Standing Still (Open.)

 It was a nice summer day, a soft breeze and the sky pale blue. Sadly Luce was too stuck in her mind to even notice it was sunny. Nothing unusual there then. Luce walked through the streets, wandering around aimlessly. It was rather surprising that she hadn't walked into people much, and once almost a street lamp, but her ability and other people actually noticing her, caused a lot less accidents. There was nothing particularly odd or anything that stood out today, a few metas popping up, and maybe she'd tell Dr. Campbell later but they were of no serious risk. And- oh. Luce frowned slightly, much closer to a twitch in her lips if anything. It was a student in the Institute, there were a lot of them but after seeing most of them repeatedly for little more than a decade it was easy to be at least familiar with most faces. She couldn't quite place the name but she definitely recognized him as one of the current students. And as a staff member, and decent human being, Luce was probably supposed to report stealing an old woman's trinket.

And, it was gone-but the woman had lost her locket. He had taken it, she could see him either walking around some more or a shop? No a small restaurant, and Luce was quite certain she knew it. Her brow furrowed slightly as she tried to place where she had seen it. It was, a cafe in the club district, close by to her in fact. What was it called again? thought Luce. She pushed the rest of her thoughts away, as she tried to focus on the storefronts while trying to track where the boy was passing through. Luce was glad she had been training her abilities still, if she had tried to do this a couple of years ago she would've gotten a killer migraine. 

Normally, Luce ignored visions like this, there was a great deal of possibility not to mention it would be impossible to report every single one of them, especially considering the fact that it hardly came true. Well sometimes she might report the more high risk ones, like a murder or a stand-up but she supposed as a adult, or a staff member, it was her civic duty or something. And personally, Luce didn't really like crimes, even more so when by a kid. 

Luce stopped in front of a small cafe, Kali's Kafe written on a sign in front. She entered it and looked around the sunny cafe before she spotted him tucking in the locket in his shirt. Luce quickly walked over him, her pale, deceivingly delicate hand gripping his shoulder. "Nice trinket, care to give it back?" she said softly so that only the two of them could hear, but still sharp.

 
((OOC:outfit))

China has bad infrastructure. It was just as bad when Ebeneezer was there, and as such he was used to the pickpockets. Pickpockets were mostly children, the older men dealt with smuggling Harley Davidson's and other American novelties into the districts, selling out to the buyer all the while mumbling poorly understood proper English nouns. Suffice to say, pickpocketing was the youth's game, from when it was almost expected at twelve to when it was embarrassing if you still did it at fifteen.

The burn of his coffee was a bad sign, Obey trusted his coffee, it knew when to play your hand and when to fold. He held his coffee steady, a stillness one gets with experience in keeping still as your life depending on it, not your life depending on keeping a hot drink still. The burn wasn't a shake of an unsteady hand or ill prepared lips, but prediction, a bad prediction. Trouble walked in to Kali's, trouble wore jeans and tacky button-up shirt, and trouble was young. Youth had its own phylum of troubles, with subsets of unique headaches derived from the shit one could get in just by association.

The kid was sloppy, which was probably why his coffee burnt Ebeneezer's lips warning him to keep clear. Sloppy that he would steal in his own town, and steal so low-dollar every day trinkets from of all people sweet old ladies. Sloppy that he exposed himself for a moment, operating in open-air sunlight places you at 360 degree risk, and unless this was a Meta with a spherical awareness or some kind of eyes in the back of his head, he couldn't hide the act from every angle. Granted, most sweet old ladies Ebeneezer knew were crafty judgmental harpies long in the claw too bitter to die. His disdain for the far side of age outweighed the near side, so it wasn't any moral or conscientious objection Ebeneezer had to the theft, but a critique from one professional to another. No, she wouldn't miss it. Might not even remember leaving the house with it, they tend to have foggy recollections. But it wasn't the score itself, it was the principal. Any middle class young American kid slipping out of private school to finger the pockets of the elderly was asking for mockery.

So it's the elderly now. That's petty. What's next, retards? Ebeneezer thought, his eyes occasionally glancing above the paper rim of his informational fish-wrap. He had to remember his coffee, he never went against its judgment. Although what its judgment was now was vague, as usual. Was it a burn if he tried to call him out, a burn to applaud him, or a burn if he kept to himself?

Now things were complicating themselves. Miss Righteous was ridding her campaign of the obvious, yes he stole something but no she couldn't prove it. Obey could swear he saw this exact scenario in some lame public service announcement, where the kid thinks about what he did, then feels guilty and hands the locket back. No, this wouldn't end so cliché, the kid needed a squeeze, pressure to remind him that the world doesn't bend to you so easily without snapping back into place and giving you whiplash. He rose from his table, leaving the newspaper behind. Moving towards the thief and his unsuccessful superior, he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket, dialing 911 but holding off from pressing call.

“I wanted to enjoy my coffee today, read the paper, do some of that “people watching” or however it's called, but I know a swipe when I see one. One witness? No, make that two. Enough for someone to ask some questions, some men in blue.” He sat down on the other end of the table, placing the phone down on the surface, with the screen side facing him, 9-1-1 illuminated in large orange digitalized font staring at him unfeeling.

Luce sat in the vacant seat in front of him. The boy was completely relaxed and played off his 'innocence' very well. Now  if Luce didn't have her own abilities she might have even believed him. But she did and the calmness seemed almost smug now. Luce was about to answer when her mind suddenly changed paths.  Oh a visitor, thought Luce as her visions shifted to accomodate the new player- a man. In fact he was either going to just watch the debacle or stay- no there he was definitely coming over with a cellphone? Or he'd just keep sippong his coffee before leaving. The boy might run too instead of keeping up his innocent act. Which she'll probably ended up finding him but it might not or might work. Luce must have looked rather odd, suddenly staring off. 

Oh and right on schedule, he showed up. Luce didn't quite catch his exact words, although she got the gist of it all, but the phone was enough- an undialled 911 call now that she could see him closely. He had seen the act of thievery as well. Still he persisted with the innocent act, although she could see the chances of him running were getting slightly higher. And how interesting, his ability seemed time related. Of course it is, damn wonderful talent for a thief. grumbled Luce inwardly although her face barely even twitched. She could see time rewinding, shifting or stopping as the boy played with the stiches of time. Luce could feel her visions muddle up slightly, while for now the chance of him actually going back were small, she could feel her mind taking it all in and her head was already starting to ache slightly as her mind went into overdrive. And the old lady was going to start searching for it too and might even call the police. Great, just great. Luce sighed mentally. 

Those who controlled time always ended up playing with the different streams of times almost like nothing. And sure, most people didn't even notice and neither did she compared to most things but once it involved her her mind would start getting visions and suddenly there were more than ten different timelines popping in, screwing with her head. "Don't even bother trying escape. It's not going to work." she said, and one might figure out she was slightly tired and not feeling so well if one knew her well enough, an unusual occurence. Luce could find him easier if he had a plan maybe but if he just ran blindly it was going to be a lot harder. "Give back the stolen locket, you're not getting off the hook that easily." she pointed out, as a vision of him walking past the old woman this time, (And mixing up her train of visions again.), a repeat of what he did but without the stealing part. He'd show up with the police as well though after that the visions branched out too thinly for her to even guess what would happen. 

A game. This was a game. Ebeneezer couldn't be sure before, a pickpocket is not like other pickpockets, each one has certain reasons for their deviation. Power, control, desperation, the need for attention, but the young man here wasn't desperate and he didn't want attention, although he was enjoying the attention he was getting. If Ebeneezer wanted to succeed in the game, he would have to alter the playing field, and change the rules of engagement.

He extended his hand and closed the phone, canceling the dial. The three-digit number was a test, Ebeneezer had no intention of calling the police. As a matter of fact, he would be the one running if the authorities arrived in Kali's Cafe, he assumed the law enforcement here had extensive knowledge of Metahumanity, including warning signs and old troublemakers from other Institutions. But the boy wasn't shaken, not even slightly phased. Maybe he was used to dealing with the police? Maybe he too had a record to his name, though different in scope and content as Mr. Obey's.

And the question of metahumanity formed, another avenue of consideration to juggle while reading him over. Press him too hard, break the formalities and threaten him, and what den of abiotypical snakes and serpents could come rushing out towards an unprepared man just finishing his newspaper and coffee? But was that also his weapon, the knowing of danger, like two nations peered on nuclear warfare, unable to annihilate the other least experiencing mutual destruction? Clearly he didn't fear the police, and despite the reality of their fact-based accusation, he wasn't shaken. The answer could be that he was hiding something no meddling adult or human for that matter, could expect. A meta-ability. He had no proof, but it was a theory.

Ebeneezer glanced at the women next to him. Was she staring, there was that look in her eyes again. Not staring at me, he thought. The space around me, but more than that. One of Ebeneezer's strengths, that he knew and accepted anyway, was his expertise at the act of the mundane apparel. While he was occasionally identified by certain extra-national authorities in the past for recognizable facial features, his clothing, by intention, had always maintained a powerful sense of unremarkableness. With this said, he was perplexed at her periodic fixation. Nevertheless, he hoped she watched his next move, something about that gaze told him she was playing with an uncertain deck whose cards where changing as the game went on.

Ebeneezer had no evidence of theft, but he had his tools, his abilities. Nothing so blatant as the throttle of time-space, but something that could act in the quiet background of all things, without even a shadow to follow or dust to watch settle. When he said 'I know a swipe when I see one,' the words had more weight then they meant. The newspaper in his hands was a little lighter than usual, the local press hadn't much to say. As a matter of fact, the last page's backside had a large section that was blank, in between advertisements for local restaurants and shops. Fishing from the pocket where his phone was, he caught a black pen. Popping off the top with his thumb, he began to write, and speak as he wrote, eyes kept to the paper. His paper was casual and kept quiet, a noncommittal tone loud enough for only the two to hear.

“It wasn't a bad grab, mind you. Yeah I saw you, so did she, but you weren't looking for an audience. Well, now you have one, and I can't help but notice something. She left with her purse intact, I think? Oh, correct me if I'm wrong, I'm sure you will. This is all... speculation.” The drawings were two objects, waves here and lines there, although nothing recognizable yet.

“A locket is such a sentimental thing, wouldn't you say so? I used to have one, well something like that at least. It was never the gold of the locket that mattered, or silver, or whatever the metal. No, it what's inside that matters, the locket itself is just a container. It's a memory. The locket can be a heart, a star, round or like a diamond, it doesn't matter the shape, but what it symbolizes. It's that what inside is worth more than the precious metal that contains it, a memory that we can always open and renew with a glance.” The waves became hair and the lines cheeks and chins, but he wasn't finished yet.

“So, why steal it? Not for money, she still as her wallet I think. Besides, you don't care about money. You can get money anytime, from anyone. It's not the worth of the locket that interests you, not the kind any pawnbroker can give you. No, it's the worth she saw in her locket, the worth of the photographs. That's where you come in.” The drawing was nearly complete, but before he made the finishing touches he paused for a minute, his eyes snapping up from the drawing to Odion.

“Someone stole from you. Stole something worth more than money. Something couldn't be replaced. But you couldn't accept that. You knew she had a locket. A precious memory. Is it important to her? Who cares right? Just another dumb human to trick. You needed it, she was just a means to an end, to fix what was broken, to replace what was stolen. Then again, I could be wrong, right? Just a crazy old man, right?” The drawing was finished, the last touches Ebeneezer made without looking down. He turned the newspaper drawings towards Odion, revealing an impressive but not perfect facsimile of the boy and girl from the locket.