It was Thursday, two forty-seven on Thursday to be precise. Verdigris hurried down a quiet street, around a corner, past a questionable puddle and through an alley. Finally, with a huff of surprise that she was early she stopped outside the big glass building and dusted herself down from all the imaginary dust.

A few deep breaths and, aside from the niggling nerves about what she was doing, she was ready. Giving the receptionist a nod as she entered she shoved her hands into her pockets and glanced at the clock.

“I have an appointment with Hunter for three?”

The statement came out as a question and the young woman checked before nodding her through. The appointment couldn’t have come at a better time, the greater half of the previous night had been spent dreaming, or trying not to dream. Poor Andy had to deal with the tossings, turnings and mutterings of her sleeping roommate. It was time to deal with the dreams.

“Good afternoon Mr Hunter, how are you?”

He had said she didn’t need to bring anything, so she hadn’t. Her legs were slipped in her softest pair of jeans, the bloodstains on her knees faded with washing to the lightest of browns. After much deliberation on sleeves or no-sleeves she had pulled on a T-shirt, opting for the dinosaur shirt she had chosen while waiting for her glasses to be completed. A simple black zipper hoodie completed the outfit and she had coaxed her hair into a pony-tail to keep it out of the way. Out of the way of what she wasn’t sure, but it kept it nice and neat anyway. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she had chosen this, whatever that ended up meaning.

“I think I’m ready.”

Hunter was sitting cross legged in the meditation room running through some breathing exercises. When Verdigris entered the room his eyes snapped open and fixed on her. There was teh faintest scent of... something. Whatever it was is was gone almost before it was there. Smiling politely he motioned for her to take a seat in front of him.

“Good afternoon,” he said returning the greeting before shifting to a tone of mocked seriousness, “Though unless you want me to start calling you Ms Verdigris I suggest you start calling me Hunter.” He smiled again showing that it wasn’t a problem. A lot of people had been calling him either Mr Antonescu or Mr Hunter over the course of the week.

Once she was sitting down he asked, “Sleep well last night?” She’d know that he was getting straight to the point. However he was letting her open up at her own pace. There was no need to rush this and she would tell him when she was ready.

The young man looked peaceful, relaxed- poised almost- as she walked in to the spotless room. His eyes for a moment locked in on her, and for the briefest of moments she wondered if she had startled him, he seemed the type not to be shaken easily. The moment passed though, so fast it might not even have been there, and she continued in, greeting him and smiling at his tease to using his first name as such.

Imitating his position as best she could on the floor when motioned to do so she shuffled a little so she was facing the young man with silver eyes. She looked less poised and graceful, more stiff and awkward. Not quite sure what to do with her hands for a moment she paused, before folding them in her lap.

~~“Sleep well last night?”

She glanced at the man’s eyes before sighing, it was as if he could tell. She wasn’t a makeup-wearer (mainly because she didn’t have any) and the blue-grey patches under her eyes indicated the trouble she was having with sleep. Dreams, specifically.

“Not really, but I’m not sure if it was because of the dreams, or the thinking about trying to not dream the dreams… I was talking in my sleep, and woke myself up more than once.”

She felt a twinge of pity for her roommate, she was having enough difficulty sleeping with herself, how much more annoyed Andy must have been with her tossing and turning. Yes, it was definitely time to address the issue.

Besides the tell tale bags under Verdigris’s eyes there her body language as she came in indicated that she’d had a rough night. “Why don’t you tell me about these dreams of yours,” he suggested. The dreams themselves were not the true problem but just a symptom. However knowing more about them would reveal more about the underlying cause.

He’d surmised that it was an attraction to her current employer but something more complex than that. Maybe she was unsure of her true feelings and didn’t want her boss to get the wrong impression or was worried that he’d not share her feelings. Whatever it was he’d do what he could to help her.

The dreams. What to say about them. How much was she willing to share? To bare all in front of what was almost a stranger, in the hope that he would be able to help her. Was it better for him to know? Or for Slate to find out… which was the lesser of two evils, as it were. It couldn’t really hurt, after all, this man knowing. He had no way of contacting her if she decided not to continue coming to him. He didn’t even know where she lived. Besides, at his age he was sure to have had dreams of a similar nature.

“They are mostly innocent, or at least all of them start out that way… They usually end that way too, but they feature him and myself.”

She figured a little explanation was necessary.

“As well as working for him I’m also teaching him some of the more… basic things. His mind was wiped around the time of the Registration Act, he doesn’t remember anything from his childhood, so we’re working on building some memories.”

‘Cause that didn’t sound creepy or weird or anything. She fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, it really was innocent, at least as far as she could tell.

“Usually in my dreams we’re making memories when it stops being about the activity and starts being about us. I’m fairly sure he’s not thinking that at all, and my thinking it makes things complicated. I wouldn’t mind so much if I could not-think about it, especially when I’m with him. As it is I just try and get songs stuck in my head to override it.”

That was a lot of information in one go. She snuck a glance at the young man to check his response.

The knowing smile that Hunter gave to Verdigris was not that of a young man. The amnesia of her boss was also playing a factor. She felt that because he was now inexperienced like a child and that she was helping him relearn some of the lost social skills that it was inappropriate for her to have feelings towards him.

“The question I am about to ask you is going to be a very personal one,” he warned her, “And you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. Would you like to have a session with your boss turn from the activity to you?” This was an important question but he would understand if she chose not to answer. After all she’d just met him and he appeared to be an attractive guy in his mid twenties. While his appearance could inspire several things in people trust was not often one of htem.

He smiled like he knew everything, from the details of the dreams to the very way her stomach clenched just thinking about Slate glimpsing the scenes from them. As well as a twinge of embarrassment she also felt at ease. He knew, that meant that whatever she did or didn’t say now simply enhanced his knowledge and the possibility of him being able to help her. She was ready to answer his questions.

Questions like that.

She thought about the question for a while. Did she really want that? Would she be willing to put aside all the innocent frolicking, no-strings-attached activities for the possibility of something further? It was a tough call, to risk her job, their friendship, everything, on something she wasn’t sure Slate understood. Or wanted to.

“I don’t know if it is him particularly, or the idea of being connected, cared for. I think… I think he’s not ready, and that I’m not supposed to feel like this. I think that if I made any move it would be wrong, like a teacher dating a student…”

A frown twisted her face as she really thought hard about her next answer.

“But I think yes, as well as no.”

“You feel that because of the societal rules and his inexperience that it would be inappropriate for you to be with him,” Hunter surmised, “But where it not so then you would want to be with him. Is that about the size of it?” It wasn’t the most uncommon thing in the world, falling for someone who for various reasons you couldn’t have.

It was something that Hunter had seen across the ages. In the past it had been class boundaries that had kept people apart. Now it was often trust boundaries, like student teacher, or age gaps that were the bigger problem. Verdigris was just another in a long line of people who had fallen for the wrong person.

If everything was ok, would she choose to be with him? If nothing would suggest that it would be wrong in any way, shape, or form, what would be her reaction? Would she still want what her dreams demanded from her?

“Yes, that is what I would want. Do want, but know I can’t, or shouldn’t, have.”

There were no indicators on Slate’s behalf that she could tell that he even knew what it was to be in a relationship. One could easily forget when looking at him that what he knew was quite possibly highly limited. Of course his observational skills were no less than that of the average person as far as she could tell, they might even have been greater when his telepathy was taken into account, so he probably knew what people felt towards each other. Whether he felt them himself she couldn’t tell.

“It’s goof that you’ve admitted to yourself what it is you really want,” Hunter assured her, “Now comes the part where you decided what it is you will do about it. You can either act on your feelings or not and deny to the world how you fell.”

“I can’t tell you which of those to do. You must decide that for yourself. What I can do is teach you some techniques that will help you clear your mind. That should at least keep the dreams from being seen by a casual telepathic glance.” He wished he could do more to help Verdigris but love wasn’t an area he was well versed in. There had only been one woman he loved and he’d damned social boundaries and whisked her away for a life of adventure.

She had to decide. It was a tough decision, no matter how easy it looked at a causal glance. Explain, and risk rejection, or deny and reject herself. It seemed a no-brainer, at least if she explained there was the opportunity for something other than rejection, that would have been the case if she hadn’t stood to lose so much else. Her job (or at least the comfortable lack of awkwardness), her friendship (what compassionate person would flaunt themselves in swimming togs in front of someone they knew wanted them?), and of course (selfish as it seemed) her dignity. Put those factors into the decision making process and everything became a lot harder.

He wasn’t asking her to make the decision at that moment, but it was something she had to decide. Preferably before she saw Slate next. The sooner the better. Once a decision was made it was easy enough to stick with it. Easier than making the decision itself. This would have to be a well thought-out decision, not an ‘eenie, meenie, miny, moe’ or plucking flower petals kind of thing.

“That is a big ask of itself, and thankyou. I think… I think I’m ready to learn what you have to teach.”

After all, it was only so long you could have the one song stuck in your head before it just became absurd, or suspicious, depending on your personal paranoia levels.

He gave Verdigris a sympathetic smile. This wouldn’t be an easy decision but at least it was one she would now make. As for a short term fix he had a few way to empty your mind. “This technique is called ‘filling the mind to empty the mind’. Once you’ve mastered meditation you can empty your mind of thought with ease but that takes many years,” he explained, “This technique is a sort of short cut.”

“What you do is focus on an object, any object. Say you choose to focus on a egg,” he suggested as an example, “Now you think of everything you can that relates to that object. For the egg it is oval, comes in brown or white, has a fragile shell, comes from a mother and so on. Then you extrapolate these characteristics onto yourself. For example people are sort of oval shaped, some more than others, can be brown or white, our skin is a fragile shell, we all come from a mother and so on.”

“Everything in the universe is connected to one another so there are countless things you could think of. But long before you reach even the first billion you mind will surrender and sort of shut off from fatigue,” he explained, “Give it a try. It should be more effective than singing songs in your head.”

Filling... to be empty... The technique’s name was enough to spark a flicker of interest that settled as a dim glow of curiosity in her chest. This would be an interesting thing to try, the connections between different things were, indeed numberless and it was a much faster fix than years of meditation to achieve the same effect.

What would happen to her if her mind did indeed shut off from fatigue? Would she stop thinking? Being? How could she snap herself out of it? A deep breath and a glance around to ensure that only Hunter (and perhaps the girl at the front desk) would witness it if she did something foolish and she was ready. The small potted bamboo had caught her attention for a moment, as it was as good a candidate as anything she decided to try.

Bamboo. Bamboo is green on the ends, and has a straightish stalk... My hair is green tipped and straight, but it is black, not browny-green.

Bamboo grows in the ground, sometimes in gardens, sometimes in pots, I’ve even seen it in a big vase of water growing by itself. I don’t grow in the ground... but without it growing all the vegetables, or the grass for the meat, I suppose I couldn’t survive without it. I love to swim, but staying all the time in water would make me go all pruney and horrible. I don’t think I should try that.

Bamboo comes from Asia. I have never been to Asia, but I like Chinese and Japanese food.

Bamboo is eaten by Pandas. I have never seen a panda in real life, but pictures and on TV I have seen.

Bamboo is very tall and skinny, and hollow. But sometimes it can be short and shrubby, but still hollow. Am I hollow? Some people act like they have no feelings inside, but surely they must feel something. I am not really tall, I’m still a bit too skinny, but some people are even more skinny than me. Like some bamboo is skinnier than other bamboo. I wonder if bamboo thinks, if it wonders if it is too skinny…

She opened her eyes, although she didn’t realise she had closed them, and looked at Hunter. There was no thoughts of the dream in her head, fleeting thoughts of bamboo, yes, but nothing on the dreams.

“Bamboo, is not like eggs.” She announced. “Also, I think I did that wrong.”

Her forehead crinkled into a frown. How was one supposed to think about nothing and everything at the same time?

Hunter watched and waited as Verdigris tried to overload her mind to empty it. It seemed to be going well for a while but then she opened her eyes and claimed bamboo was trickier than eggs. “It’s fine,” he told her with a smile, “Just pick another object and try again. It might take a while at first but soon you’ll get faster at recalling facts and then you’ll find it much easier.”

While this technique was easier than just dropping into a zen like state it still required practise. Emptying your mind is not easy even with techniques like this one to help you. One thing he was fairly certain though was that Verdigris’s head was currently full of bamboo facts and not thoughts of her dream. He didn’t have to be a telepath to see that.

Attempt the second.

Socks.

Why socks? Because her own were doing a complicated twist inside her shoe and she could feel her the crinkles in her left imprinting on her foot.

Socks are warm, and soft. People are warm-mainly, especially if they are alive, but socks don’t come alive, and thankfully I’ve had very little experience with the dead- and people are soft, babies more than adults, some old people really, really soft, some not. Like bamboo, socks are kinda hollow, still I don’t think people are, no matter how heartless they act and speak.

Socks come in all kinds of sizes, colours and patterns. Well, humans come in lots of different sizes, colours too. Patterns, stripes and the brighter colours are usually reserved for those with an X-gene, but they still count as people.

Socks unravel when pulled the wrong way. So do most people, to a degree, especially if they’ve been having a bad day. Some quicker than others, like socks depending on their weave.

Socks have different purposes, some are for wearing in bed, some under work shoes, some take the place of slippers, others increase circulation and all kinds of other glorious things their promoters spouted about them. Much like people of themselves. Perhaps they don’t realise they’re doing it. Perhaps they don’t care. Whatever the case it’s human habit to display ourselves and our talents, no matter how humble and shy an individual appears to be. And I, just as guilty as anyone, have much the same to offer, with the added talent for shooting small things.

Socks, in general, have a basic socky-shape which is also true of humany-shapes. While there are variations, such as toe-socks, knee-highs, ankle socks and the such, so are there short, tall, skinny, fat and otherwise people.

It was somewhere between contemplating the idea that there was a pair of socks that perfectly matched every person on earth, one pair per person, and the realisation that she was hungry- for Japanese food in particular- that she felt the twinge of nothingness. She opened her eyes.

“I think… I felt it, maybe. Kind of like the only empty space in a messy room? But you can’t look straight at it or it disappears?”

Her description skills had never been glorious, and trying to explain something as fleeting and confusing as this would take a master.