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Laney was going to get John and go to lunch before the Film Festival.  He'd given her the address to the cafe so she could get her own directions there, and his address.

She sent a warning text message to John that she was on her way.


She kissed her uncle on the cheek, promised to call if she would be out later than nine, waved to the boys, and sprinted out.   A dilemma about what to wear robbed her of the spare minutes she wanted, in case she got lost on the way to the Elliott house.  She didn’t.  She arrived with time to drive to the university and still have an hour and a half for lunch. 


She pauses on the front steps of John’s home, feeling like she were floating, cut and sent adrift.  It was a familiar sensation, typical in new places.  She bows her head to force her gaze down to her shoes and away from her environment.

Then she knocks at the door.

John opens the door.  Weekends for John offer a change of wardrobe.  Instead of jeans and a blue t-shirt with running shoes and a back pack it's jeans and a blue t-shirt with running shoes and no back pack.  "Hey."  He says, "Let me get my coat."  He turns and grabs his jacket from the coat rack.  It's red, with a red flannel lining.  "I'm leaving mom."

"Have fun honey."  is the reply from inside the house.  and then John is on the porch with Laney, slipping on his jacket which no sane person would wear to ward off the cold of Chicago.

"You have your directions and everything?"  He says, zipping the jacket.  "You look nice."

Laney nods and stammers her thanks.  She has the directions printed out but doesn't use them; they're memorized.

John quickly learns one does not speak to Laney while she's driving if one wishes to live, after the first stop sign she almost ran through, slamming on the brakes with a mumbled, "oops." 

They hit every light on green, and she has no trouble finding the university or the place they are to lunch at.  She suggests parking on campus and walking if it's close enough.

Once they've parked and are walking John speaks again.  "I sent some emails out to people that were part of the probability experiment.  Maybe one of them will get back to me."

She wasn't expecting that and asks in a low, excited whisper while walking very close to him, "Really?  Where there a lot of them? From which trials?  Were they hard to find?  Did you tell them why you were contacting them?"

"I have some friends that are.  Well they have access to stuff that they really shouldn't.  Anyway, they sent me a list of sixty email addresses.  It's a blind contact, I don't know their names or anything, only which study they were in.  And they might be part of the control group, or just not have any powers.  I just told them I had a friend who was having a lot of strange things happen to them, but I'm thinking most of them will assume it's me, you know how that is.  We'll see if any of them get back to me."

"Sixty? Well, thanks for doing that.  Is there um...anything I can do to help?  I'm pretty good at finding things.  Online or off.  But I...I need to know...where to begin.  Sortof.  My mom's fault, really.   Oh!  I’m sorry. I was so rude.  I should’ve introduced myself to your family so they know you’re not running off with a psychopath.  Okay, no promises there.  But you already knew I have issues.  Lots of people going to this film thing.  Have you been to one before?  Stupid question.  They must’ve dragged you to these types of things often.” 

She smiles, amiably chattering on, seeming as if she’s not paying attention to where they’re going.   However, she stops right at the entrance to the restaurant.  She’s not the slightest bit timid about asking to sit in the back, away from the door and other patrons.

"Actually, I don't go to many of the social things."  John listens and makes good conversation.  Looking over the list of movies from the flyer John shrugs.  "I don't think I know any of these."

Laney smiles a little sadly.  "I do.  And those I didn't know, Greg told me all about."  If he's curious about lineup and asks, she obliges.  Apparently, she was listening more closely than her manner might have led one to believe.  She nearly quotes Greg word for word.

"I was going to this thing so be social because I thought it would help.  I'm not really into comedies, romantic or otherwise.  It's alright, though.  I've never been to the campus.  I thought I'd be able to talk you into exploring."

"I've actually spent some time at the campus.  I go to the library there a lot, mostly for those medical journals I read.  I'd be happy to wander around some with you."

There are moments during their lunch that Laney seems acutely aware of every aspect of her environment, her eyes dart from objects to faces so swiftly she should be making herself dizzy.  At other times, her unfocused gaze persists even as she converses with John in disjointed phrases.

“Oh. I guess it’s a better resource than the county library.  You don’t have to if you’re not into it.  I don’t mean to take you away from your friends to do something you’ve already done before. Um…I would like it if you showed me around, another day if not this one.   Do you um…like movies?”

"We can go next Saturday, after I get back from wherever we're going for travel practice."  John is generally attentive during a conversation, but his attention does occasionally seem to shift, his eyes closing like he's trying to pick up some distant sound.  "My folks and I used to have movie night when I was younger.  We'd watch something I wanted to see and then something they wanted.  We'd make popcorn and sit together on the couch.  We haven't done that in a while though.  I generally read more than I watch TV or movies.  But I like them I guess."

"That sounds much better.  Someplace quiet, I mean, away from people, away from...Well, it sounds better than sitting in a theatre.  I haven't seen a movie in months.  I can't um..."  She can't put her thoughts to words is what she can't do.   Her hand twitches like she's dismissing the conversation entirely.

"You can call me.  When you get back, I mean.  Saturday.  If you want to.  We can figure out what kind of trouble we want to get into then, alright?

"I'm not much of a reader.  I guess I like it when I can...um...What do you like to read?"

"I read mostly medical journals, and articles on paranormal medicine.  Not really fun stuff in most people's minds."

"It doesn't matter what's in most people's minds, only yours."  She grins, knowing that sounds silly.

"Wanting to learn more about things you're interested in isn't anything strange.  I think paranormal studies might be fun, but medical professions have...Um...too high a learning curve for me.  I'm supposedly smart, but really I just test well.   I'm good at many things and great at nothing.  Biology was too...They just shoved so much stuff at us in one year that none of it stuck, and it was all boring.  I thought the human body as a system, or a knit of systems, was...Well, it's impressive."

"You can..." Laney hesitates, uncertain if this was too personal a question.  "You can see and hear...um...things people normally can't.  Do you think this is why you're interested in medicine?  Because it's kindof...right there in front of you.  So you have to make sense of it."

"I like medicine because it's something I'd have to learn.  And there are a lot of people that need medical help, and if they have powers it can be complicated.  I like the idea of being able to work in that field."

"I don't understand.  Something you'd have to learn? Are you...Should you even be in high school?"

They could talk awhile about "normal" things people their age are curious about: What classes are they in, which teachers, which do they like, which do they hate, etc., if John wishes to.  No need to extend that here.  In the end, he might learn Laney is bored in most of her classes, except Chemistry, which she enjoys.  She's having problems with History and English Literature.

She does insist on paying the bill; she did, after all, owe him calories.

John likes most of his teachers.  Biology is his favorite subject, and although he's a good student, it's not through some vast genius so much as hard work.  Even if most of it is done at super speed.  "No, really the notebook actually burst into flames I was writing so fast."  he laughs, "My dad threw it in the sink and my mom was laughing and I was crying because I was going to have the write the whole report again."  He takes a drink.  "Sometimes super powers have unexpected side effects."  His voice has been low to not be overheard, and he leaned close when he started the story.  "It took a while to figure out how fast I could write safely."  He finishes smiling.

His proximity, if anything, improves Laney's attentiveness.  Her voice a murmur between soft giggles, "Typing reports must be horrible for you then.  The computer can't always keep up with slower paced keystrokes.

"Is it an effort to move so fast? Intentional?  Or...Or are you always trying to hold back, waiting for the rest of us to catch up?  That would be horrible.  Having to...to actively sync with the world, always.  I mean, you age like everyone, don't you?"



((Can use this thread for the escape from the film festival, too.  Cut to the next scene when it becomes confusing.  ::) ))

OOC: Normally that sort of bouncing is why I generally have multiple threads for an event like that.


"It's an effort to move that fast.  But my perceptions are a little different than most people's.  I've gotten used to it though."


"As far as I know.  All of the other people in the family that had the powers aged normally."

The subject of perspective is raised again that afternoon.

There is a freedom to not knowing where one is going, not caring.  Laney revels in it, giggling once they're away from the crowds.  She darts down halls, through private doors, even across alleys to other buildings, pokes her head into rooms containing mundane things no one would care to see.  She looks for no other reason than because they are there.

When they've gone so far that the voices of the other moviegoers are a distant humming, she stops and leans against a wall, a bemused smile on her rosy face when she asks, "You can still hear what they're saying, can't you?"  She doesn't wait for a reply; she knows the answer.  The smile fades as she continues in a rushed whisper, "Can you turn it off? Stop it? How far do you have to run to be away from them?  People, I mean.  Can you run far enough?  How can you sleep when it's always...always there?  How can you think?"

"You learn to filter.  The brain will only process redundant sensory data for about fifteen minutes before you stop noticing it.  Crowds are hard for me, so many things to listen to, and if my attention falters I don't move when people bump into me.  It was really hard when I was little.  They thought I had a form of epilepsy where you seem to drift into a sort of blank state.  I was just focused on something far away and not paying attention.  I eventually got a handle on it, mostly.  I still have some trouble at school.  Lots of people all around all talking.  Lunch is pretty distracting, which is why I try to read usually."

"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have asked you to come here and be miserable.   If I'd known...Maybe I did and didn't think far enough about it.  I don't know.  Sorry.  That's...My mom - and really my aunt and uncle, too - thought normal kids should be kept away from...from special ones for that reason.  Because it's dangerous for both.  Because the paranormal ones should be isolated someplace safe where they can get specialized care and...Whatever.  I should shut up and let you have a little peace.  So you can relax just a while you're out here.  You want to go home?  You tell me if - Oh, what's down there?"

She darts away again, down another hallway without a thought as to why or where she's heading.

"I don't mind.  Being out is better than spending all my time alone.  Been there, done that.  Not really for me."

John follows her, and makes sure she doesn't wander into anything dangerous.  Or obviously dangerous.  "Did something happen that made your mom think paranormal kids should be kept away from other kids?" 

Dangerous is relative.  Wearing watches is dangerous, Laney could tell him, given the number of times the batteries have leaked onto her wrist.  She still wears them.

"Um...Not that I'm aware of.  She was a professor at Marymount.  Math.  We didn't...It wasn't a subject that came up much with Mom and Dad.  They didn't like to argue in front of us kids.

"You don't agree with them?  I do.  I just don't want to be...away from what I was.  So...I don't want to tell...anything.  Common sense, isn't it?  You could hurt someone.  And in a quieter environment, you would be more productive.  They're right."

"That's segregation.  And that leads to all manner of mayhem.  You start making people think that being different is bad, and then they start pushing the line at what different is.  It's just not good social science."

"Different might be bad, in some cases.  If I thought I - I don't know.  I'm not saying I like it, just that I... 

"You use the word 'segregation' and keep its connotations, then, of course, no one would dare disagree with you.  Equal rights and all that. 

"But it is dangerous.  I don't know which risk is the lesser one: that society might implode, destroyed from within because we didn't heed the warnings; or that it might split, ripped apart by war because we went too far to keep everyone safe."

Staring up at the ceiling as she strolls down a poorly lit hall, as surefooted as she is blind, Laney seems complacent, if not relaxed.

"That's the messed up part.  Finding the middle ground.  Different might be dangerous, but it's usually not.  I guess I'd rather just look for the good in people and deal with the bad.  But I'm like that."

Laney looks over at him, smiling affectionately.  "I knew there was a reason I liked you - other than you're a wonderful babysitter. 

"I either jump right into things or avoid them.  Both ways get me blindsided, but whenever I try to make a plan it goes all wrong.  Same with people.

"I think the middle ground consists of lying and hiding.  A trap, in a way.  Safer maybe, but for who?  I'll tell you when I know."

An opening overhead catches her attention; access to a crawlspace likely.  Laney automatically looks about for something to use as a ladder - then stops.  She must realize how foolish her venture is, for her face darkens red and she mumbles something about going back to the theatre.

John watches somewhat amused at her explorations.  "It's a duct for the air handler."  He points along a path in the ceiling that goes towards the back wall, "It goes that way about thirty feet then goes up towards the roof."  He turns to point it's path in the other direction, "It goes that way and drops into several other rooms, and then about seventy feet in that direction falls from here to the basement."  He turns to look back at her.  "In case you were curious."

Her eyes widen, sparkling with renewed excitement.  "Oh, the roof!  Where're the stairs?"   And off she goes to search for a route to the top of the building.   She doesn't even know which building they're in, anymore.

It's a short-lived quest as Laney seems to know exactly where to find what she's looking for - that would be the assumption any normal person would make.

John is a keen observer of people.  He follows her, and every minute is adding ne details to his mental record about Laney, and the paranormal ability she pretends not to have.  He's seen Colin do the same sort of thing.  Walk into a room everyone thought was locked, and to wander aimlessly right where he needed to be.

He knew that roof access doors were locked, he'd busted through enough of them in his life.  And yet she walked right through it and didn't set the alarm off.  "Here."  he said, putting his coat across her shoulders to help with the chill once they were outside.  "I should wear a heavier coat if for no other reason than I'm always loaning it to other people, and it's not really warm enough for Chicago."

Laney’s childishly delighted she guessed where that exit was.  She sprints across the icy surface to halt as close to the edge of the building as she can, peering down to laugh outright for the view.

“It is cold, isn’t it?  Whose brilliant idea was it to go to the roof?  The basement might’ve been –Look where we are!

“Oh, the wind!  Thanks! How do you stand it?  How are you in the summer?  Thriving on air conditioning?  If you wore a heavier coat, would you be too hot?”

John shrugs.  The temperature normally doesn't bother me.  I sweat like everyone else, I just don't seem to be as bothered by the cold."  He stands closer to her so she can soak up some of his body heat.  "That's the medical sciences building over there.  And that one is the library."  John points out the things he knows and then out into the city in the direction of some of the sights.

"Is this where you want to go to school?  Do you know anyone here?  Talked to professors?"

She closes what distance he'd left between them, squinting into the wind. That she had somehow led them to one of the highest buildings on campus is only a brief marvel to her.  The lights across the skyline at this time of day hold Laney's attention for some time, and she is silent after her whispered questions.

"It's why we moved here.  Mom and dad wanted me to be able to live at home while I was going to med-school.  I've talked to a few people, made some friends.  Now I just have to graduate from high school."  John puts his arms around her, tugging the jacket closed some.  Maybe it's to keep her from falling off the roof, or share body heat.  It's hard to tell with John.

She'd rested her hands over John's, leaning back, with a sweetly distracted smile, content to remain there indefinitely. 

Once the sky darkens, a random flicker of light or movement from the walkways below them summons Laney from her reverie.  She turns her face up towards John and murmurs something about going back before they're missed.

John nods and they make their way back to the theater.