Clyde was somewhat bored. Having a roommate meant it was difficult to sit back and read. So, Clyde decided to head to the living room and see if there was anything interesting on the TV.

However, just as he was going to sit down on a couch, he felt something sharp cut into his foot.

“Ow!” he yelped. “What the...”

The pointy object was a small toy plane. The freaking thing was metal and had a nasty looking tail fin on it. Heaving an angry sigh, the teenaged kid picked it up and placed it on the coffee table. Obviously, some kid didn't think to pick up his toys so people wouldn't step on them.

Still grumbling, Clyde then sat down on the couch. He carefully removed his sock to inspect the cut. It hurt a ton when it happened, but, fortunately, the cut wasn't deep enough to warrant a bandage.

It was one of Evelyn's sleepless weeks. Well, not that she ever slept much, but on day two (or was it three?) without successfully resting, she was feeling a bit drained and having less control over her echoes as a result. The problems with her powers were they tended to pay attention to whatever they felt like. If she was staring at curtains for three hours, whatever, she would just have to deal with it. But after some unsuccessful artwork, Evelyn finally wandered towards the living room to find a distraction.

Instead, she found a rather pained looking teen examining his foot.

The echoes flickered to the airplane on the table, examined the size of the cut, and pieced it quickly together before she really registered what was happening. "I think when they designed airplanes skin wasn't exactly what they were hoping they could cut through...." She remarked, wandering over to the nearest chair and opening her sketchbook. The echoes continued to watch the kid, somewhat interested in his behavior. Something was...off... She had felt this way before over certain mutants, and they were always individuals whose appearance didn't match their personalities.

Sketching a picture of a penny, she glanced over at him, blinking as she felt herself momentarily staring to try and figure out what was strange about this kid.

Just as Clyde was letting his injured foot down, he heard a woman speak to him. About the fact that he'd stepped on that dastardly metal plane. Weird, he thought no one had been in the room to see that. Perhaps he was mistaking.

“No kidding. Can't blame the toy company, though. They'd be insane to test fo stuff like this. Someone really needed to clean up after they played,” Clyde responded, replacing the sock. “It's nothing, though.” He leaned forward and reached for the TV remote on the table.

That was when he noticed the sketchpad she was holding. Especially considering issues he'd had with a certain artist jerk before, he knew that some got needlessly mad at the most minor distractions. “You ahn't the type of ahtist who'd go ballistic if I turned this on, ah you?” he asked, waving the remote. The teenaged kid sure hoped not. That'd mean he'd have to find somewhere else to kill time.

Evelyn nodded quietly at his remark, the echoes picking up on the slight hint of confusion before he spoke. That was fairly typical around her though. He picked up the remote and then waggled it in her direction.

Evelyn felt a chuckle slip out of her mouth. "Oh, I don't mind at all. I'm used to drawing with distractions around." As if that wasn't completely an understatement. Trying to do anything with the echoes was troublesome. Heck, they criticized how she tied her shoes a time or two. Television was just minor background noise compared to them. "There are at least two court room shows, one painting lesson, two cooking demonstrations, a news broadcast and if we're lucky an old movie to pick through on the local channels. I'd recommend turning on the satellite." She shrugged and continued her drawing.

So she wasn't going to mind. Good. Bzzzt, went the television, as an image of a news debate appeared on the screen.

“...Obviously, this 'plan' of yours is flawed.”

“Hold on, ma'am. If you'd just consider the-”

“You know what? You're dead wrong! Your plan is garbage!”

Great, the “news reporter” was one of those loud, obnoxious talking heads again. Why on Earth did those stations hire them? Clyde shook his head. “Moron,” he muttered at the reporter, temporarily forgetting that someone else was in the room.

Click.

He could hear screaming people. Lots of screaming people. In the screen's background was some enormous, raptor-like creature. And it was rampaging and biting people's heads off. Obviously, the movie-makers spared no expense on fake blood, but failed to hire people who could actually act terrified. Clyde just glared at the screen, giving it his “You've got to be kidding me” expression.

He glanced at the woman. “Yeah, yo right. Local programming reeks,” he agreed. He then proceeded to fumble with the remote's buttons. Now how did someone turn on the satellite on this TV?

"Push the switch up at the top of the remote to Satellite then push power." Evelyn's voice carried across the room as she continued drawing, eyes never leaving the picture. She didn't need him to ask to know he was still fumbling trying to change from the programming. The echoes picked up on that easily enough. She was amused that her recitation of the television schedule was still fairly accurate, and listened to the sounds of the bad movie still playing. She tried to sort out if she had heard this particular movie before. Since she started staying at the mansion, her limited taste of cinema pieces was expanding and she could at least recognize a few films. She was always careful though. You watch a bad movie once, and you're stuck reliving it a hundred times.

"Sometimes the button sticks a little and you have to push it a couple times. I think one of the younger kids spilled juice on it or something." That was what the echoes had deduced, anyway. Sherlock would have been so proud. The grand mystery of the remote buttons sticking solved by her super human abilities.

Rather, she felt he would roll over in his grave.

“Switch up top to Satellite. Power button. Got it. Thanks,” Clyde replied. As he searched for the buttons, he heard the woman mention something about a kid spilling juice on it. No wonder it felt all grimy. “That's kind of gross,” he muttered. “Maybe it was the same kid who left his airplane out fo me to step on.” With that, he pressed the proper buttons.

The screen erupted into television snow as soon as he did. He tried changing the channel a few times, but it did no good. “Hmph. Static,” he grumbled. “Must be raining outside oh something.” So much for the satellite. Sighing, he pressed a button on the remote to shut the dish off.

“AAAAUUUGGGHHH!!!”

He'd turned it back just in time to see an unlucky citizen in the movie met his gruesome fate. “Theah went that guy,” he stated in an unamused tone. It might've given him nightmares when he was several years younger, but by now, he'd realized that almost all monster movies were poorly made and followed a boring, unoriginal plot. This one didn't look any different. In fact, he could already see the army lining up, preparing to shoot at the creatures. “And as always, guns ahn't going to work.”

No satellite. Well that severely limited their choices on things to watch. Not that she was watching with him, but she still had to listen, and the monster movie sounded about as bad as it looked.

Something about this kid didn't add up though. The echoes kept flickering for her attention, leaving little tidbits of information in her mind. [Behavior, consistent with a teenager.] Well, that was surprising, but not unusual around mutants. She looked closer at the kid, and watched his reactions to the television for a moment. He may have looked like he was seven, but he was acting much older.

"Don't age shifters usually try to make themselves older?" She found herself blurting out suddenly, turning back to her drawing. She let the echoes watch out of the corner of her eye, judging his reactions to her statement. There had to be a missing piece of the puzzle here. Was he just really smart? Maybe he wasn't an age shifter... He would certainly correct her if he wasn't, but it was always more fun to guess upfront. If she was right, it freaked people out. She tried not to take too much satisfaction in that.

Clyde dropped the remote and froze as soon as he heard the woman's remark. “What the-?!”

How the hell did she figure out he was older so unnaturally fast?! The only other person he could think of who'd figured it out about that fast was Jared, but that was because he didn't look his age, either. Maybe she... no, that seemed too unlikely. On the other hand, Clyde had heard of telepaths, mutants who could hear other peoples' thoughts. That had to be it, didn't it? Oh, the nerve of her...

A look of anger showed on the teenaged kid's face as he sprang to his feet. “Listen. My brain is a private sanctuary. Stay out of it,” he demanded. The idea that she'd been poking around in his head WITHOUT HIS PERMISSION was so unsettling.

It was immediately clear Evelyn had guessed correctly. The information settled, his face moved from confusion, then after second of thought, erupted into rage. Apparently, he didn’t like her guessing his powers.

And then the mind reader accusation came up again.

She felt somewhat torn between laughing and feeling bad. But the only response she gave to his display was the slight twitch on the corner of her mouth as she resisted a smile. ”I’m not a mind reader. You just act different than you look.” It was the simplest way she could word it, and she looked back down at her sketchbook. Her face was calm, and she shaded the edge of her picture as the television continued to clamor.

Clyde, as furious as he wasm forced himself to listen to what the woman had to say. “Eh...” he paused. It wasn't the answer he was expecting. Maybe he had jumped the gun on the mind reader thing. “Thanks?” came his uncertain reply. Given that most people treated him like the little kid he looked like, it seemed a bit of compliment to have someone recognize that he at least didn't act like one.

However, something still bothered him. “But how did you know?” he had to ask. If she hadn't been poking around in his head, he wanted to know why she'd figured that out so fast.

His question was expected, and Evelyn turned back to face him with a shrug. The echoes were still chattering about the movie, but she focused on the information they had already given to help with the realization. "When you talk about kids, you don't speak as if you're one of them. When you flipped through the channels your expression about different shows just seemed more...adult. Like you had seem them before. You talk a bit older than you are... It's like...puzzle pieces. Nothing specific sets it off, just all the little bits together." She said, turning back to her drawing.

It was hard to really explain it out loud sometimes. Sometimes, she just worried it would sound rude. 'You look like you're seven but you're talking to me like an equal, you don't flinch at television violence, or act excited to watch it like it's something you don't normally do...' things like that could lead to further offending the kid.

Or teen. She was started to gradually pick and age range for him based on his actions.

Stunned, Clyde listened as the woman spilled out a mountain of evidence. This woman was observant. Scarily observant. He continued to stare at her, the din of the monster movie playing in the background. What else did she know? At this rate, she probably already knew where he was from and what his name was. She might as well be reading minds.

“That's... kind of spooky,” Clyde admitted to her. He knew it was a little rude, but at the same time, it was honest. “Did you train yoself to do that? Oh is it a mutation?” he asked. As he'd observed so far, when it came to mutations, almost anything was possible.

Evelyn glanced up, eyes flickering across his facial expressions and taking a quick inventory of what was written there. This was honestly one of the more...hostile...reactions she had got to her powers. She could read the level of distrust mingled in his expressions, and discomfort that wasn't quite fear, but still uneasy with her abilities. People just didn't like when they thought you could read their minds... Although, what she did was probably worse... A mind reader at least could probably control whether or not they read someone's mind. What she saw was just out there in the open for anyone to pick up.

"I guess in a way it could be...It's my mutation though, so can't really control it..." She remarked and looked back down at her drawing. She was calm and kept it together, but inwardly she was a little bit miffed at his rudeness. Or honesty. Or both. He was being sort of judgmental in her eyes.

Somehow, Clyde felt like he'd offended yet another person. If this woman was to be believed, she had no control of what her mutation did. It was still pretty uncomfortable being around someone who may or may not be capable of “observing” rather personal information. However, maybe it was a little rash of him to say what he did. In a way, he could sympathize, having an annoying aspect of his mutation that he couldn't control.

“I guess that stinks,” replied Clyde, trying to sound apologetic. “It might make you a good detective, though. Oh ah you sick of people saying that?”