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Susan was patient.
She sat under a tree on a bench, ankles crossed and arms folded, waiting. She was not waiting for anything in particular; she was just... letting her senses flow.
And flow they did. Againts the background of the city noise the park tasted freshly green and cool as the evening shadows. Something was bound to happen sooner or later - but even if the night proved to be an exception to the rule, and thus uneventful, Susan still enjoyed being out there.
Switching her senses from one another systematically, she tried her best to maintain control over the changes. Whie she was waiting, she might as well practice, after all. She considered herself lucky that her powers didn't recquire any special props or circumstances... or even movements, really.
She could smell the X-gene.
It was faint, and smelled as if she was breathing in something cool and fresh, and a little bit spicy. Susan tilted her head, trying to tell where the scent cam from; there was bound to be a mutant nearby, although she could only see her with her nose yet. So she did the only reasonabe thing...
... she waited some more.

Mutational. That was all she got out of Slate, even though she took the pain to compose a clear, simple, perfectly reasonable question. Part of the young witch was annoyed for not receiving a similar kind of answer. Her mind jumped to the possible conclusions:
1. Slate could not answer the question, because he didn't know the answer.
Not likely.
2. Slate was not allowed to answer the question.
In that case, he is a very poor excuse for a prsent drug lord and a future dictator.
2. Slate did not want to answer the question.
Oh.
"I am sorry if the question made you feel uncomfortable." she apologized - although she was still processing possible reasons for why someone wouldn't want to share details about his mutation, she felt like it was the right thing to do, and she rarely felt that. Ever. "You are just unusually mature for a three-year-old."
Yay, the blush was back.
"Yes, dessert sounds good." she agreed. Slate seemed to be stuck on the ice cream topic, so he was either avoiding other topics, or there was really something special about ice cream. It couldn't hurt to try.
The young witch sighed, and the world slowly swam into the colorful swirl of smells and tastes. Um, no. Not tastes. Definitely not tastes. Susan hurriedly switched again, retreating into the world of visible sounds. And voices.
Umm. Voices...
Black eyes blinked as the witch observed the chaos - in a crowded place like a restaurant, where every person has her own color of voice, together with the sounds of siverware and plates and... she just wanted an excuse to finally close the awkward part of the conversation. What she got, though, was faint traces of a certain, distinct color, highlighted with the X-gene.
"Um, excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back." she told Slate very politely, before standing up and heading towards the bathroom. She had a suspicion bathrooms were partially invented so women would have an excuse for a time-out in uncomfortable conversations. It was just a theory though. It certainly worked right now.
Susan didn't even need to look at Noel as she marched past the girls. Nither did she care if she was alone or not. Locking herself up in the bathroom she wondered why on Earth would the memory manipulator be in the restaurant. Was she keeping tabs on her? Did she even remember her, or was it just a coincidence?...
Let's hope she doesn't know I am having a social meeting with a villainous drug lord.
Susan returned in time for the ice cream. Smiling.

Susan took a breath and calmed down. Confidential. Duly noted. She had a suspicion that sharing confidential information was part of the whole social interaction thing, and she appreciated it.
She also suspected she had too many questions at once, even for a smart person like Slate. Instead of listing them again, she decided on another approach.
"Um. Could you explain to me how it is possible that you are three years old? Is it part of your mutation?"
She stopped herself before the other questions started flowing. It was science. One question at a time.

"I assume we will see more of each other as time passes, so I want you to know my door is always open to you, if you need a friend."
This was one of those moments when the young witch was abanoned by her social skills. People said that kind of things all the time, and she struggeld to decipher if she was supposed to say yes, no, maybe, or nothing at all.
"Umm. Sure?"
Witches don't do heart-to-heart.
His other offer made much more sense.
"Well, the best way to do this would be for you to let me allow to link our nervous systems. Then I can attempt to look at things from the inside out. Does that sound alright?"
"Yes it does" Susan agreed with a nod "I have been told it can be a confusing experience. But since you have control over your nervous system, I don't see any harm in it." Susan held out her hand, only a it hesitant about the physical contact "Your ability is touch-based, right?"

“You should be an ice cream taster. Or a Kabal member.”
There were only a precious few things in the world that could throw the witch off balance. This statement was one of them. Even more so after Slate decided to elaborate on the trivial part of the idea.
Tasting ice cream. Susan tasted ice cream on a few occasions, usually when her stepsisters wanted some and she got a portion too, even though she never asked, because that was fair. Back when her abilities were just starting to manifest. She tried to remember, but she couldn't tie any extraordinary experience to tasting ice cream. That is, not mre than to any other kind of food.
She nodded politely, and turned to the more cuiroous part of Slate's career suggestions.
"And what is that 'Kabal' you mentioned?"
“I would like to go to college, but it has been proving troublesome. I am out of the country too often. Also, I keep failing high school.”
Blink.
"You keep failing high school? How can someone fail high school?" she asked with sincere curiosity. The possibility of failing anything on the high school level had never even occured to her before. "Is it school in general, or do you have problems with particular subjects?..."

Did she sustain a head injury? I could help.
I don't think so, Susan smirked, it is a side effect of her mutation.
Susan was quite content with her own food. It didn't make white noise. Or white anything, for that matter. It was more green-ish, in a healthy way.
"My job?" she blinked, looking up from her plate "Umm, I go to school. Or I did, until my mutation kicked in. So now I'm going to be graduating from mutant high, and then go on to college." she explained "That is, unless I find something more challenging to do. With or without my abilities, as long as it doesn't inculde uniforms." she added with a grin.