[Cass Harlow]

It was a busy night downtown, and Cass thrived on the bustle of the city. Tonight felt like it was going to be a good night.

He’d taken a sink-bath in the bathroom at the park, and dressed in his nicest jeans, with the fewest amount of rips, and a black t-shirt that said ‘MAKE ME’ across the chest in distressed white lettering. His van was parked a few blocks down, and he’d been strolling along the streets for less than an hour as the sun sank down behind the buildings.

He met the gazes of a few different people as he strolled past bars and clubs, casual and aimless, exchanged a few smiles and a wink or two, but he didn’t stop. His usual bar-hopping strategy was to start in the furthest place away from his van, and work his way back ‘home’, so that he wouldn’t have as far to go by the end of the night, when he would, no doubt, be more than a little tipsy.

His senses were already enhanced, sniffing, listening, and looking around, putting out his feelers for anything, or anyone, of interest. Maybe for something to eat, if he was lucky.

Instead of food, he picked up the smell of blood. Not fresh, like someone was currently bleeding, but older. Concerned and intrigued, he focused his attention on the smell, wondering who it could be coming from, and why.

The scent grew stronger, and then started to fade, as if the person had approached him, passed him, and was now walking away. He cast his gaze about for who it might be, and a dark-haired guy across the street, walking in the opposite direction, caught his eye. He turned around and started walking in that direction as well, curious.

The guy he thought the smell might be coming from didn’t look like he had any blood on him at all, from what Cass could see, and he wondered if his senses were deceiving him. Or maybe the blood was hidden under his clothing, or it was just part of the guy’s natural scent. If the latter was the case, what did that say about the guy, that blood was part of his natural scent? How often does a person have to have blood on them for it to become an integral part of their scent? Cass wondered with a vague sense of alarm.

Not that he hadn’t smelled something similar, before, but usually the scent came from doctors, soldiers, or other people who got bled on for a living. This guy didn’t look like that type, just based on the way he was dressed but, then again, looks could be deceiving.

On impulse, Cass kept following him, staying on the other side of the road, and keeping his senses open to continue taking in everything, all around him. It was only about half a block later, but Cass was sure by then that the blood smell was coming from this particular guy. It didn’t get any stronger or weaker, and didn’t seem like it was coming from the environment, or any other person.

He was about to focus his sense of smell on the guy specifically, instead of his general surroundings, but then the guy turned his head slightly, and Cass saw his mouth move, and he enhanced his hearing instead, almost unconsciously, overtaken by his curiosity. He targeted the guy with it, to the exclusion of all else, to hear what he was saying. But the strangest thing happened; it didn’t work! That had never happened to Cass before, and he frowned in confusion, staring harder at the guy and trying even harder to enhance his hearing, to the same effect. His vague sense of alarm ramped up full throttle, and he continued to stare, heedless of his surroundings, completely dumbfounded.

What the ever-loving fuck?!

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TAG: Noah St Cloud
OOC: my thinking is that, since Cass isn’t targeting Noah specifically with his heightened sense of smell, but more like a general AOE that effects himself more than the world around him, maybe Noah doesn’t pick up on it. BUT once he targets him specifically with his heightened hearing, that’s when Noah picks it up? If that doesn’t make sense for Noah’s powers, though, let me know and I’ll change things around.

[Noah St Cloud]

OOC: That works for me, sorry this got long!


-------

Noah felt eyes on him.

It wasn’t an uncommon thing; people looked, sometimes. Usually without intent, their gazes simply sweeping over him during their search for something or someone else. Some stares lingered, maybe following his figure out of boredom as they stared out from a coffee shop window, maybe sizing him up from dark lanes as they weighed the risks of trying to mug him. And then there were the eyes that burned appraisingly and held fast, usually in nightclubs or bars towards closing time.

Noah wasn’t psychic by any means; he knew he wasn’t gifted in that way. Most people claimed they could instinctively feel when they were being observed. Being seen was a normal part of visiting public spaces and yet, the feeling of eyes on him didn’t disappear as he made his way around the block. Didn’t slip as he moved away from the bars where patrons could sit outside. Someone was following him.

He found a vicious sort of joy in it, suspecting that anyone trailing him at such a late hour would be looking to pick a fight. A person with flirtatious plans likely would have already approached – unless they’d decided to stalk him first, in which case he reckoned they deserved a punch for being creepy anyway. He slowed near an alleyway, practically offering himself up to be grabbed and dragged in. If they wanted violence, he’d be more than happy to provide it.

“Come on then,” he murmured. Come get me.

The assault was not the kind he was expecting.

It was so much worse than putting headphones on, music accidentally set to play at full blast. The sheer amount of noise that burst through his eardrums made him feel like knitting needles had been plunged into them, piercing straight through to his brain.

He stumbled. The shout that left him cut off half-way, his own voice too loud to let it finish. His hands flew up to cover his ears and he fell heavily against the nearest wall, head bowed as his stomach rolled. Sweat broke out on his forehead. People spoke – walking along the street, sitting in their cars, chattering and laughing in the surrounding buildings. Voices so numerous that the syllables jumbled nonsensically in Noah’s mind. Some blared, as if played through megaphones right beside his ears. Some whispered, babbling brooks far away but nonetheless just sound and tone tumbling out to join the rest of the riot, building the rushing tide.

The footsteps were almost as bad. The hard surface of pavement amplified the thunderclaps of heels, the stomps of boots, the scuffs of sneakers. And glasses clinked from the nearby bars and liquid roared out from bottles and taps. Fabrics shifted when people moved.

Over it all, the sound of his thumping heart and discordant breaths.

While most gifts required a bit of awareness and nurturing to keep, enhanced hearing demanded his attention, near-impossible not to focus on. There was just so much noise and for a moment Noah couldn’t think, could scarcely breathe properly until he forced himself to still and hold his breath, frozen like a statue. With effort he dragged the senses inwards, focused them on his palpitations until the agony faded to a dull throb. He turned, thoughts still muddled but somehow already knowing his next move.

His stare flit over the passersby who spared him strange looks, over those whose gazes studiously avoided his, and finally found eyes alarmed and confused and focused on Noah. Bingo.

He breathed again. Shoved the power out with his exhale. He could still feel it, prodding around him like a curious kitten tapping at a ball of yarn, but he didn’t let it back in. He cautiously lowered his hands from his ears, straightened, and crossed the street to meet the man who'd inflicted his misery.

A smile pulled across Noah's lips as he approached, his default setting of tend-and-befriend falling into place as it always did when scouting out recruits. But he knew without checking his reflection in the nearby storefronts that it wasn’t perfect. His pleasant mask was cracked, pain and annoyance in equal measure slipping through in the twitch of his brows and the dark of his eyes.

“So... tell me, how does it feel to have the worst superpower known to gifted-kind?” At least his voice sounded as amicable and edged with tease as it usually did. “I mean, sure, I guess you could argue there’s less useful gifts – rainbow creation or whatever – but something about super-hearing is its own brand of hell, don't you think?” He imagined the stranger had far more control than he did, unlikely to cast the senses out as widely and untargeted as he had by accident. But regardless, it wasn't a gift he envied. Without Blackstorm Noah might have shot the man a glare and stalked off in the opposite direction, unwilling to come close to such a gift again. Yet Blackstorm would surely find a use for it. Spy work, probably. And cultivating Blackstorm's need of him was never a bad thing, especially if it meant they looked the other way when he stepped out of line.


Cass Harlow

[Cass Harlow]

Cass had encountered a few gifted people during his travels, outside of his family, but not many. He’d most definitely never encountered anyone who could steal his powers from him. At least, he assumed that was what was happening when the guy Cass had been watching shouted and covered his ears, falling against the wall. He seemed to be dealing with sensory overload, while Cass could hardly hear a damned thing. He didn’t dare try out any of his other senses on the guy, worried he’d steal them, too.

Growing more alarmed by the second, and worrying that his gift was gone for good, Cass considered approaching the guy, to offer some tips on control and to attempt to convince the guy to give him back his power. If that were even possible.

A few cars passed on the street, and Cass waited for a moment to cross. Before he could, however, the guy looked up, glanced around, and then focused on him with a startling intensity, hands still covering his ears at first. Cass’ heart raced, and it took him a moment to register the relief in being able to hear it, as his power trickled back into his possession.

Cass thought maybe that was the end of it, but the guy was glaring at him in a, frankly, accusatory manner. At least, that’s what it seemed like to Cass. Or maybe that was just his own guilt accusing him, making him feel like an asshole for using his power on the guy in the first place, but only because it had hurt him.

The thing was, at this point in his life, using his powers to creep on people didn’t even register as a moral wrongdoing. If it ever had. It came so naturally and easily, it was just a part of who he was. It was instinct, and he didn't think he should feel bad for that. When he was a kid, his mother had tried to drive home the importance of other people’s privacy, but he never really understood the point. By the time he was a teenager, she had given up altogether.

He'd never really dealt with serious consequences of using his heightened senses on someone else, because most people didn’t even know he was doing it. Now, though, someone did know and he was—oh, shit—crossing the street and coming toward him.

Cass held his ground as the guy approached, and despite his nerves and faint embarrassment at being caught, he couldn’t help but appreciate how attractive the guy was, especially when he smiled. Not the time! He probably thinks you’re a creep, anyway! he reminded himself. Still, it was another aspect of himself he’d never even attempted to tame before; he was perpetually compelled to seek out the attention of the most fuckable person in any room. For better or for worse. Whether it went anywhere or not.

The smile wasn’t the most friendly of expressions but, somehow, that just made it better, to Cass. He definitely had a type, after all.

Cass opened his mouth to say something. He wasn’t really sure what, being the type to speak before thinking—an apology, maybe—but the stranger spoke first, and Cass couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped at his teasing words. He didn’t beat around the bush at all, and Cass appreciated that.

“Oh, yes, it’s such a struggle. I don’t know how I even manage, day to day, without my head exploding,” he replied, laying the sarcasm on thick. “I dunno, rainbow creation might be a pretty cool trade in. I’d be a big hit at musical festivals, and pride parades, anyway.” He smirked. “Speaking of hell; you didn’t seem to be doing too hot a second ago. Being a power sponge seems a lot worse, in my opinion.” He shrugged with feigned nonchalance, inwardly wincing at the “hell” he’d put the guy through. But if he was going to treat the situation lightly, then Cass would take his cues and do the same.

He didn’t mention his other powers. Not yet, anyway. He wouldn’t lie, if the subject came up, but no need to lay all the cards on the table right off the bat. Especially not to a guy who had the ability to steal powers, and smelled like he made people bleed on a regular basis. Cass may be a bit reckless and thoughtless sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid. Usually.

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TAG: Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

The man didn’t shy from Noah’s approach, barking a laugh as he responded to the half-serious teases with quips of his own. He appeared to accept the situation readily, unafraid despite his gifted status being uncovered and pointed out so suddenly – perhaps due to Noah’s power being revealed as well, putting them on somewhat equal footing. And yet, it was still risky to stand his ground. Others had bolted from Noah for far less. He could have been a hunter for all he knew, so did that mean he was a trusting sort of person? Did being in public give him confidence that no harm would befall him? Or was he dangerous in his own right?

Noah’s stare flickered over the stranger as he spoke, noted hands laden with accessories, ripped jeans, and an interesting slogan across his shirt that warranted a quirked brow. It was all very casual, maybe toeing into bohemian territory with his messy, relatively long hair. No obvious places to conceal weapons unless he had them tucked in a rear pocket or the back of his waistband (both were Noah's preferred places to keep a knife, and on rare occasions a gun), and the man’s smile was genuine enough to reach his blue eyes; he didn’t look like someone who Noah would consider a danger. Nothing about him said 'predatory'.

And yet, before the auditory assault, Noah had felt he was being followed. It made sense that his second shadow would be the man before him, apparently interested enough to hone his gift on Noah's body. The why of it all was unclear. The options almost endless. It could be as simple as having an admirer, or having someone who wanted a fight (he had the physique for it; Noah imagined he could throw a punch well enough despite his friendly face and laidback appearance). But it seemed more likely that his interest in Noah was connected to the fact neither of them were entirely human. Perhaps it was Blackstorm related. Maybe he was a new member who had seen Noah around the hideout, or he was someone uninitiated who had heard from a friend of a friend that Noah was recruiting for the movement. Or maybe Noah was the one being hunted for his abilities – the use of enhanced hearing on him being a test, to see if Noah could really borrow gifts in the way a hunter would likely be tipped off in such a scenario. Or… maybe The Sector been given reason to stalk him.

His mouth felt dry. Something within him dropped. Froze. Grew impossibly colder. Surely she wouldn’t…

But no – the stranger’s suggestion of summoning rainbows at festivals and parades set Noah’s slowly stiffening shoulders at ease again. He clung onto the hope it gave him, uncomfortable with the uncharacteristic nerves that had hurt his insides. Most Sector agents wouldn’t joke about using powers in public, right? And if Noah were in trouble, if they had evidence, he imagined they would have cuffed him while he was reeling from the noise-overload.

He snorted, grinning despite his racing thoughts. “No way is it worse – you wish you had a gift as cool as mine. It only sucks when the powers I borrow suck.” He gave him a pointed look, his stare interrupted when a pedestrian walked past. Oh, right. He'd forgotten they were standing in the middle of the pavement. He patted the other man’s arm and his hand stayed there, fingers curling to lightly grip as he started walking, trying to tug the man towards an alcove between the closest buildings. It was out of the way, perhaps just enough out of view from the main street that Noah could whip a knife out if he heard something he didn't like. “Maybe you can make it up to me by telling me your name, getting me a drink, and explaining–” Noah’s grip tightened, his smile unfalteringly sunny– “why you were following me.”


Cass Harlow

[Cass Harlow]

Cass noticed when the other man gave him a onceover, and he was glad he’d taken a little more care with his appearance tonight. There was a distinct note of unease about him though, Cass thought, even if it seemed like he might be trying to mask it. His shiftiness was probably due to what had transpired in the past few minutes, unless there was something else on his mind, so Cass didn’t think much of it.

As someone who had the ability to turn himself invisible whenever he wanted, Cass was generally laid back and free of the anxiety a lot of people experienced in tense situations. He had used his power to escape from trouble so many times in the past that it gave him a sense confidence few others could boast. Occasionally misplaced, and oftentimes dangerous, but confidence all the same.

When the dark mysterious stranger argued further that his power was better, Cass just smirked up at him, meeting his dark stare, and let him have this one. He wasn’t generally competitive, and no one could convince him any power was better than his own. Most people probably felt the same, so arguing was pointless.

Then someone walking along the sidewalk threaded through the space between them, breaking their gaze, and Cass realized they were blocking the walkway. Before he could suggest they part, or find somewhere else to chat, his companion placed a hand on his arm, right overtop of the tattoo on his forearm, and started walking, urging Cass to move with him. His skin zinged with the contact and he let himself be led, chasing the feeling.

“How does it work, anyway?” Cass asked as they walked, hoping to get a better read on what he was dealing with. “Do you just “borrow” anything close to you? Because I gotta say, that seems like a pain in the ass. Especially if the power sucks.” His smirk turned a bit sheepish, as if he agreed with that assessment of his enhanced hearing.

It didn’t escape his notice the way he was being led towards what appeared to be a dark alleyway, and while it did strike a faint nerve of apprehension, he wasn’t overly bothered. That was, until the guy asked for his name and mentioned being followed, an unsettling smile on his face.

Cass managed to keep his cool, though, digging his heels in a bit, putting up only the slightest hint of resistance as he gave his companion a bemused look.

“What makes you think I was following you?”

Of course he’d tell him the reason, if pushed, but for now, answering his question with a question seemed like the way to go. It wasn’t a lie; he just wasn’t ready to give himself away if the guy was only going off of a hunch and didn’t know for sure. He didn’t want to reveal all of his powers yet unless he had to, or until he knew more about the guy.

“If you want to get a drink, that would be this way,” he tugged his arm a bit in the other direction, not trying to pull away from the grip the guy had on him yet, just indicating the opposing direction. “Do you like whiskey? I’m a bourbon man, myself. Got a bottle in my car if you’re interested.” He was babbling a bit, now, trying to draw the stranger’s interest elsewhere. “We can have a drink, exchange names, get to know each other. You know, make a night of it. If you want to know more, that is. If not, we can go our separate ways. No harm, no foul?”

It might be a bit weird, offering to have a drink in his “car”—the word “van” had a tendency of creeping people out—but Cass hoped he took him up on it anyway. Because as dangerous as Cass’s instincts told him the guy probably was, his attraction overrode his hesitation. It was a problem, he knew it, and it had gotten him into trouble more than once. It wasn’t that he trusted the guy—far from it—but he trusted his own ability to take care of himself. Maybe unwisely, maybe not, but he was interested to find out.

Besides, the kind of discussion he was asking for probably shouldn’t be had in a public bar or club, where anyone could overhear. And, call him crazy, but Cass didn’t really want to have it in a dark alleyway, either. So, although it might be a bad idea to take this possibly—probably—dangerous stranger to his van, that seemed like the best option to Cass.

And, anyway, if worse came to worse, he could always target him with his enhanced hearing again; that had seemed to incapacitate him well enough.

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TAG: Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Noah’s expression didn't waver as the man asked about his gift. He tipped his head, gave a considering hum and a warning squeeze when he felt the arm under his fingers tug away. “Something like that.” He’d normally be more forthcoming with other gifted, giving at least the basics of his power with the expectation they would return the favour, allowing him to sate his own curiosity. But in this instance he was reluctant to hand over information so freely. He knew more than enough about enhanced hearing (no follow-up questions required) and he didn’t want to explain his cards when he had yet to figure out what the other player’s intentions were. It was possible that the stranger was feeling him out, trying to gauge what Noah could and could not do before the hunt truly began.

“What makes you think I was following you?”

Noah paused. A flicker of doubt sparked within him and he turned his stare to flit questioningly between the other man’s eyes. Did he know he was following him? He’d just assumed, really, that the nearest gifted who’d caused him discomfort would be the culprit. But could he be certain the stranger had his senses focused specifically on Noah? He could have simply been walking past, extending his hearing further than normal, and Noah just happened to be within range. A hunter would encourage the trip to an alley, wouldn’t they? Not dig their heels in to slow their progress.

He frowned, uncertain and frustrated by the uncertainty, and came to a halt, glancing around in search of another steady gaze fixed upon him. There was none, but maybe the stalker had already gone. Decided two men would be more difficult to take out than one and stopped following when he’d walked up to his new acquaintance.

The stranger was starting to ramble a little bit, inviting Noah to his car for a drink – whiskey of all things. Noah’s favourite. It set him on edge again, made him wonder if he was being lured like a dog with its preferred treat. Had the stranger known it was his favourite? Done some research on him? In which case, accepting the offer sounded like a good way to get knocked out and stuffed in the trunk. And even if that didn’t happen, even if it were coincidence (whiskey was a popular drink, after all, it wasn't completely impossible that he'd have a bottle by chance), where were they supposed to have their chat? The front seats would be an uncomfortable perch after a while. Besides, Noah didn’t want to give him the upper hand – wasn’t going to let him feel in charge of the situation by doing what he wanted to do.

“Alright,” he sighed, turning to stand in front of him. His free hand reached out for the man’s other arm, giving a small squeeze intended to be friendlier than the one before, and he smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry for making you nervous. C’mon, we can be friends can’t we? My name’s Noah.” Perhaps he should have given a fake name, made himself more difficult to track down. Ugh, the situation was so confusing. Noah blamed the super-hearing; the noise had apparently jostled his brain, disoriented him completely. He waggled his brow. “If you don’t tell me yours I’m gonna have to call you something like Ocean Eyes, Montana, Billy Ray Cyrus–” His smile fell into an unimpressed line. None of those nicknames seemed quite right; he couldn’t get enough of a read on the guy to think of something more fitting. “Maybe not. I can do better though, trust me, just give me some time.”

“We’re going to a bar,” he decided, dropping the other man’s arms. “Somewhere loud so no one can overhear us, and for every answer you give me you’ll get to ask me something back. If all goes well and I get bored of whatever place we end up in, maybe then we’ll go find your car.”


Cass Harlow

[Cass Harlow]

Cass’ question seemed to make the guy a bit anxious. Or maybe just paranoid, it was hard to say. He debated just coming clean and telling him the truth, right there and then, but he changed him mind and rambled on about his bourbon instead, trying to ease his mind. It seemed to do the opposite, though, so Cass shut up.

It made him stop dragging Cass toward the dark alleyway, though, so that was a plus. Probably.

He didn’t even bother denying that the guy’s behavior had made him a little nervous, as well. Not that he really blamed him, though, after how they’d met. But friends, huh? Yeah, friends sounded great, even though he wasn’t sure if the shifty, handsome stranger really meant it. He was being friendly enough, however, even if it wasn’t entirely convincing at times, and Cass was charmed by his looks, and his slew of rapidfire nicknames, so he was willing to go with it for now.

He had no way of knowing if Noah was the guy’s real name, of course, but he had no reason to think otherwise, so he gave his own real name instead of one of his many aliases.

“Sure, friends. Name’s Cass, but you can call me whatever you want, I'm not opposed to a nickname, as long as it's flattering.” He shrugged with a smile, loose-limbed and relaxed, and hoped his body language did something to ease Noah's tension, even just a little.

Noah said they were going to a bar, very decisive and matter of fact, and Cass nodded agreeably, not bothering to argue. He would normally balk at being told what to do, but… well things were different when he was attracted to someone. Especially someone with as assertive an aura as Noah had. So, no big surprise, he was perfectly fine with going along with whatever Noah wanted.

If they ended up going back to his van at the end of he night, well, that was fine, too, but he knew better than to have expectations of how and where the night would end up. Experience had taught him better than that. He could only dream.

“Yeah, a bar sounds great,” he replied, grinning crookedly. “We can play twenty questions and get sloshed,” he added with a wink. “Got anywhere specific in mind? I haven’t been in town long, so I’m not familiar with the best places yet.”

He hadn’t initially thought a bar would be such a good idea, but if it was somewhere loud where no one could overhear, that meant he and Noah would have to stand close together so they could hear each other. A loud bar also meant he’d have more leverage if he needed to use his enhanced hearing against Noah, to escape from him for whatever reason that might come up. He hoped it didn’t come up.

He also hoped Noah didn’t expect him to buy the drinks. He’d come out tonight with the intention of getting someone else to buy his drinks for him; he had almost no money to his name at the moment.

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TAG: Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

The change of tactics felt like the right choice. Intimidation would be too obvious, too easily stumbled across by a concerned passer-by and, judging by how relaxed the stranger appeared, likely unsuccessful. Noah would try getting him drunk instead, see if any secrets would slip out that way. However, he was increasingly doubtful that the stranger was the threat he’d imagined him to be – smiling and loose-limbed, still wanting to get a drink despite Noah's strange, unsettled behaviour. Maybe he genuinely wanted to be friends, as interested in meeting another gifted as Noah usually was, and he was sure he’d be able to sniff it out if the stranger was trying to mislead him the same way he usually misled others. He seemed genuine, and when he introduced himself as Cass, Noah had a lightbulb moment.

“Casanova!” he cheered, bright eyed as he pointed a finger gun. Much better than his previous suggestions, or so he thought. His hand retreated to rub the back of his neck while he tilted his head, giving Cass a considering look. “Though, maybe it’s not very original. I’d rather not nickname-share if someone's already calling you that. Back to the drawing board? Or is it flattering enough for your tastes?”

Cass happily agreed to go to a bar, with a wink and a game suggestion that had Noah’s smile curling more slyly. Huh. So it was like that, was it? He flipped through his mental catalogue of good places to get booze, immediately setting aside Illusion Lounge as an option despite their distance from it, but all ideas were abruptly dismissed when his eyes caught on a building at the end of their street. He huffed a laugh. “Oh, I know the perfect place. It’s the worst.” In fact, it was part of the reason Noah had expected a fight when he thought he was being followed, and on a night like that one he had the feeling it would meet the ‘loud’ criteria he’d set for them. He set off towards it without further comment, expecting Cass would trot after him.

A rustic sign hung above, labelling the bar ‘Spit and Sawdust’. Noah led the way through its heavy doors into a large, old-fashioned place with dark corners, grimy windows, and a few ceiling fans spinning listlessly above. Tinny music from four decades ago was playing, the jukebox blinking half-heartedly in faded neon by the door. The song couldn’t be heard anyway; the bar was packed with people, predominantly male. Students, pensioners, and middle-aged dads alike donned football jerseys, their eyes fixed on the huge flatscreen TV that covered one wall. A hundred conversations in loud voices filled the air, all of them competing with the sports commentary and fainter stadium chants that pumped from modern speakers. Occasionally the crowd would erupt in jeers or whoops, depending on how their team was doing.

In the doorway, Noah turned to Cass with a cheery smile and a quirked brow. “See? The worst.” It was a place he tended to avoid unless he was gasping for a fight; the regulars were too self-serious, the vibe trying too hard to be masculine, and the continuous sports games playing on TV left a bitter taste in his mouth. It belatedly occurred to him that the bar might be too loud for someone with heightened hearing but, then again, Cass hadn’t been opposed to going to such a place. It made Noah wonder – was his hearing 'normal' by default and had to be cast out? Or was it naturally extended and he had to consciously reign it in? Even though Noah had borrowed it himself he’d been too bewildered and hurt by it, too focused on getting rid of the thing entirely, to tell.

Noah wound his way through warm bodies to order their drinks: two pints of the local beer, though Noah was half-certain it was Guinness with a ‘homemade in Los Eurosia’ sticker slapped on the keg. Leaning up against the dark wood of the bar, he turned to Cass expectantly, but something in his expression (or perhaps just his general vibe) made Noah reconsider. He snorted. “Why do I have the feeling you’re not gonna pay for this?” It didn’t really matter. Although it would have been nice to have some compensation for his suffering, money wasn’t something he needed to worry about and, honestly, the drinks weren’t expensive. If he was wrong about Cass, the other man could order the next round, but in the meantime he fished out his wallet and handed over the required amount of cash. Two full glasses were pushed over to them in exchange.

With a nod of thanks to the bartender, Noah took one and held it out to Cass. “Take,” he ordered as he picked up the other. He took a deep gulp. Malty sweet and hoppy bitter, but he could tell it was watered down. Damn. Not great for his ‘get Cass drunk’ plan nor his taste buds. Maybe he should have ordered stronger stuff. He took another big swallow anyway, and wiped the foam from his top lip with a contented hum before clapping Cass on the shoulder. “Let’s go, Cassie.”

There was a small, unoccupied table on the opposite side of the room to the TV. Two chairs were tucked into it and a few empty glasses were left upon its surface, which Noah unceremoniously swept to one side; it was not the type of establishment to collect dirty glasses on the regular. He plopped down into one seat, pleased to note he couldn’t see the screen from that angle (probably why the table was empty in the first place) and that the noise pollution would be doing its job without them needing to shout to each other.

He grinned at his companion. He’d start small, ask the easy and obvious questions. “So, you said you haven’t been here long. Are you visiting or have you just moved here? Where’d you come from?”


Cass Harlow

[Cass Harlow]

Cass couldn’t help but laugh out loud at how excited Noah seemed to be with the new nickname he’d chosen. “I have heard that one before, but not for a while,” he assured with a grin. “And when I said “flattering” I guess I just meant “not insulting”. My cousin used to call me Casshole, so…” he trailed off, blowing out a forceful breath, frustrated with himself for even bringing that up. He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. Maybe one day. “So, pretty much anything is better than that,” he finished, grin turning slightly sheepish.

Noah seemed pleased he had agreed to the bar, though Cass was curious about his suddenly impish expression, wondering if he had something planned. He seemed to know exactly where he thought they should go, though, and when he turned and walked away, Cass only watched him go for a moment, enjoying the view, before he hurried after him. He fell into step just behind him and to the left, so Noah could lead the way and Cass could make room on the sidewalk if someone else was passing.

Cass was surprised by the place Noah led him to, and his eyebrows rose at the name above the door. “Spit and Sawdust, huh?” he murmured. “Sounds like a gay cowboy bar.”

It wasn’t anything at all like it sounded, though, and Cass cringed slightly as Noah led him inside. The clientele was mostly male, but they weren’t gay cowboys, that was for sure. At least, Cass was pretty sure they weren’t, from the overwhelming sea of football jerseys that decked out the crowd. It wasn’t like Cass could read their minds, though. For all he knew, some of them could have been moonlighting as gay cowboys in their private time. Anything was possible.

The bar most definitely wasn’t his usual crowd—sports didn’t hold much interest for him—but booze was booze, he supposed. Though it was, indeed, “the worst”, and he nodded emphatically when Noah turned to him with a too-cheery grin, like he was proud of himself for his choice.

They stuck out like sore thumbs amongst all the jerseys as they threaded their way through the crowd. Not that anyone seemed to notice, with their attention glued to the televisions. When another cheer went up from the crowd surrounding them, Cass winced and unconsciously stifled his hearing a bit to tune out some of the noise. Almost like turning the volume knob on a radio. When he realized what he’d done, his gaze snapped to Noah, wondering if he’d steal his power again, since he still didn’t understand how that worked. But Noah was quiet and unbothered, and hadn’t seemed to notice, if the continued sensation that Cass had cotton balls in his ears was anything to go by. Interesting.

He followed Noah all the way to the bar, where two beers were ordered. Cass bit at his lip worriedly as they waited for the drinks, knowing he didn’t have the money to pay for his and unsure how Noah would react when he told him. He didn’t have to say a word, though. Noah’s muffled words came through Cass’ stifled hearing, and he grinned nervously and shrugged at Noah’s assumption. He wasn’t wrong, but Cass wondered what had given him away. He glanced down at his clothes, comparing them silently to Noah’s sleek ensemble. Yeah, okay, maybe it was obvious, and he didn’t look as good as he thought he did. Oh, well.

Noah paid for the drinks casually, and Cass was relieved that he didn’t seem to care.

“Thanks. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. And he really didn’t mean that as suggestive as it had come out but, then again… he could mean it that way, if Noah wanted him to, so he didn’t correct himself.

When Noah offered the beverage, paired with a pointed order, Cass quickly obeyed. He accepted the glass and took a long drink of the weak beer, as if that had been part of Noah’s order, too. His companion seemed to be doing the same. Cass hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.

He choked on the drink, though, and almost dropped the glass when “Cassie” came out of Noah’s mouth next, along with a firm touch to his shoulder. Even with his lessened hearing, he knew he had heard that name clearly. He spluttered and almost spewed the beer he’d just taken all over the place, before getting control of himself and gulping it down instead. His face felt warm, and it was probably red; from choking, and from hearing that name directed at him again.

“Not… not Cassie. Probably,” he eventually said a little weakly, vetoing the nickname, when he could breathe normally again. He followed Noah obediently to the table he’d chosen, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he struggled to come up with the best way to explain the context of that name to a stranger. He wasn’t shy about sex in general, and normally had no problem talking about it, but this was a little different. He dropped his hand, though, and ended up leaving it at that, with no explanation for his reaction. If Noah wanted one, he could ask. If not, that was perfectly fine, too. More than fine. Preferred, maybe.

His questions turned out to be a lot easier to answer than the “Cassie” one, and Cass gladly answered them, relaxing into the easy familiarity of talking about his travels.

“I’m from everywhere. And from nowhere. I’ve lived in Colorado, Tennessee, Florida, and Texas, but I’ve been to almost all fifty states at least once. It’d be quicker to list the states I haven’t been, actually.” That wasn’t really what he’d asked, though, Cass realized. “I was in Portland for a while, before I came to Cali. And, uh, I haven’t really decided if I’m staying or not, yet. Still figuring it out.” He ended with a relaxed shrug.

Per Noah’s offer, that meant it was time to ask his own question. He kept it casual, like Noah had, instead of asking any of the things he really wanted to know. Better to work up to it. “How about you? You from around here?”

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TAG: Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Despite what it may have looked like, the reaction to the nickname Cassie did not go unnoticed. Cass spluttered on his drink, appearing more flustered than upset as blush painted his cheeks in pale pink swipes. Noah, sparing him a curious glance as he requested not to be called by that particular moniker, idly contemplated using it again anyway. See whether it would make Cass squirm further, deepen the pink on his face to crimson. Maybe he would make his own little game of it, see how red he could get the other man. Later, though. He'd get him comfortably answering questions first before catching him off guard.

Seated, Cass explained where he’d been before California, prompting Noah to take a deep gulp of his drink with the dull recognition that at this rate he was going to finish his pint within ten minutes of receiving it. Ugh. Portland. Simply hearing the city’s name threatened to wipe the good humour from his expression. But as it were he closed his eyes, humming in satisfaction with an upwards curl to his lips as he drank. Images flashed unbidden behind his lids; fluttering dresses, trees bending in the wind, a mahogany church altar and stone arched windows, a big white house with a picket fence, light pouring in from wooden slats to illuminate swirling specs of dust. Together, they made the beer taste worse than it already did.

Most people would probably perk up at the name of their hometown, jump on the opportunity to announce having lived there so they could bond over the locations they shared knowledge of. Noah was no such person, being far more likely to deny ever having been to that forsaken place at all unless there were copious amounts of alcohol pumping through his system or there were very specific (hair playing) requirements met. But maybe he was being dramatic. Overly precious. At least one good thing had happened there, albeit not the type of thing he would openly share with anyone. His drink clinked against the wood as he lowered it back to the table and he reopened his eyes in time to watch Cass turn the question back on him.

“Not originally. I’ve lived in a few different places too, though not as many as you. My longest stay was in Washington if you don’t count growing up in Oregon.” He wasn’t going to name specific cities. No way. Especially if doing so would mean he’d have to gush about Portland and pretend to have liked it. Besides, giving names would make him too traceable. Make it too easy to dig into the past if Cass found reason to investigate (and though Noah’s suspicions had lessened, the jury was still out on whether he’d been following him along the street – maybe Cass was already investigating).

Noah placed an elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his hand, sliding a finger around the rim of his glass as he studied the man sat across from him. “I guess you’re a hotel hopper then, huh.” Such a lifestyle had to get expensive. How did he fund it? Was he living on some sort of inheritance like Noah? Had he resorted to crime? Hunting? Noah remembered Dane's phone, the mugshot and the ludicrous bounty on the head of the gifted man in Leslie's tub. That kind of money could last a person years if they were smart about it. “How’d you pay for that? D’you use your super hearing to spy for the government? Or would you rather do work for naughty criminals?” He winked, hoping the tease would soften the potential rudeness of his question. It was necessary to ask. To see how Cass would react, whether he’d let slip anything to indicate he wasn’t as innocent as he seemed or – conversely – much more law-abiding than he seemed. While his previous comments had led Noah to assume he wasn’t a Sector agent, Noah needed to be sure. Because if Cass was, Noah needed to put an end to their encounter sooner rather than later – and maybe make up a lie about what kind of gifts he could borrow. He had an… association to protect.

He beamed. “And let’s talk about gifts! When did your power develop, hm? What do you tend to use it for – besides the aforementioned superspy work?”



Cass Harlow

[Cass Harlow]

Cass took a deep swallow of his beer when he finished speaking, as he awaited Noah’s reply. He hadn’t missed the slight change in Noah’s body language as he’d talked about places he’d been, but there was no indication of a reason for it as far as he could tell, so he just ignored it.

Then Noah began to answer his question, and something clicked. Oh, he grew up in Oregon. Maybe he’s been to Portland before. If so, he no doubt had his own associations with the city, completely different from Cass’. He didn’t pry into what they were.

Noah’s body language suddenly changed drastically, seeming almost playful as he leaned his head on a hand and fixed that unwavering gaze on Cass.

“That’s a lot more than just one question,” Cass noted, chuckling slightly as Noah took his turn and bombarded him with a string of queries. He didn’t really mind, though.

“A hotel hopper? Uh, not really. I don’t spend a lot of time in hotels. Or motels, for that matter. I imagine that would get expensive, and I’m not exactly rolling in dough.” He opened his arms briefly, as if to indicate… all of him. He felt like a little like a street urchin, next to Noah. Which wasn’t actually that far off, to be honest. “I mostly sleep in my van when I travel,” he admitted. “Unless I end up going home with someone for the night, that is.”

He was, perhaps, revealing a little too much, but once he got started talking, he had trouble stopping without help. It wasn’t very often someone was curious enough about him to ask him so much about himself. Someone sober, anyway. Although, if they kept it up, that last part wouldn’t be true for long. The beer might be weak, but they could always switch to something else.

“Definitely no government work,” he said with an incredulous little snort and a shake of his head. “I do… dabble in criminal activity, I guess you could say. But that’s usually more of a family thing,” he shrugged, not willing to elaborate just now. The situation with his uncle was complicated. And, yeah, he sometimes swiped things here or there when he wasn’t doing a job for his uncle, but that was mostly for survival. Mostly.

He opened his mouth to ask a question of his own, probably something about what Noah did for a living, but before he could, Noah smiled broadly and kept going, asking more questions, about his gifts this time. Cass put the brakes on.

“Hey, it’s my turn to ask a question,” he reminded his drinking buddy. “You can’t just skip me!” he grinned playfully, to soften the accusation, but he was definitely serious. Before he told Noah anything about his own abilities, he needed to know something, first.

“So, how does your gift work, exactly? If you know, I mean.” He’d met plenty of people with abilities who had no idea how their gifts worked and just rolled with the punches. “Can you steal any power that’s used around you, or what? And can you keep it forever?” That was more than one question, but he was still taking his cues from Noah. He’s answered Noah’s first string of questions, so it was only fair.

Him telling the truth about his own gifts completely hinged on Noah’s answer to his question. There was no way he was risking his abilities being stolen from him. It would be like Noah cutting off one of his limbs. If there was no danger of that, though, he was perfectly willing to be completely open about what he could do. After all, Cass loved bragging and showing off his abilities. Invisibility never failed to impress.

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TAG: Noah St Cloud

[Noah St Cloud]

Noah stared, smile unfaltering as he was chided for asking more than one question. He was a curious guy! Sue him! Cass started answering them anyway, first refuting Noah’s theory that he stayed in hotels during his travels. Ah. Now Cass’ invitation to drink in his ‘car’ made more sense; if the van was kitted out for him in sleep in, it was presumably roomy enough for two guys to hang out in. Even so, had he known the truth earlier Noah reckoned he still would have brought Cass to the bar instead. Going back to strangers’ vehicles always required a certain level of caution, no matter how nice they were. Going back to strangers’ homes, however, was apparently something Cass had no qualms about.

Noah snorted, following it up with an understanding hum and a sage nod as he lifted his head from his hand and brought his beer back to his mouth. He didn’t judge Cass in the slightest. There had been a time when Noah himself hadn’t had a registered address, and (exhausted from months of travelling and non-stop partying) he’d found someone to take him in for a while. Lived for free – mostly. Played house. However, that had been a very particular, planned situation. He wasn’t a huge fan of sleeping in the homes of his one-night stands. It required more trust than he was usually willing to give, and though he might be tempted to rest for a few hours if he was exhausted enough, he couldn’t truly relax and would almost always sneak out in time to avoid the whole morning-after situation – neither desiring to be awkwardly shown the door nor snuggled up against and drowsily asked questions by someone he didn’t care about.

The admittance that Cass ‘dabbled’ in criminal activity, that it was a ‘family thing’, drew a laugh from Noah's lips. “Bold of you to admit that so openly,” he snickered, brow raised. Was it some kind of trick? Meant to lure Noah into admitting his own wrongdoings? Or was this guy really that open – or trusting of him in particular, for whatever reason? He tutted and exhaled an airy, drawn-out sigh. “Luckily for you I don’t have cuffs on me right now, otherwise you’d be under arrest.” His gaze swept over Cass' form, wondering what crimes he was guilty of. He had a feeling it wasn’t anything too alarming. He didn’t strike Noah as a killer – not brutish or weaselly enough in appearance nor mannerisms. Theft was more likely. Whether he stole and resold cars or broke into homes was anyone’s guess.

Unfortunately, Cass wasn’t willing to answer his remaining questions, turning them back on Noah and asking how his gift worked instead. Noah pouted, a child denied his toys. He supposed there would be no point in outright lying unless he was trying to scare him, which went against his whole ‘build rapport and learn what this guy’s about’ plan. But he didn’t want to go too in-depth about the limits of his power, or make himself out to be much weaker or stronger than he was. What a dilemma he faced…

He decided to start with the question of whether he could keep gifts forever. God he wished he could. How awesome would that be? He shook his head, smile teasing. “I wouldn’t do that. I’m a borrower, not a thief. Unlike some people here I’m a law-abiding citizen, thank you very much.” 

“And no, I can’t steal any power. It tends to be stuff that can be used on me somehow. Obvious things that you could probably expect, like if someone used an electricity gift to shock me, but also some less obvious things too, things that are a little less offensive, like… you. Enhanced senses. I tend to pick them up whenever I’m in range of them.” A nuisance, for sure. Sometimes they weren’t too bad though, not enhanced to a level that hurt Noah’s head, but he still tried to keep them at bay – finding them more distracting than helpful in most scenarios.

He blinked at Cass curiously. “Your hearing is a little different, I guess. I could feel it prodding around me before, asking to be taken again, but it’s not there now.” He tilted his head, thinking. “My guess would be that since I’m in your ‘normal’ hearing range my gift isn’t identifying yours as a supernatural threat anymore.” He shrugged. “Could be wrong though. These things work in mysterious ways.”

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming in anticipation. “Satisfied? Ready to answer my questions now?”


Cass Harlow

[Cass Harlow]

“Bold of you to admit that so openly.”

Cass shrugged. “Not really. I could be talking about tax evasion, or insurance fraud, or jaywalking,” he laughed a little. “Or I could mean thieving, murder, and general mayhem. I didn’t say what it was specifically.” Then the second part of Noah’s statement registered, and Cass’ eyes widened. “Wait, you’re a cop?” That was disappointing; Cass hated cops, and he tried not to think about Noah putting him in cuffs. For more than one reason.

Then Noah pouted at Cass’ refusal to answer his questions, and Cass bit his lip to fight off a smirk. He sure didn’t seem like any cop Cass had ever met.

“A law abiding citizen, huh?” Cass scoffed playfully. “If you say so. Not the vibes I get from you, but if that’s what you are then that’s what you are. Who am I to argue?” Though it was quite good to know that Noah couldn’t keep his powers. That made him relax considerably, actually more at ease now instead of just pretending to be, since that’s all he’d really been concerned about when it came to Noah. Until he’d implied he was a cop, anyway.

He listened with avid interest as Noah explained how his powers worked, to the best of his ability, fascinated since he didn’t often meet gifted people who knew the ins and outs of their abilities so well. Then he finished by insisting on Cass answering more of his questions, and Cass snickered and rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat as Noah leaned forward. Maybe he was a cop, after all. Cass wouldn’t be surprised, since it was starting to feel more like an interrogation rather than a conversation.

“Satisfied? Hm, not quite. But yeah, I’ll answer some more questions. Haven’t I been cooperative so far? I’m not resisting, I swear,” he half-raised his hands for a brief moment, like he had a gun pointed at him. “Question for a question, remember?”

He took another gulp of his beer, draining the glass. “What else do you want to know?” he asked as he wiped the foam off his upper lip with the back of his hand. He sure was obsessed with his questions. “Fire away, officer,” he teased, adding a wink for good measure.

He was sure he’d end up admitting to following the guy, but he was prepared to defend his actions with a counter-question about why Noah smelled so much like blood. He propped an elbow on the table as he leaned back, making a show of relaxing, like he had nothing to hide. Like he was in a real interrogation.

The beer had done nothing for him except to quench his thirst, and he wondered if he could convince Noah to get them something stronger. Did the guy only drink beer on nights out? That seemed like a waste to Cass. Or maybe he was just being cheap with him in particular, to seem polite, while not having to spend too much of his money on someone he had no interest in ending the night with. Cass was starting to suspect the latter, based on the interrogation he was receiving, and he beginning to lose interest a little, gaze roaming around the bar for any other prospects. No that he’d find any in a bar like this, but that was what he’d come out for tonight, after all, to find someone to have fun with and maybe go home with.

After a brief scan of the bar, which found every single person in the place other than the two of them glued to some sports game, his gaze fell back on Noah, reassessing. The guy was hot, obviously, and though he was strangely magnetic, Cass was pretty sure it wasn’t going to go anywhere between the two of them. Maybe they could exchange numbers and continue this conversation another time, if Noah was so intent on having it. He was all for being friends with his fellow superpowered humans, but that wasn't what he was looking for tonight.

He began to think of an excuse or strategy he could use to escape. If he had to, he could always go to the bathroom and then go invisible to slip away. It would probably mean leaving his boots behind but maybe he could come back later and get them. Or maybe Noah wouldn’t even notice a pair of boots making for the door in the midst of the crowded bar.

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TAG: Noah St Cloud

OOC: Noah happened to say the magic word that dialed Cass’ flirting switch down lmao: “arrest”. BUT he would still be quite easy to intoxicate and manipulate with something a little stronger.
Also, no rush, feel free to take as long as you need to reply if you have a lot on your plate right now.

[Noah St Cloud]

OOC: sorry for the atrociously long wait!!


Apparently undeterred by Noah’s comment, Cass laughed a little as he argued that he hadn’t been specific about which crimes he’d committed. But then his eyes widened, questioning if Noah was a cop, and Noah huffed a laugh of his own. Maybe not so bold after all, hm? He decided not to deny it immediately, if only to see if Cass would start to sweat or react some other humorous way.

Whether he believed he was a cop or not, Cass playfully claimed that Noah didn’t seem like the law-abiding type and Noah clutched at imaginary pearls as if he was the personification of innocence and abhorred that idea. Yet after Noah had explained his abilities and asked if Cass was ready to answer some questions in return, his mood appeared to shift.

He snickered and leant back in his chair, gaze roaming the room when a minute ago he’d appeared to have been fully invested in the conversation, listening attentively. Was this some kind of tactic? Suddenly playing hard to get? He claimed he wasn’t quite satisfied, as if Noah had been holding out, and it wouldn’t have annoyed Noah so much if that had been true, if he’d been lying. He claimed he’d been cooperative. Reminded him that it was ‘question for a question’ before asking him what he wanted to know.

Noah fought the urge to bristle. He felt a little cheated. He’d answered his own questions without fuss, gave more than he’d been given, and now Cass was holding out? Making him repeat himself and ask again?

He’d even bought that drink Cass was wiping off his lip.

Despite the playful wink and teasing nickname Cass shot at him, Noah rolled his eyes and sat back as well. “I’m not actually a cop.”

He took another sip of his beer. The coolness of the glass against his skin and the liquid down his throat helped him to recenter himself. To remember that he was better than this. Had waited for answers for far longer and broken down the walls of far more guarded individuals. He was simply still on edge from borrowing Cass’ super senses – that was what had made him so sensitive all of a sudden.

He tilted his head, looking at him levelly, then a smirk snuck back across his face as he purred – “People can have handcuffs for all sorts of reasons, Cassie.” That seemed to have forced a reaction out of him earlier. “If there’s one thing cops and I can agree on, it’s that most people are more enjoyable once they’re restrained and under control.”

He shifted forward again, gaze unwavering as he lowered his voice, almost conspiratorially, to try to get Cass to lean in as well. “They’re a lot more helpful, too. Honest,” he murmured. He slowly slipped his hand across the table to Cass’ elbow, then let his fingertips trail up his forearm. He’d wanted to build up to it. Get to know more about Cass and his gifts to suss out how much of a threat he was (if he was one at all). But perhaps a more direct approach was needed. Perhaps he needed assistance in keeping his attention from slipping. He loosely encircled his hand around Cass’ wrist, watching his thumb brush against a vein with a thoughtful hum before lifting his gaze back to Cass’. “Much more inclined to answer questions such as… ‘Were you following me? Why?’”


Cass Harlow