Slapstick Comedy (OPEN)

[Greg Mackenzie]

Oh lunch time.

A high concentration of people in a small space only meant the noise in his head would be louder. Add to the fact that this increased his probability of rubbing elbows with someone – and thus inadvertently going inside their head and finding out at least 5% of their deepest darkest thoughts within that split-second – only made it much worse. The fact that food’s involved (and the Hammel cafeteria actually served decent dishes, in his opinion anyway) was the only thing that set it apart from the terror that was going through the halls and swimming through the sea of people to get to his next class.

He hadn’t realized it yet, but his anxiety about being surrounded by so many people – an odd thing caused by his manifestation really, as Greg’s been a self-proclaimed extrovert (the non-loud and non-rambunctious kind, he adds) – and losing control, prompting another ‘incident’, was slowly becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s breaking his walls down, letting more thoughts in, making him more worried which then make his walls weaker.

The only thought that’s running through the brunette’s head at the moment – and what was keeping him sane – was that he couldn’t appear weak. Sure they had no idea who he was, but he’s a new kid. High school taught him that if the new kid showed signs of weakness people would exploit it and use it so much against that kid, and sadly, he hadn’t encountered much of Hammel to think otherwise.

Greg had just grabbed the last mango mousse cake and was on his way to an empty table just by the doors when he accidentally brushed by someone. He didn’t know where they touched or how, but he knew it was a skin-to-skin contact as he smelled the jasmine scented candles that girl’s mother puts around their summer cabin, felt the pain she had when she was told her grandmother had cancer, and tasted that tangy, rusty quality of her blood when she cut herself in training that morning.

The sensations were just overwhelming that he tripped on something and sent his entire tray flying – soup, pasta dish, dessert and all. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed right after he faceplanted on the floor, “I so did not mean it!”

God this is so cliché I can’t even.

[Georgina Speer]

George was just about ready for this day to end.

First off, she had been in training for 5 minutes and when she went to get some water, she had turned around and scraped her finger across a nail protruding from the wall, meaning she now hand a cut along her pinkie, covered with a bandage. And after she had gotten through training, a few hours later, she had returning to her dorm and tripped and fell, hitting her chin on something-or-other and making the practically healed bruise throb again. In the process, she also knocked off a picture frame with her whole family in it, and had broken the glass. It was one of her only pictures with her grandma in before she had passed away. It had been 5 years ago, undetected Stage 4 breast cancer. It had only been discovered a year beforehand, and it was too far gone to be reversed. Grandma had been a huge source of support for her, even though she didn't really need it desperately. She was always there for her, always knew what she liked and didn't and she knew how to cheer her up when she was down. All the usual grandparent business. It was all perfect and then it what seemed like a blink of an eye, she was gone. It was unbelievable, and although she knew she had to continue on, there would always be a reminder at some point. Talking about cancer in science class, seeing that photo, going to see Grandad... it wasn't easy to get over.

So that was settled on her conscience too. And now she just wanted to gorge on something sweet. Which she did, her candy stash was more than enough to do that for her. But she was thirsty too. So she fell out of her room in track bottoms and a t-shirt and went to buy a drink from cafeteria, groaning and falling about the hallways like a sleepy drunkard.

Without causing anymore accidents, however, she was finally there. She went to go grab a bottle of something fizzy and full of diabetes when she brushed into someone... but that was something that happened everyday, would were always touching people in the halls on a crowded day.

...that was not the best way to put it, but you know what I mean. So, that happened and she was about to continue walking in the opposite direction when she heard lots of noise. Spinning on her heels, she heard his exclamations and went to help him up, "Doesn't matter, are you alright?" She held out a hand for him to use to pull himself up if he wanted. "I would know what a blow to the face feels like, it's not much fun."

She was slowly learning to deal with her encounter with Kodi better. For one, she wasn't scared to leave her dorm now, she was talking to people again and she wasn't frightened by the mere thought of his name. That was a start at least.

[Greg Mackenzie]

Well at least his food didn’t fly into anyone else’s person. Because not only would it be a totally overused comedy trope, depending on who gets hit, it might also mean he’d get a huge target on his back. And it’s too early for him to become public enemy number one. Not to mention that a hormonal teen’s hard enough to handle; a teen blessed with otherworldly powers blinded by the embarrassment of being seen dripping with tomato sauce in the middle of the day?

He’s lucky if he could even make it to second period.

“Fun doesn’t even enter the top twenty words I’d describis the sensation with,” he said with a chuckle, hoping his smile would help disperse the attention he suddenly drew to himself. He didn’t have to be a telepath to know that more than half of the people in the cafeteria were looking at him. He fell with a loud thud after all, and might’ve unconsciously projected his expletives to a number of them.

Of all the powers he could’ve gotten, he had to get the crappy one.

Greg got on all fours and slowly stood up. With his right hand he rubbed his forehead and felt blood (a fact he knew due to the thoughts he picked up; he honestly didn’t feel it) while with his left he instinctively grabbed the hand that was offered to him. Huge mistake. Another onslaught of memories, this time the more intimate physical contact making it unbearable. It was a lot, and out of it he could pick out at most three: the disgust at the thought of eating a banana, that she’s been in Hammel for over three years now, and a weird giraffe hat.

“Holy,” yelped the brunette, quickly taking his hand off and tumbling backwards. He almost threw up; thank goodness he caught it last minute. He didn’t want to look more helpless than he already was.

“So sorry,” he muttered, taking in deep breaths – an exercise he learned from one of the people he met during the first day, “I’m what they call a telepath I think.” He’s not in on the whole lingo yet. “Power goes haywire under duress. Totes not you.”

If everyone could just stop staring at me like a wounded puppy and go back to their damn lives, that’d be great. He wasn’t sure if that got thru, but hopefully it did. It’s his first deliberate attempt after all.

[Georgina Speer]

George had to agree; the boy was definitely lucky not to have hit someone. Some of the people at Hammel were dark, unforgiving and spiteful. That might sound overly dramatic, but it couldn't be more accurate. There were just some people you didn't want to get on the wrong side of here, and George knew that quite well.

She giggled when he spoke, at least he had a sense of humour. She couldn't deal with a grouch right now.

If she could've heard his thoughts, she would've been denying his idea profusely. Telepathy, although inconvenient at times, was AWESOME. Tracking, on the other hand, was practically useless. I mean, you could stalk other people without them knowing. Woo?

George was more than confused at the boy's reaction to touching her hand. Her brow furrowed in worry and curiousity when he jumped back as if he had encountered an electric shock. Careful not to touch him again, she frowned, but as he explained, it seemed to make sense. It was deffinitely interesting, how he worded his sentence, 'I'm what they call a telepath, I think.' She didn't mean to be purposefully prejudiced, but he seemed a little old to be behind on the name given to the people with his power. She was now officially intrigued.

"A lot of people's powers go a bit doo-lally under stress or when they had strong emotions. Like if I use mine when I'm strained, the side effects generally come on quicker and have more of an impact." It was true, it was the same with many others. You could just tell them and they would easily relate.

And then, his voice was in her head. It didn't seem perfect, by any means... it was like picking up a radio signal, it was like there was static which stopped the message from sounding complete. It came out kind of like:

'...everyone...stop...me...wounded...go...be great.'

Definitely shaky, but understandable, and not just by her. Quite a few of the other students who had been taking an interest just continued talking to their mates or buying food, and the level of chatter in the room grew again.

Even though everything was settling down again, the guy still seemed a little shaken and... was that blood? George reached out to take one of his arms, but pulled away before she made any contact. That was something she needed to remember. Instead, she smiled, "Do you wanna go? You look like you need cleaning up and I have sweets in my room if you're hungry?"

[Greg Mackenzie]

Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Breathe out. Four. Five. Six. In. Seven. Eight. Nine. Out. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Focus on breathing. In. One. Two. Three. Out. Four. Five. Six. Rinse and repeat.

A very crude calming exercise he’s learned from an older pyrokinetic he met a few days back, true. But since the ‘voices’ were gradually getting softer and softer, and he can slowly hear himself think again, it was enough.

It also didn’t help that he wasn’t surrounded by strangers anymore. Well, technically she was a stranger but not that much of a stranger. Sure he hasn’t had the chance to ask what her name was, but he’s known far more intimate details. (God his power was just so weird he can’t even). Greg unconsciously focused on her, using her akin to an anchor as he tried to rein his powers. And while it did speed the rebuilding of his mental walls part, it also had an unwanted side effect of going into her thoughts.

But lucky for them, he’s still incompetent when it came to really digging in deep and only got “older”.

Like no context whatsoever. Just that word, in her voice. Which meant Greg was all just “what?” and decided to shrug it off.

“Damn. So much for hope eh,” he said with a weak smile, colour slowly coming back to his cheeks. Most of the people sneeringlooking at him have already walked away, and there weren’t much negative thoughts he’s getting. Except from that one Asian kid who’s white pants he’s soiled. (They were but splashes from his tomato soup, he might add). “What does training do then?”

It was quite the struggle, but the brunette finally managed to get himself up. “My mother always said never to go with strangers, especially if they’re offering sweets.” Greg added a little laugh in the end, just so she knew he wasn’t serious. (Not everyone can read minds right? Or could she? That would make his sarcasm less confusing). And while he’s a little weak at the moment, he’s pretty sure he could take her on if she did something kooky. Like bite his head off or something. “I’d kind of want to clean this up first though. Don’t want the kitchen staff putting me in a blacklist or something.”

“I’m Greg by the way,” he shrugged, trying to look for paper towels, “I’d shake your hand but I’m not sure if I’m ready. Do you do delayed handshakes?”

[Georgina Speer]

George just smiled a little awkwardly back. It was amazing, to be born with these 'magical' powers that others dreamed of, but man, they could be a bitch sometimes! "Training helps you to get a better hold on your power, so you can use it properly." She though about her own training for a second. She'd jumped between a few trainers and currently, she was trainer-less (which needed to change). The amount of training beforehand had been enough to stop her from randomly slipping into her tracking visions, but her side effects came only easily still and took a huge toll of her. "Its easier for people with physical powers, they know exactly how to train. Mental powers are just fucking awkward." She almost gasped at her own swearing, "'Scuse my French." She was fine with cuss words, personally, but she respected the fact that some others might not be.

Georgina chuckled lightly with him, "That's some damn good advice." In hindsight, it was a little creepy, what she had said. Pedos were famous for luring kids away with sweets, and she'd practically done the same with this... stranger. Ugh, she was such an idiot. "But I won't bite." A few seconds later, a shiver shook her body. Why was everything she was saying today reminding her of Kodi!? It wasn't fair.

She nodded, "Fair enough." She kind of left it as a given that she would help. Her eyes searched for cleaning supplies, which were most likely with the kitchen staff. "Name's George, nice to meet you, Greg." She puffed out a breath of a laugh, "I can do delayed handshakes." It was an interesting concept... she'd try to remember about it.

"Be right back." She stated quickly, bounding up to the kitchen. Her thoughts from before had gone down the drain now, she was too distracted to even remember what she was thinking about beforehand. After a quick talk with the cafeteria staff, she returned with paper towels a plenty. "Now we can be peasants and clean!" She announced to Greg, throwing his a roll of tissue. They could talk while they cleaned.