>> “I think I would be more confident using a Blackberry, and by the time you come back I hope to be staying here, yes, I just have to fill in some forms. If not, well, there’s a Japanese food place, called mountain pass. In the back alley behind there is where I spend a lot of my time.”

Slate gave a nod. If she was implying, perhaps, that she was homeless... well, it did not really carry the same stigma in the mutant world as it did in the human one. Many mutants Slate knew had been homeless at one point, himself included. Or his brother Calley, rather—he himself had not yet been born, at the time.

“I will find you,” he replied simply.

>> “So, healing huh? Cool.”

“May I have your hand?” Slate asked, offering his own across the table. “My healing works through physical contact, you see.” Physical contact and permission. If she offered her hand to compliment that ‘cool’, he was fairly certain it would qualify as ‘permission.’ It was a strange way of saying it, however. Was that how people their age were supposed to talk? Slate made a note of it: cool.

If she did offer her hand, the effect would be almost instantaneous: Slate would look thoughtful for a moment, and then any current bruises, scratches, or likewise that she currently had would simply... cease.

~“I will find you.”

Cool, yes, and she commented that fact. Also slightly creepy. There was something a little sinister about being found no matter where you were. Though, she had given him direction and leave of sorts to come and get her. For all the right reasons, of course.

~“May I have your hand?”

Verdigris wiped her palms on her jeans, dancing had made her more confident in herself, but still there was a hint of nerves, she was in essence holding out the key to her mutation in the palm of her hand. No pun intended. One last wipe and she gave the young man her hand. Her eyes widened a little in surprise, his hands were so soft, like baby hands. She figured she should have guessed that, a boss at his age he was far too important to do hard work. She felt a little self conscious about the calloused and blisters palms that came with life, not to mention the missing nail on one finger. There was no visible, or feelable sign of her mutation, the wormholes in her palms that let the objects through.

His face almost looked like he was thinking again of what she should wear, she feared for a moment that he would reconsider the job offer. Before she opened her mouth- to reassure him that she could take orders, that the pause had merely been to wipe her slightly clammy hands, not a test, or a hint that she would not follow orders- the tingling in her feet stopped. Just stopped. She glanced at the boy and then where her feet should be, shrouded by the white tablecloth.

“Wow.”

All the little aches and tickles of the day to day bumps and bruises weren’t there. It was like silence from all her body parts.

“That’s really, wow, I mean, I knew it would be cool but that’s really. Really cool.”

She shut her mouth before she started blabbering more, embarrassing herself and digging a deeper hole.

“So, how old are you?”

>> “Wow. ...That’s really, wow, I mean, I knew it would be cool but that’s really. Really cool.”

The girl’s excitement spilled over, then—just as abruptly—she bottled it back inside. Slate thought he recognized the emotion: embarrassment. His mouth decided that the appropriate reaction was a small smile.

Heh.

>> “So, how old are you?”

“Ah,” he started, withdrawing his own hand. That was a somewhat complicated question. “I am... technically nineteen. I only remember the past two years of my life, or thereabouts, however.” He replied, with his own embarrassment. (When his face felt this hot, it was indeed embarrassment.) “Before the Registration Act is... somewhat blurry.” Nonexistent, in fact. Calley owned those memories.

The Registration Act had nothing to do with it, really—it was coincidence only that his ‘birth’ had occurred just before the Act went into effect. Still, he had found that mentioning the coincidence tended to halt further questions. People heard those words, and jumped to assumptions.

Assumptions were much less embarrassing than the truth: she had just been hired by a mental disorder. An intelligent mental disorder, thank you... but a mental disorder nonetheless. Slate was Calley’s split personality. The splintering aspect of Calley’s mutation really was unhealthy, if one thought about it too long.

Slate preferred not to think about it at all.

“How about you?” He asked, his cheeks still red. “How old are you?”

Technically nineteen? There’s complicated for you. She was pretty sure she had heard of something about forgetting bits of your past, but she couldn’t remember details, amnesia she thought had something to do with concussions, and he was far too young for Alzheimer’s. Odd. He flared up, almost as bright as an open wound. She patted his hand comfortingly where it rested on the table, perhaps it was better that he didn’t remember. Maybe he had had anti-mutant-parents who had kicked him out, perhaps when his mutation –activated, she supposed was a good term- he lost all memory of his past life. A mental image of a younger version of the man before her, wandering the streets dazed and confused, flashed through her head. Poor guy.

The Registration Act. She had heard of it, even watched on the news bits and pieces about it. As a ‘human’ mutant ~weren’t they all~ with no visible mutation she had managed to avoid detection, she had just been careful about using her wormholes, no matter how hungry and desperate for loose change she became. She decided since she knew next to nothing about them it would be better to keep her mouth shut, rather than embarrassing herself with her naiveté. She squeezed his hand encouragingly and let it go, resting her own elbows on the table quite rudely.

“I’m nineteen as well, but I remember all of it I’m afraid. Not all good, but mostly.”

She eyed the young man, for him to go from nothing to the boss of a company in two years was impressive and she briefly wondered how ‘blurry’ was blurry. Had he had to learn how to talk again, how to walk? No, he moved much too fluidly for that, but still, how awful to have chunks of your history missing. Your story was as much a part of you as a limb, it would be tragic to not be able to remember.

“So you don’t have any childhood at all?”

How sad, her days scampering around on the beach with James were some of the happiest memories of her life. The closest she had come recently was in her escapade in the park with the green skinned girl, Andrea. Heeeey, wait a second. She still did crazy things sometimes, took risks, said stupid things. Her mother would probably have called it ‘immature’ but Verdy seriously doubted that there was any such thing. She was mature when she had to be. A dangerous idea was brewing.

“Would you like to make one? I could help you, if you’d like.”

>> “I’m nineteen as well, but I remember all of it I’m afraid. Not all good, but mostly.”

She was ‘afraid’? He tilted his head at that wording, curious. Not all good, indeed. Was it bad to remember bad things, though? Apparently so. He supposed he wouldn’t know. He himself did not have any particularly bad—

The image of the man from Colombia came rather suddenly before his eyes. The feeling as the knife slid in cleanly below his ribs, tearing its way upwards—

>> “So you don’t have any childhood at all?”

He blinked back to the present. Ah. Bad memories: yes. He could see why those would be... fearful.

>> “Would you like to make one? I could help you, if you’d like.”

Another head tilt: the other way. “You could help me... make a childhood? How so?”

He was curious. And he would like very much to distract his mind from further memories. The Colombian was not the worst, now that Slate thought about it.

It was Lori Faust who had actually killed him.

~“You could help me... make a childhood? How so?”

She grinned at him, he was curious, curious was good. It made being a child so much easier. She had worried at first, he looked upset, perhaps the offer was not a good one, but now he seemed interested, interested enough that it could be easy to show him the true meaning of innocence. The moments of confusion, passing nearly instantly, in his eyes at some of the words she used meant merely that he was naïve, not necessarily innocent.

“Well, kids are supposed to learn thing, know things, by what they experience. I mean, I can swim now because when I was little my father threw me into the pool again and again until I could do it.”

A second’s pause, hmm, perhaps that was a bad example. She looked at the man thoughtfully.

“I won’t throw you into a pool, of course, but you know what I mean. People react to things because of what they learned as a child. I’ll take you out and teach you how to skip rocks across a lake, show you the fun of Cowboys and Indians. Find you a dress-up box. All the things kids should know.”

So what, she was a little crazy, what of it. Her childhood was filled with laughter and, if she admitted it, sunburn and scrapes and bruised knees, but that was part of the joy of being a child.

“And how to climb trees, that’s very important. Everyone should have things to remember when life get a bit crazy.”

She would also have to invest in a camera, she lamented the loss of her happy snaps, tucked safely away in one of the many family photo albums at James’ house. Childhood was as much about friends as anything else.

>> “Well, kids are supposed to learn thing, know things, by what they experience. I mean, I can swim now because when I was little my father threw me into the pool again and again until I could do it.”

Was that... really how people learned to swim? Slate blink, blinked. He would like to learn, he decided. Though that method sounded... somewhat worrisome. Since she knew how to swim already, though, she would simply save him if he drowned, right? Yes. Yes, he would like to learn.

>> “I won’t throw you into a pool, of course, but you know what I mean.”

...Apparently he did not. So there would be no swim lessons, then? It was simply an example. He made his face neutral, to keep the disappointment off of it.

>> “People react to things because of what they learned as a child. I’ll take you out and teach you how to skip rocks across a lake, show you the fun of Cowboys and Indians. Find you a dress-up box. All the things kids should know. ...And how to climb trees, that’s very important. Everyone should have things to remember when life gets a bit crazy.”

What was ‘Cowboys and Indians’? And a... ‘dress-up box’? For some reason, those words made him think of Katrina, and how she sometimes used her illusions to change through several appearances at a whim.

A smile broke out over Slate’s face. “I would like that very much. Though... if you would like...” He felt the blush coming back. It would be a good day, when he learned to control it. For now: it seemed to have a mind quite its own. “You could throw me into a few pools, as well. I would like to learn how to swim.”

The boy blinked several times throughout her small rant, and his face changed subtly throughout it, but she continued, and by the end of it, she was decided. He had missed out and that was Not Good. Being Not Good meant she had to fix it. The awesomeness of re-living her own childhood in a way was an added bonus. It would also give her some idea of what to expect should she ever decide- or not- to have kids.

~. “I would like that very much.”

Brilliant. She felt an excited grin colour her own features, this was going to be awesome- no amazing- no, terrific-

No.

Epic!

~ “Though... if you would like… You could throw me into a few pools, as well. I would like to learn how to swim.”

His face was a brilliant red and she felt yet another twinge of something like pity. He couldn’t even swim. Poor kid. She flicked her hair back and tied it up into a pony-tail with a band around her wrist, the formality of the evening seemed to be decreasing rapidly and no longer did her hair need to be out and flowing in its brushed glory across her shoulders. Besides, her excitement was making her neck hot. She was pretty sure she was sporting hot patches on her cheeks as well, despite the chill of autumn outside it was quite warm in the place she kept forgetting was a room.

“I most certainly will. I’m guessing you don’t have a bathing suit? I could take you shopping if you like but my funds are… limited, you could say. Also-”

She held up a warning finger. Fear the finger of warning. There were things that she, as grand teacher of the childhood, would not stand for.

“-No speedos, or bird smugglers or whatever they’re called here.”

Oops, a moment of her upbringing there. She wasn’t sure what the tight, briefs-made-for-swimming were named, only that she did not want to see her boss in one. Or anyone in one for that matter.

“-Board shorts at the very least. Rash top, optional. You might not want one to start out with, they can be a little heavy when they’re wet if you’re not used to them.”

This was going to be good. She knew of a public pool nearby, well, near enough being in the city. If she got her forms filled in she was pretty sure there was even a pool at the Mansion. That might be pushing it to start out with though. Better to start in the public pool, especially if he would be distracted, or embarrassed, by people he knew watching him learn. She made a mental note as well to buy a new bathing suit, hers was quite old and she had grown, both up and out-in-the-bust since she had last worn it. Innocence was what she was aiming for here, and she wouldn't be the one to kill it with a suit that didn't fit.

>> “I most certainly will. I’m guessing you don’t have a bathing suit? I could take you shopping if you like but my funds are… limited, you could say. Also-”

Slate was about to mention her coming paychecks, and his ability to pay for his own swimsuit... when the Finger stood up. He closed his mouth, and sat up a little straighter. He had never met with the Finger before, but its stern, eyeless gaze was unmistakably telling him to listen.

>> “-No speedos, or bird smugglers or whatever they’re called here.”

Bird... smugglers? At a pool? Why would he want to smuggle birds at (or to) a—?

>> “-Board shorts at the very least. Rash top, optional. You might not want one to start out with, they can be a little heavy when they’re wet if you’re not used to them.”

Rash tops did not sound pleasant. Heavy ones, most particularly not. “Board shorts will be sufficient,” he hurried to assure her.

His smile slipped back onto his face. “Thank you, Ms. Verdigris. I quite look forward to returning from my trip, now. I think you will make an excellent employee.” For some reason, his blush decided to return in time for his next words. Really, he did not understand the logic behind it. It wasn’t as if he was embarrassed. “And an excellent friend.”

~“Board shorts will be sufficient,”

She nodded, she rather preferred them herself, both to wear and to observe. There was such thing as –too much skin- at a public pool, and sadly more and more frequently it was normal. It made her a little self conscious and awkward, but if she was supervising Slate learning to swim she was sure her attention would not be on the bikini-clad twigs that seem to adore flaunting themselves on pool edges, but rather with the gasping, splashing body of her boss. Mental note, get a one piece. Much harder to accidentally lose mid-flail-rescue.

~“Thank you, Ms. Verdigris. I quite look forward to returning from my trip, now. I think you will make an excellent employee. And an excellent friend.”

She smiled back at the young man, he really was sweet, lack of childhood and all. She dipped her head a little. A slight blush touching her own cheeks to match the young man’s.

“I look forward to hearing from you on your return Sir. I will do my very best. Have a safe trip. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She left the table quietly and retrieved her bag from where she had left it. After a moment of –not-getting-lost-looking-for-the-door-merely-admiring-the-scenery- she exited and wandered her way towards the office. Paperwork awaited her.

*Exited this thread for Verdy*