"People die." It was short, not bitter, matter-of-fact but not cold. Oren had formed that understanding early and never had been able to let it go. "Better that they do so for a reason than never having lived at all." In that he spoke specifically about his mother, mostly because he still had a hard time making sense of his father's passing. Alcohol claiming the life of a hero. He wasn't the first, he wouldn't be the last, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. Oren had senselessly lost the only parent he'd ever known, and it had left a strange hollow in his life that he had to partition off and box up lest it swallow him whole. There would be plenty of time for picking through it little by little.
At her thanks he smiled and nodded. He wasn't going to tell her not to thank him. That probably would have been utterly useless, Scotland being so laid back and polite and all that she'd said before. Maybe he'd visit there sometime, look into her family on his own. Or just take a vacation. Not that he vacationed particularly well. Oren never could relax when he was away from Seagram Tower. He was too afraid that something might happen if he wasn't focusing his attention on the place at every moment. Missing something significant wouldn't do at all.
He placed his order with a smile and was a bit taken aback by the curt response from their server. She'd probably had a long day, though, so he was willing to let it pass. Oren heard her hushed words, but he ignored them for a moment. "Sometimes I think I'd like to own a place just like this," he remarked. He fully intended to answer her, but conversations about powers in public were best had piecemeal. Humans tended to eavesdrop. Nosy little things. At a nearby table a woman flicked her fork off the edge of the table, and he zeroed in on it immediately. He hadn't practiced in a while, so he decided to go for it. She'd never know. Forks were easy, too, since they were such light and uniform material. His eyes narrowed, slowing the utensil's fall enough so she could grab it before it hit the ground. The woman thought nothing of it. "So unobservant," he muttered, a smirk curling up the corner of his lips. He had half a mind to make it explode in her hand as a punishment for her lack of wonder, though he stuffed the impulse down. That would cause a scene, which wouldn't do.
"Photokin." He met her eyes with a little smile. "I'm not sure how I could help, but I'd be more than willing to." He tapped his temple with the back of his teaspoon. "Psychokin." As if that explained it all.