stole_your_mojo (stole_your_mojo) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2010-08-26 15:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-07-24, leif |
No Signal
Who: Aimee and Leif
Where: Aeaea
When: Sunset
Aeaea was a treasure trove of the occult. Its smell of books, incense, and bitter herbs mingled to make it seem smaller than its square footage, its air close and thick. It sold candles, jars of colorful powder, crystals and a host of altar supplies. More impressive was its array of books, and those were the reason Aimee had come. Her introduction to Mael left her with questions about herself, things she wondered for months but never had the guts to research. Now she stood surrounded by evidence of the otherworldly, only recently exposed to the public yet it looked like people knew of it for ages. Going by the number of books, the depth of knowledge was extensive.
She took a deep breath, clutched the sleeves of her shirt, started wandering. At a section encompassing psychic phenomena, Aimee stopped. She craned her neck and made sure no one was watching before she ducked into the aisle. She ran her finger along the spines as she browsed the texts. Whenever she spotted one of interest, she added it to a stack. It was slow going. Once, a black shape slinked past the corner of Aimee's eye, but when she looked up, it was gone. She watched for a moment and then sank into cross-legged position on the floor. Her collection of books teetered like the Tower of Pisa. "Shit," she whispered, scrambling to catch it. She broke it into two pillars.
It took thirty minutes and ten misfires before she chose the proper book, a rich, blue hardback. She skimmed its table of contents until she came to chapter 10, Related Cases: Amplifiers and Dead Zones.
Aimee hesitated. Her fingers caught on the page. I can't. Frustrated, she exhaled through her nose and rubbed her face. Alright, walk away and see how bad you wanna come back. She stood up and took a couple steps towards the front of the store.
Supplies were needed. The most mundane of supplies that, if he were honest, Leif could have bought just about anywhere. Given the increase in vampire attacks, however, he was not willing to gauge the current attitude towards anything supernatural by turning up at the counter of the nearest convenience store, armed with equipment for what probably looked like an amateur séance.
He had received enough strange glances along the way. Yes, he was reclusive by nature. With the exception of work and moments like this, he did not throw himself out into the world of allegedly polite society. As a telepath, however much training he was lacking, he found that the hypocrisy of most was not to his tastes. And it made conversations more than a little tedious. Thus, the naturally pale-skinned man was even paler. No, he was not a vampire. Idiots.
‘Stop sulking,’ Miakoda droned from above, bored of her ward’s constant disapproval, ‘You need the Vitamin B.’
D, Leif corrected. Vitamin D. Now be quiet and go sit on the roof. Anything to make her leave him alone for a while. Taking his hands from his pockets, he quickened his pace towards Aeaea. He pushed open the door -- and promptly went deaf. Nearly colliding with the girl apparently on her way out, he automatically raised one hand to his ear, muttering an apology. A futile gesture, since his ears had nothing to do with his telepathy, but the fact he could now only hear actual sounds was more than a little disorienting. He was alone in his own mind with his own thoughts. It was agonizing.
Aimee raised her palms, staving off a collision that didn't happen. "It's fine," she muttered, squeezing past the blonde-haired man and avoiding eye contact. If she met no one, she wasn't really there. She caught the door and hurried outside, where the rain had become an unpleasant mist. It reminded Aimee of spittle. She frowned and walked to the far end of the building. There, she leaned against the wall and got her bearings.
Jesus Christ, chill. You don't have 'Dead Zone' painted on your forehead, she cajoled herself. As far as anybody knew, the tall, curly-haired girl was a customer shopping for crystal balls or whatever. Aimee stuffed her fingers in her pockets. She stared at the river, which curved behind the store. She couldn't hear the water moving, but she did hear birds along the bank. Listening to them, she asked herself if she really wanted to know why and how she scrambled psychics' brains. Maybe ignorance was bliss. Then again, maybe ignorance was a ticket to getting jumped and having her ass kicked.
Two minutes and I'm going back, she vowed.
Above the store, Miakoda stirred uncomfortably. ‘Are you alright?’ Actually, no, he wasn’t alright. He had never felt so unsteady in his life, but whoever it was apparently staring at him inside the shop was wondering what the hell was wrong with him. So Leif straightened up, one hand slipping back into his pocket while he tried to remember what he has here for. ‘I lost you for a moment.’ The hawk almost sounded concerned. I’m fine. The line just went dead. In the middle of frowning at a rather crudely fashioned crystal ball -- paperweight material -- Leif blinked. Dead Zone. He felt his familiar perk up at the apparent answer, though he doubted she had any idea what a Dead Zone actually was.
Carefully sliding his public mask back into place, he glanced back at the door. But candles and other miscellanea beckoned. Still, that encounter continued to tug at his trail of thought. He had never met a Dead Zone, or no doubt he would not have been so completely derailed by its -- her -- presence. Could he remember what she looked like? No. But Scarlet Oak was a small town and that wasn’t a feeling he would ever mistake again. Making a mental note to keep an eye out for her in case he recognized something other than the definite lack of invading thoughts, he drifted towards a set of vials. They looked rather stereotypically gothic in a... Well, a blood witch manner, but they were functional. Which reminded him; he really needed markers that would write on glass properly.
At two minutes by her wristwatch, Aimee pushed off the wall and strode along the storefront. The door seemed heavier on the second go, the whoosh of perfumed air a little tighter. Her boots made hollow thumps as she bee-lined towards Psychic Phenomena and found her twin stacks. At least nobody messed with them. If Aimee had to dig those books out a second time, she might've said 'screw it' and headed out for good. Hands loose by her sides, she stared at them a second. C'mon, don't be a chickenshit. Aimee got on her knees and hastily filed away the books she didn't need. Then she grabbed the blue book and stood up, using the shelving for balance.
She looked around and saw a nook in Gardnerian Witchcraft where she might read in private. Plus, nobody would guess her book came from a different section. There wasn't a chair, so she leaned her spine into the corner and flipped to chapter 10. She wanted to read the whole chapter, which was disappointingly short, but just in case she couldn't, Aimee's eyes ran over the sub-headings: Definitions, Effects, Possible Causes... The narrative was muddy, as if the author, a lifelong paranormal enthusiast, was drawing a hypothesis based on second-hand accounts of a handful of cases. Most of it was guesswork. The only phrase worth reading made her chest quicken. 'Possible connection with near-death experiences or other trauma.'
A set of memories flooded back. The feeling of fingernails scratching her scalp, the ugly yellow and green wallpaper, the smell of broccoli boiling on the stove, that hard tug and then whack. Fireworks.
She closed the book. Aimee set it on the wrong shelf and rubbed sweaty palms on her jeans.
Having identified the problem once it had passed, feeling its approach was like being smothered mentally by someone who had no intention of letting you survive. Steadying himself on the wall, Leif took a breath and glanced around the shop again. There you are. He hoped Miakoda wasn’t having a heart-attack up there. It would look terrible if she came barreling in, all talons and feathers. It was a mental image he entertained for a moment, in the quiet, though it didn’t take long for him to decide the near-silence in the store was a little too much for him. He arrowed his attention on the root of his vague irritation and internally arched an eyebrow at the way she reacted to what she was reading. Something told him it had nothing to do with Gardnerian Witchcraft.
Leif palmed the vials, picking up odds and ends -- some of which he didn’t actually need -- as he made his way over to that bookcase. Curiosity was often dangerous, but without everyone else’s internal monologue giving him pointers, he was left to discover things on his own. She had automatically made herself interesting by continuing to exist after serious trauma, if he remembered correctly. Without invading her personal space entirely, he reached for the misplaced book. Definitely not Gardnerian Witchcraft. A glance at the spine, and Leif shook his head. “Try a more reliable author,” he said with an almost rueful smile that only a telepath or maybe an empath would see through. But then, he wasn’t going to have that problem around her, was he? “I’m afraid this writer knows the bare minimum about his... area.” That was about as politely as Leif could put it, though his disdain for this volume was confirmed the moment he flicked to the chapter on telepathy. That said, he still didn’t know what had garnered that reaction. “Were you looking for anything specific?” He wasn’t above putting in extra effort to find out, either.
Aimee, who hadn't moved when he approached since she was stuck in the corner, eyed him across her shoulder. She scowled, trying to be as off-putting as possible. He was way too close for comfort, and not physically. "No," she said. Who approached a strange girl to pick up her cast-offs and comment on their relative worth? Not that he's wrong, she thought. She rubbed her elbow even though it didn't hurt. "I'm just reading. Anyway, that's why I put it down. It's stupid." Liar, liar...
Of course, none of the other books were enlightening. There was an apparent hole in psychic research and its name was 'dead zones and amplifiers'. Aimee wondered if she should just give up and ask the guy, since he was putting off an informed vibe. But that was tantamount to telling him her secret... Or at least hinting that she knew an affected person. What if he was psychic? Then he'll probably stuff socks in the tailpipe of my car.
Aimee got herself out of the corner and picked up another book. Any book. She flipped to the title page. Magic and Mating Rituals. Oh, that was a great choice. She sighed and slid it back into its place. "So who isn't stupid?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the selection. If he looked at her face, he’d see a lot. She’d never been any good at hiding her thoughts or feelings.
No, Leif, don’t provoke the scowling Dead Zone. Not here, anyway. He held his tongue for a moment, though his blood called for him to push her buttons. Her expression did not move him; he was related to Dagmar. Certainly. Most people drop books like hot potatoes because they think they’re stupid. “My mistake,” a perfectly amiable manner of accepting that he stood corrected. Even if that wasn’t the case. He continued to flick through the book casually, out of sheer interest. Sometimes it made him feel better to remind himself just how much stupidity there was in the world. Other times it just depressed him. And the person who wrote this book had clearly never been told what a clairsentient actually was. He closed it, briefly considering buying it just to set it alight. God forbid that kind of idiocy ever find itself in the hands of someone who believed it to be a valid source of information.
Despite finding her next choice of book deeply entertaining, he politely kept his silence and slid the blue monstrosity back onto the shelf. “The telepath offering to help, perhaps?” He hadn’t needed to look at her face. Reading minds was an inherited gift. Reading people was a learned talent he found necessary because his ‘gift’ had never received any real training. But really, at the moment, he didn’t understand how non-telepaths functioned in society. “You’re jamming my signal, so to speak.” For a fleeting moment, he wondered how much her blood would be worth on the market. He needed to get in touch with a blood trader.
Oh, fuck. Aimee exhaled and the sound quavered. Her face felt odd, but she wasn't sure whether it had turned red or white. The inner voice of resolve urged her not to get freaked out, but to get defiant. It was more useful. She straightened her back and kept the frown in place. "I'd say sorry, but I can't exactly help it," she muttered. "Not that I should have to." That was rude and uncalled for, but past experience led Aimee to believe that psychics didn't appreciate mental interference, and she didn't want to get off on the wrong foot... Meaning, give him the impression she was gonna hot-foot it in the other direction, just because he was onto her.
She needed something to occupy her hands. Turning away, she found books, more books... a lone display of incense promising to calm the weary psychic mind. She picked up a packet and sniffed it. Lavender. Aimee returned it to the hook. There was a distinct possibility she was going to sneeze.
“I wasn’t asking for an apology,” Leif answered, tapping the spine of the blue book rather pointedly. “If I wanted my mind flooded with everyone else’s thoughts, I would have left the building.” He was considering it, actually, but she didn’t need to know that. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to get a moment’s peace?” Flashing something that was almost a smile, he gave an open-handed shrug. He was clearly just trying to help, was he not? Behind the friendly veneer, Leif inwardly rolled his eyes. She was about as subtle as Oz’s fist to his face and that was without being able to hear her thoughts. Part of him was glad he could not, because otherwise there was no way he could keep this up without sneering.
“But if my intrusion is unwelcome,” he began, starting down a slightly different approach, “I will simply pay for these and leave. I’ll be out of your hair.” And while she dwelt on that point of fact, he was going to scan a nearby bookshelf for anything useful. Maybe he could pick up black magic as a hobby, though his pride demanded that he get a better handle on his elemental abilities first. For that he would need help, however, and his pride would not allow him to go looking for it. Where did one find a coach for telepathy?
Still facing the incense, Aimee cut her eyes toward him. She was distrustful by nature, especially of people who approached her instead of the other way around. The fact that he looked wealthy made it all the worse. Some people who came from small means were automatically wary of those who didn't; Aimee was an example of that reverse snobbery. She found herself waiting for him to be snide, but all he did was look friendly and offer to go away.
"If that's how you feel, you're really a freak," she said, picking up a cloth sack that felt like it contained birdseed. Its odor was pungent. She recoiled and tossed it on the shelf. "No psychic I ever met liked having me around."
She wandered farther down the aisle, thinking how before the Light of May, the only thing she knew about psychics was what she read in sci-fi and horror books, and they always made people with ESP really meek or emotionally sensitive. At least, that was the case with Stephen King. Now she knew he got it wrong; he should've gone with imperious.
Looking back at her from his faked browsing of the shelf, the elemental shook his head again. "That's... not a word I'd recommend using a great deal in this town." He had heard, seen and done enough to know that a significant portion of the population would not take kindly to it. Dagmar may well have destroyed her. Even if it had not really been intended as an insult. And I did not say I liked having you around. "It's a little disorienting, having something like that stripped from you without warning," he clarified. "It would be the equivalent of you suddenly partially losing your sight or hearing. Had the world not gone silent as I came in, I would not have nearly run into you earlier." No, but he would have tried walking through her under the assumption she was intelligent enough to get out of the way. "Not everyone appreciates being given a break from themselves."
"How'd you know, anyway?" Aimee asked. "Did you know another one or just read about us?"
"About Dead Zones?" Leif's face broke into a smile that was almost genuine. She was amusing. "No, I have never known another. Nor any Amplifiers, for that matter." He was also a water elemental and a Master blood witch -- his knowledge of the supernatural had been expanded by the blood magic alone, since they were all different types with different effects. But that was not for her to know. "I'm a telepath with very limited training. I tend to hear everything all the time. On a good day the focus flares across individuals at random. I don't necessarily need to read books to learn." He paused. "I admit, it took a moment for me to realise properly, but it isn't a feeling that can be mistaken for anything else." He wasn't sure how willing he was to run into an Amplifier.
When he asserted that he had limited training in telepathy, Aimee detected a note of false modesty. She couldn’t put her finger on it; he didn’t say anything outright rude or call her dumb, but he had this... slickness to him. It reminded her of a car salesman. He was being too nice, too willing to share information, and it made the brunette wonder what he wanted from her. Aimee stared at the cover of a paperback. “You ever think eavesdropping on other people’s thoughts isn’t any better than reading a crappy book? What you learn might be interesting, but there’s no guarantee it’s reliable.”
At that, she met his eyes. One of her brows lifted slightly.
“You wouldn’t believe what goes on in some people’s heads,” Leif snorted, his eye catching a book on bloodlines that his father had owned a copy of. Most of it was complete nonsense, but some of it was also incredibly useful. It was marvelous when people accidentally stumbled upon -- and published -- the truth. He doubted Jokull’s copy was much more than ash by now, so he seized that too. “And I don’t eavesdrop,” he corrected with a side-long glance, “I can’t help it either.” As for the rest: “The same can be said about certain wisdoms passed down through family lines. Very little can be considered a hundred percent reliable; much depends on the individual. These--” He gestured around the shop. “--are not textbook practises. Nothing ever happens the way we’re told they should.” Bloodline, natural aptitude, apparent alignment and sheer willpower tended to play a big part.
Leif returned the raised eyebrow. “If you’re looking for information on that,” he gestured to her forehead, “I wish you luck. It is not well-documented and most people don’t even know what they are.” ‘They’ being both Dead Zones and Amplifiers. “I’ve done a fair amount of research on Psychic Phenomena myself, though my search was focused in a slightly different direction. Head trauma would be a good start,” he added, “It seems to unlock a fair number of things.” Leif zoned out temporarily while he considered the buzz that had been coming from Kajsa, then caught himself and returned to the conversation. “You’re a hard brand of phenomena to study,” he said with a shrug. Telepaths were fairly cut and dry. ‘Do you know what I’m thinking?’ ‘Obviously.’
“I’m not a phenomenon,” Aimee muttered, but the scar in her hairline tingled, just in case she forgot. Well, you’re something, aren’t you?
She rubbed her fingertip over a layer of dust on the shelf. At least the blue book he dissed was right about the near-death experience and/or physical trauma. Aimee couldn’t confirm that the ‘dead zone’ thing came from the fight with her mom, but something about it rang true anyway. She just felt like it was the right answer. Putting a kid’s head through a wall was bound to muck up more than her judgment. And wouldn’t it be like Mama to screw me up so bad, there’s a target on my back?
It all got her thinking. Aimee rubbed her dusty forefinger and thumb together. “So if head trauma made me a dead zone, what made you a telepath?”
Both eyebrows raised at her denial of that label. You don’t really think that now, do you? “You are whatever you consider yourself to be.” He wasn’t going to argue with her perception of herself, because he didn’t really care that much. But, really, it was better than being a garden variety non-psychic. Leif didn’t like feeling as ‘garden variety’ as he was right now, but he still found her more interesting. He couldn’t remember the properties of a Dead Zone’s blood as far as magic was concerned -- not off the top of his head. Jokull wouldn’t have been impressed.
“My father.” He cleared his throat, still not entirely comfortable talking about Jokull. It was still a little too soon. Part of him was waiting for his familiar to chime in with something like ‘It will always be too soon’ but the line between himself and Miakoda remained silent. “Things like telepathy tend to be hereditary, though a serious blow to the head can cause them too.” He paused. “You weren’t born a Dead Zone, I can tell you that.” No, someone had cracked her over the head hard enough to upset every psychic she ever walked past for the rest of her life. “And I’d suggest staying away from any known Amplifiers. I’m not entirely sure what happens when opposites meet, but as far as I know nothing good comes of it.”
Aimee turned towards him and pocketed her hands, her posture finally easing into a casual slump. Her shoulders raised in a half-shrug. “How’m I supposed to know who they are?” she asked. “It’s not like they wear giant antennas on their heads.” Or so she guessed. “Just... please don’t say there’s a club meeting.” Her disdain for any kind of organized hanging out was obvious. She reached back and fiddled with her hair, which had gotten tangled in the leather cord of her necklace.
What happened when dead zones and amplifiers met? Shouldn’t it be a wash? Or maybe it started up some kind of funky tug-of-war in psychics’ brains until it leaked out of their ears or they went nuts. Aimee imagined heads popping like fat ticks and frowned. Gross.
“Well,” Leif gave a smile that at least appeared to be apologetic, “You don’t until you run into them. And then I imagine you walk straight back the way you came.” He paused, “That said, to every other psychic, they sort of do have antennas on their heads. That mess with our heads. Recommended only for fully trained psychics or those who don’t required the coaching.” Lucky bastards.
With a brief laugh that sounded almost relieved, he shook his head. “No. No club meetings. Scarlet Oak is many things, but it is not that nauseating.” The demon in Leif snorted and he tilted his head, “Well, most of it isn’t. There are a lot of idiots running around.” And he had been doing so well thus far.
Ah ha... so you are capable of being unkind. Rather than putting her off, it settled Aimee down. At least he’d shown one of his colors, if not the full array. It was easier for her to deal with people once they’d put away niceties, even if they turned out to be jerks. She hadn’t made up her mind about the blonde-haired telepath, whose name she didn’t even know. He could go either way.
She crossed her arms, picking at the fabric of her sleeves. “Do you get a lot of problems from people? I mean, the normal ones.” Aimee shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Not normal, that’s not what I meant. I just don’t know what to call u-- them.” The regular people, she meant, one of which she wasn’t.
No, they get problems from me. “Vanillas?” The term amused him. “Personally, no. At least, not to date. There are a few scattered around who you may catch bitching and preaching about how the devil has moved in next door,” his lips curved into an entertained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he wondered how his own neighbors fared. “They are the ignorant few, though they’re on the increase as of late.” He shrugged rather nonchalantly, considering his next comment, “At some point they’ll learn that psychics don’t go bump in the night.” And that the best vampire deterrent was staying in your house and not letting them in. “Until then, we’re lumped in with the vampires. Welcome to the ranks of the ‘demonic’.” The laugh that followed was genuine -- he amused himself.
Something from the back of his mind gave him a kick, and Leif became quite serious again. “My apologies, I swear I don’t usually make a habit of conducting entire conversations without introducing myself.” One hand freed itself from his intended purchases and extended towards her. “Leif Niemi.” That had been rude of him. He had an image to uphold.
Demonic? Jesus Christ. Blinking, Aimee knocked herself out of a trance and clasped his hand, which made her think about Mael, who hadn’t been willing (or able) to offer his. She didn’t squeeze too hard or hang on too long, and it was the first time she realized how pale he was. His skin looked translucent next to hers. “I’m Aimee... Barrow,” she added as an afterthought, because he’d given his full name. His name was weird. Northern European or something. She wondered if his parents were immigrants.
When she got her hand back, Aimee tucked it into her folded arms. “I bet some people would rather deal with demons than psychics. I mean, they’re human, right? Maybe that’s too close for comfort. It’s bad enough finding out we’re broadcasting our thoughts for just anybody to hear.” She made a sour face and turned away from him. “I don’t know about you, but mine are pretty terrible sometimes.”
And then she had it, the first real taste of gratitude about being a dead zone. Leif couldn’t read her thoughts. None of them could. As soon as her back was fully turned, Aimee allowed herself a small smile.
“If they’d rather have the demon they’re a fool.” Or demonic blooded and remarkably sensible. This conversation was beginning to entertain Leif far too much. Discussing demons and psychics with a demonic psychic -- amongst other things. The irony most definitely was not lost on him. “Would you rather deal with me or a demon?” The question begged to be asked. Oh, to be blissfully ignorant about one’s company. Again, he wondered how non-telepaths functioned. “Besides, there is a demonic bloodline,” sheer pride led him to make that admittance, “as well as angelic and fae. Who’s to say the prejudiced are always wrong in what they preach?”
Uncomfortable to hear that, Aimee looked over her shoulder at him, the furrow between her eyebrows deepening. “I dunno... You, I guess. But I’m biased. Of course I picked you.” She turned away from Leif and tapped her temple. “You can’t hear me.”
With her facing the other direction, Leif shifted a touch uneasily. The silence was making him really uncomfortable and he actually found himself needing to fill it. Or leave. The latter would have made more sense. “Did you find an answer?” He started for the counter in order to pay for his load, lest he feel the need to make a quick get away.
Had she? Aimee counted the things she knew: She was a dead zone; it happened when her mama hit her; there were amplifiers, too; bad things might happen if she ran across one. “Yeah,” she said, hanging back as Leif approached the counter. “But you know how it goes. Get one answer, suddenly you want two more.”
Then and there, Aimee decided to come back to Aeaea and read more. It wasn’t going to happen now, not when the first person she came across pinned her for a dead zone. “I’m leaving now,” she announced on her way out. “Might want to brace yourself.” She wrapped a fist around the handle and exited the shop.
He nodded in agreement. One answer was never enough. Knowledge was power -- and addictive. Her answer wasn’t satisfactory, however. Leif still wanted to know why that volume had garnered such a reaction. And, now, which answer she had found. Later, he would go over what he had said and possibly work it out, but right now he found his solitary thoughts inadequate.
Turning slightly, he nodded a polite farewell, perhaps a little grateful that she was warning him. By the time he had paid, his mind was no longer his own. He could hear the nearest person wondering if he was alright, and, mistaking it for speech, responded with a polite smile. “Yes, thank you.” The strange look he received went unnoticed. He was fine. He just had a distressed familiar to attend to.