"The Mansion?... Xavier's Sister School, correct? I know it."
"That's the one." Susan nodded as she watched with amusement as Slate tried to follow her, and failed. In the kingdom of the blind...
She put a hand on the wall, and inched away from him, just in case he did it again.
"How are you doing that--sliding thing?"
"I am not entirely sure." the witch answered truthfully, watching her feet, and then his, and then hers again "And I doubt it that I'm doing it right. I think one is supposed to be using both sides equally." she mused, now watching the other skaters for a change. Her eyes played in various colors as she tried to get a better perspective of how they were actually doing it. Pushing herself away from the wall, she slid on both legs for a few feet until she lost the mometum.
"How did you stop?" she looked back at him, just as curious as he was. On the way back, the wall proved to be good tool for that maneuver.
"So, I take it your telepathy is not useful for copying skills from someone." she looked at him with a smirk. It made sense. If it was, he would probably be better at a lot of things.

There seemed to be... some sort of alternating movement, in their fellow skaters. They moved one leg, then the other, in continuous succession. Susan herself seemed to be doing this. After a fashion. Slate experimentally shuffled after her (with the utmost of dignity). His eyes were on his feet, trying to replicate the appropriate movement: he did not notice that Susan had drifted to a stop until--

>> "How did you stop?"

--until her voice was entirely too close, and too stationary, for comfort.

Slate stopped, his breath puffing as his eyes blinked, rather close to her own.

"Like that," he stated. A glance down at his feet revealed that they had crept closer together; one of them was tilted at an angle to the other, almost like a 'T.'

>> "So, I take it your telepathy is not useful for copying skills from someone."

Slate plucked his scarf up further, hiding his red cheeks from her smirk.

"What sort of senses cross, in your synesthesia?" He asked, not at all to change the subject.

He was in her personal space. Again. Susan blinked at the baby blue eyes. They really should do a better job at watching where the rest of his body was going.
Susan cleared her throat and looked down too, examining his feet.
"Makes sense." she observed. It did. She shall try it once she was in motion again.
"What sort of senses cross, in your synesthesia?"
That was a definite 'no' to her question, and also a new question in itself. The witch noted the change of body heat behind the scarf.
"All of them" she answered truthfully "All possible combinations. Technically, I have 25 different ways of experiencing a sensory input, not counting the X-gene sense."
She blinked as her eyes changed color again.
"It gets confusing sometimes."
Almost as confusing as a young male too close for comfort. Susan stred at him.
"Um... I can't go backwards."

>> "All of them. All possible combinations. Technically, I have 25 different ways of experiencing a sensory input, not counting the X-gene sense."

"You can sense the X-gene?" Slate blinked, and extrapolated from there. "...What does the X-gene sound like on your skin?" He asked, infinitely curious. "Does it vary from person to person, and power to power?"

>> "Um... I can't go backwards."

It took him a moment to refocus, and take note of what she meant. Ah. His proximity. With careful shuffling steps, Slate removed himself to a more socially appropriate distance. Which is to say, to approximately two point five feet away. Within that range, people seemed to grow uncomfortable; outside that range, they seemed to move closer to fill the gap. The precise range seemed to vary based upon situational factors such as relational closeness, mood, and privacy, but two point five feet seemed to be relatively safe for most situations.

Slate had developed a complex theory on this, but had some trouble remembering his own hypothesis when doing... field work.

"Perhaps if we attempt to skate in parallel, we can more successfully avoid collisions," Slate suggested. Shuffling himself around, he attempted to put this into practice with another few slide-steps.

"...What do I taste like to your ears?" He asked. Because it was really quite an intriguing question, when one thought about it.

"You can sense the X-gene?...What does the X-gene sound like on your skin? Does it vary from person to person, and power to power?"
Susan blinked as Slate shuffled away from her to a more comfortable distance.
"It... is quite unique." she said, as he moved over next to her. It was a smart idea, the paralel thing. Paralels never met. In a perfect world, that is. Which, used on the skating rink, was a very good option.
"It has qualities I can't really describe. But stands out, to all my senses." she said "I have only been sensing ot for a short time, so I can't really tell if there is any differene between powers or people yet. I can only tell if it's there or not."
It was a good idea though. Susan made a mental note to pay more attention to the colors and sounds around her fellow students. It might be useful for further research.
"...What do I taste like to your ears?"
Cheeks turned pink again, and the witch slid forward a few steps (can one cal them steps?...) before she answered.
"I try not to taste people." she said, looking away as she felt the color on her skin, it felt annoyingly red "It just... doesn't seem right."
The fact that she didn't necessarily do it with her tongue didn't mean it wasn't embarrassing.
"And I'm more adept in seeing things than hearing them." she added "Sensing with the ears comes with a lot of background noise. Seeing is much more simple." she added, glancing at him as her eyes turned black.
So many shades of grey.
...
So, how does it feel like to hear people's thoughts?

Slate double-checked to make sure his scarf was in place, hiding any disappointed set to his lips. Her descriptions were less than vivid. The ability itself sounded mostly indescribable; that would be why she was having trouble describing it. It was also why he wished to learn about it, in detail. The concept was simply fascinating.

"Did your mutation only recently activate, then?" He gathered. "How long have you know you were a mutant?"

>> "I try not to taste people. It just... doesn't seem right."

Her own scarf was not well positioned to hide blushes.

"Oh." Slate blinked. "I had not considered that." He continued to not fall on the ice. Colloquially, this was sometimes known as 'gliding.'

>> So many shades of grey... So, how does it feel like to hear people's thoughts?

It is more that I sometimes fail to not hear them, Slate clarified. "It can be annoying, particularly when someone is contemplating my murder. You would be surprised at the regularity with which people do that." Daydreams were all fun and games until a psychic came along. Roland had a rather vivid imagination, and Bacchus a rather linear one. Slate was glad the man was still in jail. Watching the giant crush his skull every time they spoke had been growing dull.

Blink.

I can hear images, as well, he said. Could you show me what you see?

He thought the scarf did an admirable job of maintaining his outward dignity. It was somewhat harder to keep the enthusiasm out of his thoughts, however.

"Did your mutation only recently activate, then? How long have you know you were a mutant?"
Susan frowned. "It manifested gradually, over a longer period of time. First I thought it was... a medical condition. Then I concluded I must be a witch." the frown turned into a smirk "Then I was told I am a mutant. About two months ago."
Has it really been so long?
"It can be annoying, particularly when someone is contemplating my murder. You would be surprised at the regularity with which people do that."
"Yes. I can imagine that can be annoying." Susan agreed, hiding a grin in her scarf. She wondered what the reason was behind the murderous intentions. Did he mean people did that a lot in general, or that he had quite a few enemies? And why would someone want to hurt Slate?
Back in her old school, Susan used to think about murder a lot. It was only natural.
I can hear images, as well. Could you show me what you see?
Curiosity. She liked that. She also found the idea of sharing the experience with someone quite intriguing. She constantly had a hard time explaining her powers, even to fellow mutants. At least she could allow Slate to see for himself.
The witch slid to a halt and turned to him, waiting till he got close enough, and stopped moving.
Watch.
Eyes turned black, and the world sprouted brilliant colors of sound. Most were the voices of people, all kinds of shades and emotions; and there was the constant silver-and-blue sparks of blades sliding on ice.
Eyes shifted red, and it was all shades of heat; orange-and-red figures moving around on emerald and azure background. She looked up at him; there were traces of warmer yellow on his cheeks behind the scarf.
And so it went on, eyes to blue and (very briefly) yellow; there were shades of grey about him, and Susan lifted her hand to adjust her scarf.
Of course, the X-gene was there all along, around both him and her. It was a low, buzzing sound, in the colors of the inside of a seashell; it looked strangely cool, and smooth, and it had a smell and taste like something people don't usually experience.
She cleared her throat, and her eyes cleared up too.
"Well, that's it." she shrugged, glancing at him, waiting to hear his opinion "The rest of much more confusing."

>> Watch.

Slate tilted his head and, for the first time that day, tried to pick up her thoughts. He closed his eyes in concentration. At first, he was not sure it was working: his mind was filled with color, but it seemed more like the color one could expect after receiving head trauma than anything of sense (or of senses). A small frown came to his lips. He opened his eyes again.

Her own eyes were black.

A brief baby's breath of white overlaid with her lips, in time with her breath. A man laughed behind her, the raucous red spreading out to join with his partner's orange chuckle. Silver and blue sparks traced visible--audible--lines all around them. The colors were hazy, and many of them made no sense to him at all, but he saw them.

Her eyes shifted red, and he realized something: she was seeing. That meant that the images he was viewing came from her point of view. That quite explained his problem understanding them --he was viewing things backwards, as it were. He forced himself to close his eyes again, and simply observe things as she was observing them. This sense was easier to understand: popular media had prepared him for heat vision. Heat vision included sight through scarves. Ah. That… did not help his cheeks to grow cooler.

The images changed again. He wondered what sense this was. The first seemed to line up with sound, and the second would likely be touch. That meant… that he smelt gray?

And tasted so as well, apparently. He wondered what she tasted like, but he only got a colored flavor of her coat and her nose. He suspected these were not representative, and resolved not to hold them against her.

>> "Well, that's it. The rest of much more confusing."

He took a few blinking moments to re-orient himself. He had not caught what she meant about the X-gene; there were too many other things, distinctly more basic, that he'd struggled with as the images changed.

"That was incredibly fascinating in a non-intuitive fashion," he stated. "Do those all make sense to you?"

"Do those all make sense to you?"
The witch smirked and shook her head. "No. But once you get used to it, it becomes just another... several other ways of sensing one's enviroment. You know, people don't pay attention to all their senses all the time. I think my brain just has... more things to filter out." she shrugged "I manage."
She looked up at Slate. Did he really see what she saw? How would that feel like? Not noticing that someone was listening in to her thoughts made perfect sense - what use would telepathy have otherwise? - but it also made her wonder.
"What do you use your abilities for?" she asked, starting to move again, for standing in one place defeated the purpose of skating. She held her arms out a bit for balance, but at least she didn't feel like she was going to fall at every move.

Slate resumed his parallel trajectory next to her. This skating thing seemed to be more easily acquired when one took a holistic approach: the social angle seemed to function as a distracter, which caused him not to think about why he wasn't falling. This proved to be a vital role.

"I do what every respectable psychic does," Slate answered with a flawless deadpan, "Try to take over the world."

He turned a slight smirk her way. "What does your coven do on Saturdays?"

"I do what every respectable psychic does. Try to take over the world."
"Oh." Susan nodded, very very seriously. After all, it made perfect sense. Telepathy was a useful and powerful mutation, and made manipulation quite easy. Or, at least, that was the theory.
The witch smirked behind the scarf. "And how is it going so far?"
"What does your coven do on Saturdays?"
Touché. Susan grinned and pulled down the scarf, looking up at him as her eyes went black again. This time, solely for the dramatic effect.
"We weave the destiny of people who are trying to take over the world."
Being a witch was serious business, not something people should joke around with. Except for the times when a witch was doing the joking.
"We pull on the threads of fate, we read the signs of the future, we write... ouch dammit!"
Looking into the future has the unfortunate side effect of not seeing where one was actually headed. A random skater who chose to go the wrong way and wasn't entirely sure on his feet bumped into the witch, throwing her off balance. Susan hit the ice face down.
So much about pulling the threads.

"Oh, it's going quite well, of course. Only a few hundred more sovereign governments to undermine, and the UN to deceive. Or, rather, to continue to deceive." Serious business, indeed. He skated on with professional pride. "Though to be honest, I'm not quite certain what to do with Australia. It doesn't really interest me, but continent-wise, it is necessary to complete the collection."

>> "We weave the destiny of people who are trying to take over the world. We pull on the threads of fate, we read the signs of the future, we write... ouch dammit!"

"That is a most curious spell name," Slate observed, his lips quirking as he stared down at the witch.

"That is a most curious spell name."
Susan looked up at the baby blue eyes with a look that said that whatever that spell was named after would be fun to try on him right now. She sat down on the ice, moving her limbs carefully to see if all of them moved in the right angles. They did. The pain was somewhere else.
She tasted blood. Lifting the back of her hand to her mouth, she wiped something warm off her lips. It was red, and had a sound similar to heartbeat, and had traces of the X gene all over it.
"Umm." she concluded, slowly finding her way back on her feet "I think I bit my tongue."
Speech confirmed the theory: it hurt. Susan frowned, fishing around in her pocket for a tissue.
"You can always use Australia as a prison." she added on a very late second thought "It's kind of an obvious choice."

Australia as a prison was an obvious choice. It was geographically isolated and desolate of most natural resources: if he simply culled the current infrastructure and technology, it would be an excellent place to put people he wished forgotten, in a somewhat humanitarian manner. Though he would have to deal with the matter of their children, who presumably deserved a chance to redeem themselves… Perhaps neutering of the population would eliminate that issue before it even presented itself?

These were thoughts for another time, however. For now: Susan was bleeding.

"You are bleeding," he stated eloquently. He offered his hand to her: a rather belated action to help her to her feet, but that was not its purpose. "It is not quite what I had envisioned, but tongue biting does qualify as impalement. May I heal you?"

"It is not quite what I had envisioned, but tongue biting does qualify as impalement. May I heal you?"
The fact that he'd envisioned anything of the sort made Susan wrinkle her nose. She lifted her hand, hesitating for a moment before she touched his fingers. The less contact the better, in case one of them happened to fall. And drag her down with him.
"I suppose" she said, looking at him with caution and curiosity "But only if it doesn't include you putting hour hand into my mouth."
Because that, clearly, would be a violation of personal space. He seemed to have a habit of doing that.