Most people, upon seeing what he could do, reacted one of two ways: they freaked out or they thought it was badass. Or, option three, they thought there was something seriously wrong with him, like his parents did. He could still see the look of horror on his mother's face when, at seven years old, he smashed every plate in her china cabinet during a fight. The fact that Calista wasn't scared of it was a good sign. "I've only met one, I think," he said, "no, I take that back, I've met two, not including you. Never another telekinetic, though."
Quentin chuckled softly. "Everyone's got a gift, mine just happened to manifest like this." After a moment of watching the pen, he turned his hand, so it would spin in the other direction. It wasn't like he moved objects around constantly - he'd been taught from a young age to try to stop it at all costs, to ignore his gifts. Now he used it when he was feeling lazy, becoming more open about it now that he was out of Kennebunkport and away from his family. "The smaller the object, the easier it is to move," he explained. "It's not like I can move a car or anything like that, but I've never really tried. Anything small tends to move around me if I get too distracted, though." Or upset. Or angry. Or drunk. Poor Lia, showing up at his apartment to find everything spinning around him.