Time Warp: Uncreative Recruitment Title

[Astley Pyatt]

Time warp: February 2011

Astley sat nervously in the waiting room of the hospital, knowing Brandon didn't want to see her. Well, after what she'd done to him last night, it only made sense. Still, she twitched in trepidation, feeling clammy all over. What had she done - how had she done it? One second she and her boyfriend had been kissing, as teenagers are wont to do, and the next he was running out the door, a hand-shaped burn on his cheek.

She kicked her heels against the legs of the rigid plastic chair, her mind barely registering her annoyance at how waiting rooms were never very comforting, instead still buzzing with the white noise of shock. In the past 18 hours she couldn't sleep, and it showed on her face, her eyes heavy and a deep wrinkle of concern in her brow. She had been so relieved when Brandon's parents had given her his room number, worried he would have told them he never wanted to see her again, but now she was stuck waiting for him to receive visitors, and still not sure if he'd accept her visit.

Astley had left her father in the car, unable to explain why Brandon was in the hospital, and why she was so upset, but now she wished he was there to comfort her. Instead she sat alone, hands wringing and head hung, waiting and waiting and waiting.

[Wayne Dietrich]

Wayne looked up at the hospital and shook his head tiredly. Too often was it a hospital where he had to pick up these poor kids, and too often had they been hurt and frightened by their own powers. Newly manifested and already scared to death of what they could do, knowing it could hurt themselves or others. And some people thought that what they could do was an "unfair advantage".

Walking through the sterile halls, the old man spoke to the woman at the front desk, looking for the girl he'd been sent to find. Apparently, she hadn't been admitted (no surprise), but as the nurse looked around a moment the recruiter saw her on the visitor's log. When asked, the nurse pointed him down the hall, and he thanked her and walked on. Moments later, he saw a girl fitting the picture in his file, and sat down a seat away, letting her be for a moment before looking to her and speaking.

"It's not your fault, you know."

[Astley Pyatt]

Astley blinked in surprise, glancing up, wondering if the old man really was talking to her, before she quickly averted her eyes, busying herself with boring a hole through the floor with her intent stare. She felt herself heating up, embarrassed, mortified even, at what it might mean if he really was addressing her. Did he know? How could he know? Did Brandon report her? Was this man with the police? Was she going to be arrested?

Her breath quickened a bit, the anxiety building along with the heat, and she barely registered the slight crackling sound as the paper behind her head on the bulletin board curled a bit, as though it were sitting in an oven. She felt, for just a moment, tears pricking her eyes, but they were gone in an instant as she assured herself that he couldn't know anything, that he assumed she was mourning over a parent or a sibling with a disease or something. Something where it really wouldn't have been her fault. Except, this time, it was.

Astley turned her head in the opposite direction, glancing toward Brandon's wing, hoping to see someone who could take her to him, so she could apologize. "I-" Her voice came before she could stop it, but as soon as she heard it, she shut her jaw tight, refusing to speak.

[Wayne Dietrich]

The old man looked back behind the girl as the paper started to crackle and curl, darkening as the heat radiating from the blonde damaged it. Even he was feeling it in his wool suit. Fortunately, the heat lasted only a moment or so before the cool hospital air returned and dissipated the smell of hot paper.

"It really is okay, you know," he kept on, looking at the girl even though she'd turned her head away. "Sometimes things can get out of control. Sometimes people get hurt. Best thing to do really is to let people who've gone through that same pain help you out." Waiting until a person down the hall walked by, the recruiter pulled a business card from his breast pocket and held it out to the girl with his right hand, the brassy metal of the appendage glinting dully in the institutional lighting.

"My name's Wayne. What's yours, darlin'?"

[Astley Pyatt]

Astley stared for a second, shocked by his metal hand. She looked from it, to the business card, to the man's face, and then back to the hand. It took a second for his words to sink in. "Astley," she answered, tentatively taking the card. She cocked her head to the side a bit, unconsciously, as she read it. "What do you recruit for?" She asked in a murmur, trying to get off the subject of pain and hurt. The company - or whatever it was - name didn't sound familiar. And his hand was still drawing her attention. She wondered if it was just his hand, or if it went up to his elbow, or his shoulder - she glanced quickly to the other hand, wondering (in a flight of fancy) if he were really a robot, but seeing his plain hand, she quickly felt stupid for thinking that was a possibility.

[Wayne Dietrich]

Letting her take the card without so much as a tug, Wayne smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Astley," he replied gently. "I recruit young people like you for a school in Vermont. It's a boarding school, made specifically for people like you and me."

Noticing that she was eyeing his hand a little warily, the old man flipped it over back and forth, then drummed the fingers against the glass and brass palm. The sound was much like coins clinking against a glass, mixed with a gentle whirring and clicking noise. "Car accident," he offered up, meeting her stare briefly before looking back to the limb. "Train hit me on a stormy night, lost my arm and leg. Took me six years to build this arm, and another year to get moving on a new leg."

Knocking the metal hand against his knee with a light clang to prove the point, he added, "Fortunately, I've got a knack for machines that keeps it moving. I think you've got a knack, too, missy."

[Astley Pyatt]

Astley gave him a dumb look, her jaw a little slack as he explained his accident, and she glanced to his leg with curiosity. A school? She was a little on edge - a guy approaching a teenage girl to recruit for a 'school' came off as a tad creepy - but one look at this specific man, old as he was, with such a kind smile, and she trusted him despite herself. She peered around the waiting room, checking to see if anyone was nearby, before she asked, hesitatingly, "What - what do you mean, knack?"

[Wayne Dietrich]

Recruiting was one of the hardest jobs, in Wayne's opinion. Having to go around the country, explaining to people about this school they never knew existed in the middle of Vermont, taking their children off to make sure they could handle these strange gifts (or, God forbid, "curses") they'd suddenly found themselves with.. it was a lot to take in. It rarely got easier, too, unless the kid had a parent who'd already gone though it. A parent who was a meta.

Frankly, he should have talked to her parents first. But he'd expected to find them here, with her. Now, it was just the two of them, which tended to put all sorts of people on edge, not just Astley. Fortunately, metahumans lived out here like everywhere else, and a couple of nurses had noticed the two of them and kept away, making sure that they had space to talk. Such small gestures were always appreciated.

"Well, I can make anything with moving parts move," he answered. "Can feel what ails them a bit, too, if I listen close. As for you, well..." Gesturing behind her to the cooling paper, Wayne continued, "A colleague of mine said you can change the temperature around you. Looks like he was right."

[Astley Pyatt]

She jerked forward at his comment, worried she'd done something wrong, and was surprised to find the paper rather worse for wear. "Oh." She managed, dumbly. "I didn't - I mean... I wasn't sure... I don't know how that happened," was all she could say, feeling silly.

So, a school in Vermont, for people like her... "What do other people do?" She asked, quietly, curiosity starting to feed her imagination as she considered what little she knew of metas. She never thought she'd be one, she'd never met one before. She always associated the idea of metas with superheroes, and the actual real thing with people in suits making speeches to congress about civil rights, and people in military uniforms watching from the sidelines.

[Wayne Dietrich]

Resisting the urge to chuckle (the girl would only be more embarrassed if she thought he was laughing at her), the old mechanic only shook his head with a smile. "It happens all the time," he assured her. "When I was a little older than you, I used to make clocks run too fast or cars stall when I was upset. A little time and a lot of practice can help keep your gift from showing itself when you don't want it to."

Looking off to the wall, Wayne whistled out a small sigh and leaned back, relaxing his shoulders a bit. "Well, let's see," he started, thinking it over a moment. "The headmaster's got the knack of flying, with wings to help her to boot. The school psychiatrist - charming man, very nice and a good listener - well, he's a telepath. He can read people's thoughts. There's trainers of all sorts, and my friend Willie Lowry can sooth people with his voice. Kids like you can breathe water, or have a strong knack with electronics, or heal faster than most... there's a boy that's been around a long while who's a pyrokinetic; controls fire, you know?

"Everyone's a little different," he concluded, looking back at her with a smile. "Mostly, it's just like any other school, with kids from all over this side of the world. You're still going to learn your math and English and all that, still going to get a diploma when you graduate. These powers just make it a little more exciting sometimes."

[Astley Pyatt]

It was odd when he called it a gift. She couldn't think of it that way. Not here, not after all that had happened. But the idea that maybe she could control it - that she could make it stop, maybe, she hoped - it was like this slightest spark of promise. And she had to admit, the idea of seeing other with odd abilities ignited her imagination. She wondered what people would be like, what sorts of things were different for the sake of the powers... Her curious nature urged her on, despite the fear that still felt like a rock in her stomach at what she'd done.

She glanced down the hall toward Brandon's room, and winced slightly. In a way, going now would be running away. But she wanted to, so badly, to run away and never have to think about this again.

"...How do I..." She didn't even know what to say - apply? Go? Get there? She just wanted to know what to do. She needed direction.

[Wayne Dietrich]

It was hard for people to understand their powers were completely normal when they put someone they cared about (or themselves) in the hospital. Even harder to understand it as a gift. Wayne had been lucky, in that respect; his powers had manifested benignly, and had helped him avoid a wheelchair where modern medicine at the time could not. His powers were a gift, but only because he had mastered them. If he hadn't, could he have caused car accidents? Plane crashes? Critical equipment malfunctions? He supposed so. But it hadn't happened that way, so despite needing metal limbs, he counted himself pretty lucky.

"How do you enroll?" he asked gently, searching her face for confirmation. "Well, that's pretty easy. By law, all new metahumans - that's us, by the way - must attend a particular school until they learn to control their powers. So, technically, you're already enrolled and I can take you to Vermont any time you're ready. Still need to talk to your folks about this and look to setting up when you can come back for holidays and such, but we can be out of town tomorrow if things go smoothly."

Knowing that this might have scared her a bit, the old recruiter smiled. "But we can also take some time if you need to say some goodbyes." Goodbyes were important.