But he spotted no artistic renditions that looked distinctly bloody. Nothing that resembled the motel room. But most of her canvases, he knew, were tucked around the corner in the den area, out of his current eyeline. Perhaps he would take a quick look through them in the morning to double check she wasn't creating any 'evidence'. But, then again, would she have needed to paint it? It was a murder scene. Plain and simple, in a way. Maybe it didn't need making sense of. 

Noah snorted, abruptly distracted as she declared she was breaking out the big guns, and returned the squeeze she’d given his hand as she shot back some questions of her own. “No. C’mon, my gift is basically ‘survive bitch’ – you think I could have that and then be allergic to something?” Oh. His brow had climbed upwards as he spoke. He stared at her for a moment, his lips parted, then released a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh shit.” Excitement hit him like a bullet train, his brain kicking into overdrive. What if he’d been concentrating too much on stealing and keeping gifts? What if there were other ways his power could evolve? If his gift was really as shield-like as he imagined, centred around keeping him safe, perhaps putting himself in danger would reveal other facets. Perhaps getting hurt enough by non-gift weaponry would force him to adapt to them in the same way he'd adapted to 'turning off' offensive powers in others.

He fumbled to withdraw his phone from his pocket. Unlocked it. Left his future self a quick message in his Notes app:

GET BEATEN UP. MAKSEURE NOT GIFTED.

He was sure he was onto something.

(He was not. He was drunk.)

Satisfied, he gave Tawny a quietly thrilled look as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, then returned his hand to hers and focused on her other question as if nothing had happened.

He didn’t reflect on his mortality often. Even in fights in shady alleys, superpowered or not, he sort of assumed he would live. And why wouldn't he? He'd always survived before. He waggled his brows. “I’ll die in a blaze of glory, bringing down the establishment that you work so hard to uphold.” It was meant to be a joke. But as the words left his mouth, it made him wonder… Blackstorm did get him into a lot of trouble. Was it really that far-fetched to believe he could be killed off on one of their missions? Perhaps not even on purpose by hunters? His lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “I’ll probably borrow a gift that I can’t control and it’ll rip me to shreds. Maybe instantly if I’m lucky.” He squinted up at her. “You wanna be in my will? There’s a lot more space for your pets to run around in my house.” He didn’t have a will yet – he figured he was too young and he really didn’t care what happened to his possessions after he left; he’d be dead. But maybe he should make one. It could be funny to leave everything in Tawny’s name, just to baffle her one last time.

“Is it against the rules to turn those exact questions back on you? Because I should probably know if I need to start carrying an EpiPen or whatever, though I’m thinking a death like that would be way too chaotic for you. You’ll go in the most boring, average way possible since you’re such a Sector-stickler.” Noah frowned at her for a moment. “Or you’ll drown! You better have looked into swimming lessons like I told you. Though funnily enough I had this whole fantasy–” He cut himself off, exasperation easily melting away into a coy grin. “Ah… I won’t bore you with all that.”

“I guess in the true spirit of twenty questions I should act like a clueless teenage boy and ask about your experience,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. No way in hell was that going to happen. He didn’t want to think of anyone else being anywhere near her. “But no. I’ll ask: do you think anything happens after you die?” She'd said they were breaking out the big guns, after all.

However, he decided to keep his other philosophical questions to himself for the time being; he was still curious about her family. Tawny had said he’d like her sister-in-law and he was inclined to agree (they shared ideologies and he always enjoyed a firecracker), but he wondered about the others Tawny shared blood with and whether the feeling would be mutual. “And do you think your family would like me? Relax, I’m not planning on meeting them – well, maybe some of them, but not in the context of me knowing you. I’m just interested in your opinion.”


Tawny Vokes