Coming from here

Iron gates. Of course they would have iron gates. Any building named Mansion would be nothing without them, their fanciful swirls of steel making them nothing but uninviting. You could see a gravel path leading up to the old brick building beyond. And a solid wall to go along with that that blocked sight of most everything else. Of course the Taxi had taken off with a gravel-throwing move immediately after she had left it. The driver had known what he was getting into and he wanted out of it apparently. Not that there was much to guess. Only to stare at. Her big wooden trunk had floated along of course, her walking stick had as well, until she had it firmly in her hand. Both items were not settled on the ground near the entrance. One still in her hand, the other just lying on one side. The driver really had been a bit unsettled by her. And now his car was already nearing the point of where it would be out of her sight. Into the trees, farther down the road.

Why were they always afraid? It was not like she was a dangerous person. Well not that much. She was old. And wearing a flowery hat, a gray costume of finest tweed and some shoes that were better left unspoken of. She sighed, looking at those doors. The Mansion better had a garden to fit its name. She would need to have herbs there, for cooking. And she would enjoy flowers. And not a kid in the world would hinder her.

Pushing the button on the bell took her no more than a thought. It never did. And why use your arms when they were hurting? She was an old mutant. And she was proud of what she was. So very proud. And she had come here to teach, at an invitation. They would all learn from her, those children. At lest she hoped there were children. She could not hear any of them around. Maybe they were up there, in the building. Wait? Was that a fireball streaking in the sky? She pushed the button again. For good measure.

The Agnes incident was still fresh in his mind. As much as Jorge was glad that those psychopaths were sitting in a jail cell right now, he still worried about everything that had happened at the school. Those parents and their mutant body guard had done a number on the living room and not only that but they had really shaken up that poor young girl. He had been hearing, through Gemma of course, that Agnes was coping well, but part of him still wanted to be involved, to see for himself. That was his whole reasoning behind this trip. He was only coming to inform Agnes about the next stage of her parents sentencing, but at the same time he just wanted to check up to make sure that she was okay.

The green of the grass and trees rolled by the sleek, black Chevy Impala as it rode down the path towards the Xavier Sister School. Jorge Cervantes calmly sat behind the wheel, musing on Agnes’ wellbeing. The detective felt bad because it seemed that the only time he was coming to the mansion these days was for business, instead of visiting Gemma.

He’d make sure to make it up to her. He never wanted to be this type of cop, the kind that nearly neglects those whom he loves and cares about. But that was why he was alone this whole time. Few women have been able to withstand a relationship like this…

Except for Gemma. That had to mean something…right?

Cracking his neck to the side, Jorge spied the upcoming mansion and immediate reached forward to lower the volume on his radio. As he got closer though, he noticed an odd sight: a little old woman, standing outside the gates and staring the buzzer. The only reason the scene struck him as odd was because why hadn’t the guard let her in? But as he drove up and spied the guard station, he saw of course that the guard was not on duty. Probably doing rounds.

“Well, that’s not right,” Jorge muttered as he slowed his car into a crawl until he parked on the outside.

Once he was parked, Jorge slipped out of the vehicle and smiled at the woman. The detective, dressed navy blue jeans, white shirt with his badge hanging around his neck and the same old, brown leather bomber jacket, casually walked up to the older woman. He wondered if she was a relative to one of the staff members or students.

“Hello. Having trouble getting in?” He asked warmly.

She was slightly angry with herself. Why? Because as soon as she was spoken to suddenly from behind, she spun around with something akin to a snarl. Her white teeth were barred in mockery of a smile. And for just a second she cursed her old legs at being so slow. Someone had snuck up on her. From behind. Her walking stick was enveloped in an emerald green glow and flew from her hands, ready to strike at the whomever...

Only that she followed a few heartbeats behind, carefully twisting with some remnant of grace and manners. With all the grace of a seventy-plus lady in fact. Calmly looking around. Blink. A cop, badge gleaming in the sun. Blink. Her cane had nearly taken his head off. Blink. She was snarling at the man. Blink. He was sitting in the dust, none to pleased at the fact that her cane had found its mark. Blink. She was seventy-two. Blink, blink. Those days were long gone. The days when she snarled at coppers and beat people with her cane. Well maybe not the latter days. But the first ones were definitively over.

The cane snapped into her hands with an apologetic speed, green glow fading as she gripped it. She now had grime on her fingers, as she was well aware. Darn gravel paths and dust.

“I'm very sorry, young man." She closed her eyes and shuddered. She wrapped him in her glow, picked him up with the gentlest of touches she could manage, physically forcing him to stand. "Please do not sneak up on Old Women like that. They might have a heart attack.” Her snarl had transformed into a smile. A thin smile. She dusted off herself slowly with one hand. The Police. Argh. Bad. Entrance. She would not get a heart attack and die off it. She sooner would crash herself with a car. And she could do that. But this man might not need to know.

“Letting me in would indeed be sweet of you. Especially since you might have a concussion. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Smile. Old Lady Alto. Smile. She had not just attacked a Cop. Nope. And for the record: It was three fingers.

The last thing that Jorge saw was a floating walking cane, surrounded by an emerald green light. At first the detective was not sure what to make of it oddity, but those thoughts were promptly beat out of his skull by the resounding sounds of THWHACK! THWACK!! THUMP!! THUD to which Jorge replied with a groan and yelp. Normally Jorge had better reflexes than this but it was his fault for not expecting such an onslaught.

His head sounded thumped, the detective shook his head and found himself on the ground, arms up in over to protect his head from a further beating. He had no idea what prompted that attack but as he slowly lowered his arms, he looked up to see the older woman had her cane quickly returning to her hand and the emerald glow dissipate. She looked apologetic but also a little peeved at him.

>> “I'm very sorry, young man…Please do not sneak up on Old Women like that. They might have a heart attack.”

“Or…give a guy a concussion…” Jorge muttered as he slowly moved onto his feet.

In doing so he began to dust himself off and attempted to push down the actual pain he was feeling around his skull. That cane sure had walloped him good. He was going to have to make sure to take some asprin before things got any worse. With a groan he rubbed the back of his neck as he stood up straight and eyed the woman closely.

Was it really her that had just done that? Was she a mutant as well? A glance to the trunk on the ground and the look on her face told him she was. After all, why would she be here at the school? New staff member? Relative arriving for a long stay? Maybe dropping off a care-trunk to one of the students? Whatever the case, he hoped that she was not simply here to cause trouble and to accost innocent police officers who were simply trying to help.

>> “Letting me in would indeed be sweet of you. Especially since you might have a concussion. How many fingers am I holding up?"

“I’m okay. You’d be surprised how many times I get hit in the head,” he said with a small smirk. Just the idea that this little old woman that walloped him so thoroughly almost made him want to laugh but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he peered at the fingers she held up and responded with the correct number…he hoped. Still rubbing a sore spot on his head he glanced at the guard station again. “By all means, let me help you in. My name is Jorge Cervantes, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you…” he said with a chuckle.

Walking up to the keypad at the gate entrance Jorge punched in the code that Gemma had given him awhile ago so that he could come and go to the mansion as he pleased. He could have her escort him in all the time. He just hoped that the kindly seeming old woman here had good intentions. The last time complete strangers had been let into the mansion Agnes parents had caused quite the ruckus. At least in this situation he was the one letting the stranger in. He could keep an eye on her.

As soon as the key was punched in and the gate was swinging open, the trunk, a heavy thing of wood that seemed last to have been modern at least a century ago, wrapped in the emerald tone and silently moved onto the other side of the gate and settled again on the gravel path. Judging by the crunching noises it made it must be heavy indeed. The Granny stepped up to where George was presently standing. Stepped in front of him in fact. Her one free finger jabbed at his chest. Jabbed not once, but twice. And as far up as she would comfortably go. Somewhere at his sternum. “You, Mr Cervantes, have been hit on the head by me.” There even was a hint of pride in her voice at that. Then she smiled at him. Sheepishly. Sheepish! An old woman like her. The smile was replaced by a much sterner expression. And underlined with another jab. “So let me be the judge of whether you need a day in bed. And yes, I am qualified to send you there. And I might... simply drag you there.” Her voice did not make it sound like a threat. Only like the thing it was. A possible reality that was now kindly elaborated upon. “Now bend your head please.” The curtsy the indeed pronounced sincerely and not as a threat. In the manner that left him a choice. He had one indeed. To either let her do this now, or be manhandled and let her do this after.

Her fingers were up, both hands awaiting his head, one way or the other. Her feet were firmly planted on the gravel path. She was Granny Stephens in nursing mode. And this sick puppy did not want to take his medicine. The stick was standing upright, wrapped in green where her hands had left it. One bit of gravel on her hand was enough. Especially now. "My name is Stephens. You may call me Granny. Young man." That she said like it was a pronouncement of honor. To a man more than half her age she would have been slightly more courteous. Slightly.

>> “You, Mr Cervantes, have been hit on the head by me…So let me be the judge of whether you need a day in bed. And yes, I am qualified to send you there. And I might... simply drag you there.”

Jorge had never been spoken to in such a way before and to be honest he was just a little scared. Well, let’s be honest, being a police officer of course he was spoken to in this manner before. But the truth of the matter was that Jorge was used to such speeches coming from angry pedestrians, those that believed he was “on the take” or some other type of sell-out or corrupted figure. But there was something in way in which this woman spoke to him that was oddly comforting and yet terrifying at the same time; she jabbed his chest, she spoke in an unfaltering tone, it was almost as if he were being spoken to by his old abuelita.

Shifting a little uncomfortable at his feet, because let’s face it what was the man to really do, and looked from side to side. He couldn’t really arrest her, she had only attacked him because he had startled her, and now she really seemed as if she were trying to assess the damage. The cop’s hands were tied.

>> “Now bend your head please…”

It must have looked comical for the taller, grizzly detective to look so beaten down and unsure of the woman in front of him. Jorge had gone up against some to the toughest criminals and psychos this city has ever produced and it was this old woman that was making him shake in his boots a little. Looking like a caught misbehaving child, Jorge very slowly bent down to allow the woman to take a look at the top of his head where she so soundly thrashed him.

He felt her finger gently brush through his hair to feel for the wounds she had delivered to him. God he hoped that Gemma was not inside watching this…

>> “My name is Stephens. You may call me Granny. Young man."

Jorge winced slightly as she touched one of the more sensitive areas that was beginning to bruise underneath his hair. In the back of his mind Jorge knew that he would find all this very funny later on…but for now he tried to keep some of his dignity.

“Ugh, it’s nice to meet you, Ms. Stephens…err…Granny…” he replied as he waited for her to finish her inspection of his head. “So, um, what brings you to the mansion? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She practically snatched his head, either unaware or uncaring about any discomfort she might have caused. The boy seemed bright enough. The walking stick was not bothered by her movement at all. It even stepped out of the way, whisked really, but you get the gist. “Yes, yes, yes.” She said to herself as her fingers gently furrowed through George's hair. They even did so expertly, stopping at every bruise, then lightly fingering around it to assess size and damage. “Skull intact, skin not broken, hematoma, of course... but not badly... I seem to be getting soft.” A huff she gave at that. Half a laugh really. Her fingers spiderwebbed on, over the sides of the neck and even over his face, touching indeed expertly. Comforting but without the intimacy that would make things personal. They whisked aside dust and grime settled there comfortingly and her eyes looked just a bit unfocused as she was running through her mental checklist. Her eyes then focused on him sharply. “I don't mind you asking at all.” Her voice sounded somewhat pleasant. “I have come to teach classes here. The counselor recruited me herself.” Her voice sounded slightly . In contrast her eyes glanced very sharply through her glasses. Watery with age as they were they could be quite a sight from so close. Her hands were locking his head in a grip not too hard to break but still a hold, as she gazed in his. “Are you presently experiencing dizziness, nausea or blurry vision? And do not try to hide things from me.” She was looking for signs of said things even as she spoke.

>> “Yes, yes, yes… Skull intact, skin not broken, hematoma, of course... but not badly... I seem to be getting soft.”

“I’m sorry?” Jorge mumbled as she continued to check his wounds.

Apparently the woman was a little disappointed that she hadn’t harmed him more. That was certainly a little terrifying but the man was not about to question her on it. He would rather keep his mouth shut and let her continue his work.

She was interesting from what he could tell so far. She had this old world quality in which she expected every to respect their elders and to never talk back. In a way he really admired that she still held such a mentality with how the world was today. Few, if any people, actually show respect for their fellow man anymore. They spend much of their time completely wrapped up in their own worlds, with their own ideas about how things should be run. If there was one thing that people did not like to do was to openly show respect anymore.

The woman shifted her attention slightly as she continued to check his head for any further signs of harm. It was only as she doing so that she finally had answered his question.

>> “I don't mind you asking at all…I have come to teach classes here. The counselor recruited me herself…Are you presently experiencing dizziness, nausea or blurry vision? And do not try to hide things from me.”

Still held in her grip, Jorge shook (or least tried to), his head.

“Uh, no ma’am. None of those,” he said with an honest smile. He waited until she was done inspecting his head before finally righted himself up and spoke again. “Thank you for your concern, and congratulations on the teaching job. I’m sure the kids here will learn a lot from you.” He nodded gratefully. “The counselor huh? You wouldn’t happen to mean a Ms. Gemma Taylor, would you? I know her quite well.”

She was quite satisfied with the mans thick skull. A lovely quality to have. If he did not go overboard with that. Men usually did. Not that she thought badly about them, the just had this tendency towards doing stupid things for all the wrong reasons. The right reasons being, of course, hers. But enough fluttery thinking about men, she told herself, shaking her head slightly. You have come here to do a job, you better start doing it, old woman.

>> “The counselor huh? You wouldn’t happen to mean a Ms. Gemma Taylor, would you? I know her quite well.”

“Now let us find some ice for that head of yours.” She said, quite unimpressed by what he had just said. She even offered her arm for him to hold. Hold her. Matter-of-factly. The trunk had already begun hovering at her side again in imitation of a lost puppy. “And to answer your question: Yes she was one Miss Gemma Taylor. Quite handsome woman, is she not?” The last part was to see his reaction. She actually beamed up at him. I know few men who talk about knowing women like her 'well' this smile said. And those few, the smile continued to eloquently point out, are in a relationship with said woman.

The gravel path before them she walked with all the grace her arthritic bones could muster. It was not much, but it was something. Her tone turned admonishing again. “Should you experience said neurological symptoms, go to an ER. But enough of your pretty young head.” She shuffled along merrily. Merrily! The old woman really did not seem to know when she caused discomfort or unease. Or simply waltzed over it with a smile. Like waltzing over gravel paths.

>> “Now let us find some ice for that head of yours.”

Jorge smirked appreciatively and nodded his head. When he saw her offered arm, Jorge immediately took it in case she needed help making it across the gravel-like pathway. But as he walked with her, and of course noted the large, extremely heavy wood trunk floating gently along beside her, he had to wonder if he were aiding her progress across the path or if it were the other way around. The woman certainly seemed to have some interesting surprises about her, and she was more than capable of helping herself.

But…whatever this was, he was only too happy to help/accept help. Holding her arm he walked at her gentle pace and eyed the gravel on the ground for any would be obstacles. The bigger rocks loved to play havoc with the shoes of everyone here.

>> “And to answer your question: Yes she was one Miss Gemma Taylor. Quite handsome woman, is she not?”

“Very much so,” Jorge said with a smile to match the one that was being given to him.

He eyed her curiously after her statement, another small smile appearing across his lips. He had an inkling that she was already assuming that he was in a relationship with Gemma. She was just like any motherly figure that Jorge had experienced in his life time. His own abuelita was always asking questions like that, trying to get Jorge to admit whether he liked a certain woman or if he thought she would be a good catch. He loved the woman dearly but she had a way about her that just loved to meddle in the affairs of others. But, when confronted about such knowledge, she would merely scoff and say that she was old and it was her business no matter way.

There was no arguing with her. The same could be said about Granny Stephen’s here. She that same fiery personality that was tempered in the notion that no matter what, she was right. The world would simply have to conform itself to understand that.

The idea brought another smirk to his face as he helped her to the front door of her new school.

>> “Should you experience said neurological symptoms, go to an ER. But enough of your pretty young head.”

He chuckled in response but nodded in thanks. “I most certainly will, Granny. Thank you very much.” Once he arrived to the front doors, Jorge grabbed the handle, and pushed them open. A breath of cool air from the inside immediately dashed out and flooded the pair of them, gently ruffling their hair. Jorge then held the door open and stepped aside so that there was enough room for her to walk past him. “Welcome to Xavier’s Sister School.”

Granny scampered past George with an air of anticipation that was not feigned at all, leaving her human walking stick behind. Just as she had eyes the grounds with professional interest she now eyed here. This was to be her home, and indeed, it looked quite homely to her old eyes. The Mansion entrance Hall was quite true to its name and a sight to her sore eyes. It was another place fallen out of time, but unlike the slightly unkempt grounds (The Gardener, she would later come to learn, had one day simply vanished without leaving a trace. She harrumphed about such people, such deserters of their job. She also harrumphed about the current head for not having swiftly replaced the man.) it was a place that had indeed fallen out of time. A wide stairway sloping gently down from the upper stories as if made for dancing and receptions. A glittering chandelier hanging from the high, very high ceiling that was adorned with gypsum ornaments. The wooden paneling on the walls, the wooden floors. Both, she noted immediately, were not well-cared for and in need of a waxing. Therefore she grumbled: “Who is in charge of housekeeping here? He needs a firm talking-to.” And her tone quite amicably suggested that indeed, the person would get a stern talking-to.

Her floating trunk gently (or rather not-so-gently) pushed George inside physically, hard wood pressing against his back directly. The green glow it seemed, was without substance. Granny was now busied by turning around in the grand Hall, looking quite stately with her wooden stick. And somehow, maybe because of her age, or by a trick of her hat, quite like she belonged. Her dress was flowing about her and her eyes were sparkling. The trunk settled obediently in a corner under her passing glare. She whisked a hand at George.

And she proceeded to storm off. Well more like limp off. She went anyways. Without heeding guidance. Simply stormed off. She knew houses like this. She knew where the kitchens were. She knew things from when these things had been new. Not kitchens, mind you, but houses like this one. Mansions. “Come now, young man. Let not your Counselor say I damaged her goods permanently.” Yes. Without regard to manners at all. But maybe with a wink in his general direction. Oh even in he rold nose this place smelled of history and cooking and cut grass and fire and ... she would need to add beeswax polish to the mix soon. These wooden boards really needed it.

The old woman was quick to brush past him and Jorge could only stand back with a small smile as he watched her survey her new home. She did seem to be rather at piece her, like she felt as if she really belonged. From his eyes she really seemed to fit the interior of the mansion, as if it she were cut out of a cloth made just for it. She was a tough old bird but that isn’t the worst of things to have in this school. After all, he had seen many of the students who came through these doors and they all needed a stern yet caring hand to guide them. The last thing he wanted to see, as a cop, was more of these students being arrested or called on because they couldn’t control their powers.

Granny Stephens definitely seemed like the type that could handle whatever they threw at her.

>> “Who is in charge of housekeeping here? He needs a firm talking-to.”

She definitely can handle anything he thought with a small chuckle.

Jorge was about to proclaim that he did not know all of the staff at this school yet. He knew some of the teachers and, of course, his girlfriend Gemma, but other than that he was not entirely sure who it was that cleaned this place up. He was not completely surprised either, especially considering what had gone down here with Agnes and her parents. They were more than likely still in the middle of doing repairs.

But, as he stepped forward, ready to answer this, he felt the sudden shove and push of large object at his back. He had turned and realized that it was Granny’s trunk that was shoving him so solidly. Try as he might to keep from being shoved over, the detective could only get out of the object’s way as it casually continued on, oblivious of anything that had been blocking it. Once it set itself down, Jorge walked around it, shaking his head a bit as he glared at that beast of a suitcase.

Then he turned as Granny motioned for him to follow. Well, not so much as ‘motioned’ but ‘demanded’ as he limped away with her cane.

>> “Come now, young man. Let not your Counselor say I damaged her goods permanently.”

“Um, yes ma’am,” Jorge muttered as he jogged briefly to catch up to her and casually slowed himself down to a stroll next to her. In the back of his mind, all he could do was smirk. This kid’s…they were all going to be in for a real treat when they took her classes…

She nodded to herself as the detective caught up to her and proceeded to walk on her side, not overtaking her with youthful fervor or something akin to that. He could hold himself back. Yes, she nodded to herself, this man was quite something. She would congratulate the Counselor later to having secured him. And no, she would not make her blush. At least not quite like him. Men usually deserved that treatment more than women. The females being, of course, the far more sensible and understanding creatures.

Now, now, Old Lady, you let your mind wander, she chided herself silently as she proceeded along. The young man does not have someone to properly talk to. But somehow I doubt he wants to talk quite a lot right now. This makes him somewhat more attractive. Ah well, there it is.

She strolled through the doors of the kitchen quite glad to be interrupted in her line of thought. The room itself was bid, as the amount of students and personnel dictated, and the appliances mostly of the shiny cleaned homey variety. Granny fearlessly proceeded to rummage through several drawers, stopping only for a few seconds to admire the dough-kneading machine standing on a counter-top, and then going on. The refrigerator was opened, then snapped shut again. Ice was retrieved and from somewhere she grabbed a clean piece of cloth. “Now young man, hold that...” She proceeded to hand him a red-and-white checkers bundle of ice in cloth. “... to your head, but be sure to move it a bit around. Otherwise the children might get brain-sorbet for dinner.” That piece of work being done, she casually plopped herself against said counter, lifting the hat off her hat and revealing the tight gray bun that had been hidden underneath. The hat went on the counter, the bun wobbled, as she shook her head.

“And Officer, if you don't mind me asking: What is it you do?” Because there was no fidgeting involved in coming to the Mansion. No strange eyeing at her mutant self. Either he was the perfect little man at a Mutant-womans side, or he was one himself. And before she would assume a man to have that degree of sensibility, she would rather assume he had a mutation himself. So. Show and tell, Officer.

Jorge followed, like an obedient child after the much older woman as she led him through the hall and in the mansion’s rather large kitchen. He wanted to offer to help her look for whatever it was he needed. After all he had been in this kitchen quite a few times since he was pretty close to living here. He visited Gemma often, and in doing so, had learned his way around this place. But as he stood there, he watched the spry old woman ducking around left and right, going through everything and instantly learning where everything was. Who was he to stand in her way? Still…it was good manners to offer.

So, as Jorge stepped forward and opened his mouth, what he was going to say was “Can I help you find anything?” Instead, he was cut off even before he could begin when Granny Stephens returned to his side and handed out a large checkered dish towel with ice wrapped up inside…

>> “Now young man, hold that... to your head, but be sure to move it a bit around. Otherwise the children might get brain-sorbet for dinner.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Jorge said with a small smile and placed the impromptu ice pack onto the top of his head. He probably looked rather comically like this. But he knew he really was in no position to argue with her. The last thing he wanted was another cane to the back of his head. He winced as he moved the ice pack to another spot on his head. That was definitely going to hurt in the morning.

But as he stood there, holding the ice pack to his head as it he had just been severely beaten up for his wallet in some dark alley, he watched as the Granny finally stopped moving and looked back at him. Jorge really did not know what else to say this old woman as she removed her hat and fixed her hair. He was glad that she was so concerned for harming him so much but he knew it really was not all that bad. But just try and tell her that. There would be no sense to it. If anything she harm him worse just to prove that she was right.

So, Jorge casually waited in the kitchen as he moved the icepack over again to another sore spot he had felt. At least the ice was help, even it did being to melt and soak the bag.

>> “And Officer, if you don't mind me asking: What is it you do?”

Time for the casual chat now, huh? Well…at least she was no longer accosting him. But it was obvious that she was delving for information, especially since she was going to live here, it only made sense that she would make notes on all those who inhabited and visited. And it was obvious that this question had nothing to do with his job. It was already evident that he was a police officer so she was not curious about that. What she wanted to know involved something of a more genetic nature…

Clever girl… was all he thought as he smirked silently at her.

“Water,” was all he said at first as he moved the ice pack to yet another tender spot. God, what was this, a fourth spot now? “I can move water.”

So very eloquent, that one. She gave him, and his smile for good measure, a very level look. And continued in a very dry old-people voice. “This would, if I were male, be the point where I remarked about having a bigger stick, would it not?” Quite accidentally, it seemed that way, really, she shoot her walking stick with her right hand. She did allow herself another bout of relatively smug satisfaction, too, at finding out that her be-headached victim was a mutant as well. She had figured that out well, had she not? And she did not even begin to think it strange. People just were people. And different for that matter. One could sing well. One could work hard. This one could move water around. And maybe something more. She did not entirely trust that smile. Nor his rather terse explanation, for it did not convey a scope nor the problems of his ability. But this was a problem for perhaps later in this rather impromptu relationship.

“Also you...” She poked at him with her stick quite unrelenting. If she had caused him harm before now that was one thing. But she would not cuddle him for the aches he had gotten for himself by scaring old women. “... could tell me a bit more. It is courteous to not let me dig for information.” Poke. “But I think I can tell you: Not only do I move 'things'...” She imbued the word with all the disdain she could for inaccurate descriptions. “I also stop things from moving at me and others.” This was, alas, the full extent of her powers. Only to move things. And to stop things. But like him she had not volunteered certain information pertaining to the amount of her skill. For example the fact that she could throw cars. This was to be left for another day. Preferably one that would never come. She did not quite like throwing cars for a number of reasons. For one: It was difficult.

Her hands were busy all the while. The one holding the stick set it down on the ground again properly. The other one settled on the counter to steady her a bit more. And her face. That was busy, too. Smiling a cocky half-smile in his direction. Indeed, her stick was bigger. And she knew it.