The folder sat on the table, forgotten. Slate’s entire focus was on the white piece in Johnny’s hand.

“And this,” the boy explained, with all due importance, “is the Queen. She can do anything—diagonals, straights, as many spaces as you want.”

Slate blinked down at the crowned white piece. “Can it move like a Knight?”

“Anything except that.”

“I see.” The blue-eyed teenager blinked down at the chess board, then looked back up to Johnny. “And there are two of those, as well?”

The Dragon Inn’s delivery boy gave a laugh. The kind of laugh that starts out weakly because the joke really wasn’t that funny, and trails off awkwardly when you realize the other person wasn’t kidding. “You really haven’t played chess before, have you?”

Slate pointed at the other half of the crowned pair. “What is that, then?”

“That,” Johnny said, picking up the piece with a flourish, “is the King. He can’t really do much—he can move in any direction, but only one space at a time. He’s more of the man-at-the-top; he doesn’t really fight.”

“I sympathize,” the nineteen year old said simply, much to Johnny’s puzzlement.

They were sitting in the back room of the Dragon Inn. A finished plate of fried green tea ice cream sat to Slate’s left; the folder to his right. The Kabal’s leader was waiting for his own queen. The cat woman fit the term, in more ways than one. And, if she was to properly strike, she needed the right information. Perhaps that was where the King came in.

(Continuing from Raining bullets )

This day was frustrating. Waking up without her sight again, wasn’t enough. While Sara, in the past had been able to force her eyes to relax and her vision to come back, today simply hadn’t been a relaxing enough day.

When Sara got the call from Luke to meet and talk, she had expected there to be a fight like there usually was between herself and the other blind mutant. Instead, when he found out Sara was still struggling with her sight leaving and coming back, he was concerned. The fight ended up being with someone completely different. Actually a very many some bodies who were, more specifically, a gang hired to kill Luke. Thanks to some weapons that were guns Sara hadn’t been familiar with before, they almost did.. . ..

That’s where Slate came in. Sara needed information about the folding machine guns. Sara wouldn’t call herself a gun expert, but she’d been around enough to know when a gun didn’t look like a normal gun. Ayesac had been able to look at the weapon and tell Sara what it was called, but where the weapon was coming from, wasn’t information he had. So Sara had called her next contact. Slate. Today, she didn’t care where slate got her the information. She just wanted it.

Sara was running fifteen minutes later than the time she had told Slate it would take her to get to Dragon Inn. Traveling blind took Sara longer, so it didn’t surprise her when she arrived at the back alley door, and could just barely make out Slate’s and Johnny’s voices inside.

“Sorry I’m running late.” Sara said as she shoved the back door. The bell on the inside door knob jingled. She sniffed at the air and her nostrils flared for a few seconds admiring the smell of ice cream. Food smelled entirely too god to Saras empty stomach today.

Business first. “Did you have any luck, Slate?”

>> “Sorry I’m running late.”

Slate looked to the woman with an easy smile, unaware that she wouldn’t see it. In fact, he knew nothing about her struggles with blindness. The first time they had meet had been before her accident; afterwards, during Colombia, she had been very good at hiding the unreliability of her sight.

>> “Did you have any luck, Slate?”

A nod. Fortunately, he followed it up with a: “Yes, I did,” and slid the folder off of the table. He offered it out to her.

This was a less helpful gesture than he’d intended.

Ahhhhhh Crap!.. .. .. This was going to be aukward.

Sara hesitated before grabbing for the folder that she could sense thanks to the 6th sense in her head when it moved, but she wouldn’t be able to read it till her sight returned. And the really messed up part of this was that she probably couldn’t ask Luke to read it either because hey, sonars don’t pick up on written words. When the fates paired Luke and Sara up for this particular adventure, they had a very twisted sense of humor.

Sara’s completely amber eyes blinked once. Her lower lip sucked in between her teeth and she gripped the folder between her fingers. “Slate, I need you to read me the information.” Sara said after a moment. She held the folder back out to him. Straight in his direction of where she last sensed him move, but her head never followed the movement. Her amber eyes just staring ahead of her with the pupils contracted so tight they looked like single strands of hair.

“It seems I’ve had a little bit of a mishap a few months ago.” Sara started to try to explain things, then trailed off because she really wasn’t sure where to go with the explanation. “I’ve become blind, but I’m not blind all the time. Just at the moment I am… And I don’t know when I’m going to get my sight to return.”

Until now, Sara had opted to not tell a lot of people about her lack of sight. Slate being one of many who had been left out of the loop. Luke probably wouldn’t know either if it wasn’t for the fact he had been the one to save her life. However that was before she understood that this thing with her eye sight was somewhat permanent. Not something that she was going to be able to sweep under the rug, so to speak. The very fact that she was informing slate now was for business reasons. He needed to know because he hired her. At least that’s what she told herself. It definitely wasn’t her just spilling her guts all of a sudden.

((ooc: Not sure exactly what info there is to find, so let the detail-hand-waving begin! Tell me if I should change anything. )

The folder hung in the air for a long moment. Long enough for Slate to tilt his head, just the slightest bit. The furry hand finally came forward. Just as soon, however, the folder was being offered back to him.

>> “Slate, I need you to read me the information. ...It seems I’ve had a little bit of a mishap a few months ago. I’ve become blind, but I’m not blind all the time. Just at the moment I am… And I don’t know when I’m going to get my sight to return.”

A few months ago. In other words: very soon after he had first met her. Slate accepted the folder mutely. She did know that he was a healer, correct? He could not remember mentioning it the first time they had met, but it would have been obvious in Colombia. So why—? The folder felt oddly heavy in his hand. He cleared his throat, and began to read what the staff at Mondragon Labs had found out. The gun’s model; its probable source of origin; the rather spotty details of its rather dubious purchasing record.

She knew he was a healer. In all likelihood, then, her ‘mishap’ was something she knew he could not heal—entirely mutation related, instead of springing from some injury. Though he did not think she knew that limitation. Nor was he certain that such a limitation existed. Clearly, though, she had her reasons for not approaching him. Either that, or she simply did not trust him.

Slate set down the folder after he was done. Johnny had tactfully left them at some point; now it was just the two of them, and the chess board. Slate looked at her slit-thin pupils. "I hope that was of use," he stated, quite simply. He was not quite sure what else to say.

Sara silently took in the information. Johnny was learning very quickly when it was appropriate to make himself scarce. Though Sara tracked the boy’s progress as he went from the back room where Sara and Slate stood, to the dining room then kitchen. She never realized how busy the boy was till she could watch all the movements he did, when he wasn’t in the back room with her.

When Slate had finished the information, Sara nodded and took the folder back. Should she have her sight return again, really soon, the information would be helpful to have on reference. “Thank you.” She said a little stiffer than she intended. This was awkward.

Sara knew exactly why she hadn’t gone to see Slate when the injury had first occurred. First off, no, she didn’t fully trust him. She still didn’t know if she should fully trust him. He gave her money to run errands, and a few months ago, that’s really the extent of their relationship that she cared about. Now that he had information for her, she really wasn’t sure how she was supposed to pay him back. Payment hadn’t occurred to her. “Will this cost me anything?” She asked after another moment that was full of awkwardness. The folder lifted in the air. “I understand that part of what you do is business after all.”

The other reasons Sara hadn’t gone to slate, was that she’d already been seen by another healer. The Doc Prof was who Luke had taken her to, and by the time she woke up, between her own mutation and the good Doc’s, she shouldn’t of had a problem healing herself. Sara’s pride still hadn’t learned it’s lesson.

“Everything has its price, Miss Nobes,” the blue-eyed teenager stated, with all the calm of a young Mafioso.

“In this case,” he continued, “I must insist that you tell me what is going on. And order something to eat. If you’d like.” For himself, he was thinking of another plate of the fried green tea ice cream. It was quite good, in a way that made his tastebuds quite insistent that they repeat the experience.

He left his demand somewhat ambiguous—it could easily apply to the fact she’d brought him an illegally made and distributed weapon and requested information on it, or to the fact she had been somewhat blind for months, and was only now telling him. It would be interesting to see which one was at the forefront of her mind, when she answered.

Any food, of course, would be on him.

Like magic, Johnny’s waitering senses were tingling when slate insisted that Sara order something else. He appeared back in the room to shuffle across the table and take the old dishes away from slate. “I’ll take some chocolate milk.” Sara said to him as he passed. Johnny nodded and dropped the dishes in the sink then headed to the back fridge where he kept a secret stash of mild and chocolate syrup. Dragon Inn didn’t serve it as a regular beverage.

Sara found it funny how Slate seemed to leave his question open. Was this intentional or some type of test? She really wasn’t sure, but there was one thing she did know. No one was going to know the complete details of her blindness. It was her personal business. Luke’s business however, that was all over the news anyways. What had happened would be flashed all over the TV either way.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the company Jacobs and Jacobs. A young man by the name Luke Jacobs is the owner of the company, and a mutant. He’s just made his mutation, and the news of his ownership public knowledge. The way he had to do this, he made a lot of people angry.” Sara motioned to the compensated weapon from today. Slate didn’t need to know about the incident before and the other weapons Sara had discovered.

“less than three hours ago, a group of men, possibly a gang, shop up a café full of people, in an attempt to kill Luke Jacobs. There were few who were left in the café who were left uninjured, and at least two people received fatal injuries. If it weren’t for my own healing mutation, that number would probably be three.” Johnny slid a glass of chocolate milk in front of Sara and she scooped it up while it was still in motion. She stirred the chocolate milk with the spoon Johnny had left in the glass as she waited for Slate to respond, and Johnny stood at the table’s edge.

((ooc: Is this pre- or post-brawl? I’ve written this post for post-brawl, but can easily modify.))

>> “I’m sure you’re familiar with the company Jacobs and Jacobs. A young man by the name Luke Jacobs is the owner of the company, and a mutant. He’s just made his mutation, and the news of his ownership public knowledge. The way he had to do this, he made a lot of people angry.”

Slate nodded at her words. He had heard of the company, yes, and of Mr. Jacobs, the new owner. As far as he knew, he had not yet met Luke; the blood-covered man he’d healed at the recent brawl did not match well with his mind’s image of the well-dressed business man at the publicized press conference. Slate had been meaning to contact Mr. Jacobs, as one CEO to another. The loose idea for a mutant-friendly coalition of local businesses was somewhere at the back of his head, being constantly displaced by somewhat more pressing matters.

Like the fact that Miss Nobes had almost died today.

>> “less than three hours ago, a group of men, possibly a gang, shop up a café full of people, in an attempt to kill Luke Jacobs. There were few who were left in the café who were left uninjured, and at least two people received fatal injuries. If it weren’t for my own healing mutation, that number would probably be three.”

Slate’s answer was a quiet moment in coming. “I am glad you are okay, Sara. Is Mr. Jacobs? I could try to heal—” He cut off somewhat awkwardly. Healing: a subject he’d been trying to side-step, since the young cat woman had first mentioned her blindness. She, too, had not mentioned his healing ability. “I suppose you would have asked me, if you needed help on that front,” he tried to finish lightly. It came out sounding oddly confrontational. He was not quite sure why.

Johnny, quite wise to the ways of the server, chose this moment to go check on Slate’s ice cream order.

(I am unsure as far as time line, when this is. It shouldn’t effect Sara anyways, but it would Luke.)

Johnny was a smart boy. He disappeared at the right time the moment Sara’s chin lifted and her lips pressed together. The boy recognized the look Sara gave when she was trying to hold her emotions back. Slate struck a tender area with the healing coment.

“Slate, the mansion is not without it’s own healer.” Sara said. There was a touch of tension in her voice only in response to the tension she had just heard in slate’s. “Last I heard, Luke was headed to see Doc Prof, the mansion’s personal healer.” In other words Luke didn’t need Slate. Not now. Not that Sara was trying to say to stay completely away from Luke. It’s just she felt the power Slate had in healing, could be used to his advantage for further manipulation.

“you also know very well that my body heals it’s self. I shouldn’t need the help of another healer.” There were a lot of things Sara shouldn’t of needed. For instance she shouldn’t of needed to heal in the first place that night. She could physically take Rupert Kelley apart, in the blink of an eye. The man could be heard coming a block away thanks to his wheezing. “I wouldn’t of gotten to you before having healed completely.” Sara told Slate. Leaving out the fact that she had woken up in the care of the good Doc Prof.

>> “Slate, the mansion is not without it’s own healer. Last I heard, Luke was headed to see Doc Prof, the mansion’s personal healer.”

Slate nodded to this. Swallowed, and nodded, his blue eyes finding a scratch on the table’s top to stare at. It was obtrusively imperfect. So Luke had gone on to see the Mansion’s healer—despite the fact that Miss Nobes had called him to pick up the gun, and he could have quite easily—while he was there—

It was very easy to see what was wrong with the table’s scratch. But what did she see wrong with him?

>> “You also know very well that my body heals it’s self. I shouldn’t need the help of another healer. I wouldn’t of gotten to you before having healed completely.”

“So it has healed completely, then?” Slate asked, trying very hard to regret the snipe after it left his lips. You were supposed to feel guilty when you were impolite to blind people, correct? Slate had healed Tarin when the DocProf had failed. Hadn’t she thought about the fact that each mutant’s healing tended to work in a different way? Maybe she had. Maybe she had thought of what else the Kabal’s Leader could do, as well.

Slate’s hands curled on his knees, under the table. His blue eyes stayed down on the table. He wanted his fried green tea ice cream. He wanted it now.

“So it has healed completely, then?”

Why did that catch Sara as Slate not exactly believing her? Maybe it was the fact that Sara’s sight still wasn’t just staying like one’s sense of sight was supposed to do, and since when did Sara’s body do what it was supposed to do anyways? Come on! She had fur and a tail!

Sara twined her fingers together on the table top, then leaned on her elbows. “Physically there is not even a scar, and hasn’t been a scare since two hours after the bullet entered my head. Even the place on my skull hasn’t shone any signs of ever having been broken in the follow up x-rays. So by all means, physically, I have healed.” Sara said with her voice raising more than she intended it to raise. Part of her felt insulted that Slate was even offering.

“There is a theory that the shot triggered a power growth.” Sara said. All of a sudden she felt like she needed to prove that she wasn’t useless.

>> “Physically there is not even a scar, and hasn’t been a scar since two hours after the bullet entered my head. Even the place on my skull hasn’t shone any signs of ever having been broken in the follow up x-rays. So by all means, physically, I have healed.”

Since... the bullet. Entered. Her head. Sara’s voice rose; Slate grew more still.

Since the bullet. Entered. Her head.

Miss Sara Nobes, WereCat, was one of his. And someone had shot her. In a manner that would have been quite lethal for a human, or even a normal mutant. Slate himself highly doubted he could heal from such a wound: his power worked only consciously, not reflexively.

Someone had tried very hard to kill Miss Nobes. Slate desired Miss Nobes to continue living. There was a simple, effective, and logical solution to this problem:

“Who was it that shot you, Sara?” The teenager asked, his baby blue eyes cold.

>> “There is a theory that the shot triggered a power growth.”

He had a very had time dragging himself back from scenario testing. If the assailant was human (a ridiculous concept, given the target; this scenario was discarded)—; if the assailant was a member of the Order (something which would require subtly in execution—

“What power growth is that?” He asked, still sounded somewhat distracted. He had forgotten about his ice cream. Naturally, that was a the cue for Johnny to return.

“With all due respect, Slate, I will deal personally with the individual in question.” In other words, Sara wasn’t really sure what to do with Rupert. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react. A recent dream that put almost everyone she knew in the future, had pegged Rupert as a good man. Everything else she knew about him screamed other wise. “despite our current relationship, there are people I am much closer to, that I haven’t told either. It’s something I want to deal with on my own. For me.”

Johnny appeared from the kitchen ice cream now one hand. It was still crisp, but there was a small puddle of it forming at the bottom of the dish. He’d listened to part of their conversation on the other side of the door. Sara had tracked him.

The boy looked slightly hurt at Sara as he placed her chocolate milk down in front of her and the fried ice cream down in front of Slate. Johnny then disappeared out of the room again, and Sara followed his line of travel, to the fridge on the other side, where he could continue to listen in.

“What power growth is that?”

“I’ve basically gained another sort of sense.” Sara sipped at her milk then stirred it with the straw as she continued to explain. “I have been able to track movement of objects and people. The sense is more acute than the way a set of eyes triangulate the position of objects in space, and I don’t have to be in the same room to know where someone is standing.” Sara said a little louder and Johnny dropped a glass in the kitchen. The sound tinged and echoed in the back room where Sara and Slate were now talking. “You see. I’m not useless.”

>> “despite our current relationship, there are people I am much closer to, that I haven’t told either. It’s something I want to deal with on my own. For me.”

A frown. A frown, and a tight, reluctant nod. “I understand. I know someone like you; he also wished to deal with his... prey, on his own.” Whether a comparison to Calley’s situation with Hunter was flattering to the queen’s intelligence or not, Slate did not comment further. Johnny arrived with deus ex ice cream and chocolate milk. The ice cream was sitting in a small pool of its own green tears. This was a somewhat depressing sight. Slate began eating it promptly, to ease its passing.

>> “I’ve basically gained another sort of sense. I have been able to track movement of objects and people. The sense is more acute than the way a set of eyes triangulate the position of objects in space, and I don’t have to be in the same room to know where someone is standing. ...You see. I’m not useless.”

The dropped cup from nearby earned a small smirk from the brown-haired teenager. “I do not see how you could ever be useless, Sara.” He looked down at the battered-shrouded ball on his plate, and back up to the cat.

“Would you like some ice cream?” He asked, by way of backing off her business. Baby blue eyes blinked in her direction.