TIME WARP: Time for a Change? (Sean)

[Damia Owens]

Damia shook her head to indicate that she wouldn’t mind teaching him. Spit was easy and she had no doubts that he would be able to pick it up fast. At his question, she looked around a moment before she stood as well. The desk was an option but they would have to move things on it and there was always the chance that something might get knocked. Plus, Damia knew from experience that the game was best played with the cards set at a lower level as it was easier to move that way. That left only one option really. ”Um… the floor’s good.” She did hope he wouldn’t mind but he would soon see why.

Moving to an open spot, she sat on the floor with one leg tucked under her and her other knee up. Damia leaned into the knee and rested her chin on top of it as she watched him. Still picking at the cap of the soda bottle she began to explain. ”Well, uh… you gotta shuffle and divide it back and forth. 26 and 26.” Once he had done that she took her pile and shuffled them herself for a few moments. Then Damia began the set up. From left to right she laid down one card face up and four cards face down. On top of the four she put one face up and three face down, then one and two, one and one, and then a final one face up. It looked like Solitaire but with only five piles. The remaining 11 cards were set face down to the right of her row and a row closer to Dr. Neville. Once he had done the same, Damia made sure there was room between her row and his for a third row. Then she began the demonstration.

”Our Spit-Piles” Damia put one hand on each of the sets of 11 left over cards. Then, grabbing the top one of both, she flipped it over and put it them side by side in the middle of the two rows. The direct middle between herself and Dr. Neville. Her card was a five and his was a king. ”Spit.” Damia declared. ”I have two fours.” She took the four from the top of the largest pile and moved it to the four of the lower pile. Then she flipped the facedown card so it was up, grabbed both fours and put them on his five. ”Now we could put either a three or a five... Or an ace or a queen on the king. One up or one down. Aces go to twos or kings. Twos go to aces or threes. If you can’t put anything down you have to wait. If neither of us can put down a card we ‘Spit’ again. When one of us gets rid of all of our cards we both try to slap the lowest pile. Whoever slaps first takes it.” The other takes the higher one. Or, as he was sure to see, the first person might slap the larger pile and have to take it. The goal being, inevitably, to get rid of all of the cards.

Damia looked from the cards to him. It seemed like a fair explanation to her but she’d have to wait to see if he had any questions. She just hoped that he’d catch on fast and be able to keep up with her.

((Or, for a more satisfactory explanation of the game see this wonderful site I just found. Although, I had Damia put the player's spit cards next to the spit piles.))

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was no spry youth, but he still had the ability to sit on the floor for a game of cards or for a conversation. It wasn’t unprecedented for him to do this with other students, and he was equally willing to, and capable of, doing the same for Damia. “The floor it is,” he remarked. Then, taking only the poker deck, since a pinochle deck surely wouldn’t do the trick, he crossed to where she was sitting and slowly settled onto the floor. He crossed his legs and took a moment to make himself comfortable before smiling to show her that he was fine.

He acknowledged the instructions on how to play and removed the cards from their package. After removing the jokers and the poker instruction card, he shuffled a few times and then dealt. One to her then one to himself, back and forth until all of the cards had been divided between their two piles. He watched what she did with her pile and followed suit, shuffling those a couple of times and then mimicking the way she set her cards up. He made the obligatory five piles with the proper cards face up. Then he set aside his designated “spit pile” beside him.

So far, so good.

The psychiatrist watched as she turned over a card from each of their piles, not preventing her from taking from his pile to demonstrate. He acknowledged the rules as she gave them; that seemed fairly simple to remember. One up or one down was standard in several games of this type. And then it followed rules of Solitaire when it came to accessibility of their other cards.

It then appeared to be a game of elimination, which was also easy to understand.

When she finished her explanation, Sean smiled at her. “I think I follow.” Whether he had the dexterity to beat a fourteen-year-old in a game of rapid hand motions was another matter entirely, but he did understand the rules.

Then again, he didn’t care about winning. He cared about providing a distraction to her.

[Damia Owens]

She watched him carefully at each step to make sure he was following but so far there didn’t seem to be any problems. That made her optimistic. Damia found herself wanting this to go well for reasons she couldn’t even begin to put into thought, let alone explain.

With the game set up and explained there was nothing left to do but start. So Damia nodded and returned his cards to him. She then scooped up her own cards again and reshuffled them a few times. Then a few times more. Then one last time just to make sure. After which she set up her half again, laying her spit pile to the side before looking to Dr. Neville to make sure he was good to go.

Her hand rested on the card until she was certain they were ready to start. Then she began. “Spit” And with that, Damia started to shed her cards. She moved slow at first but was quick to pick up pace. As she laid down she continuously glanced from her cards to Dr. Neville’s so as to keep track of how many he still had and which cards he could lay down. When she got the chance, she tried to cut him off, even if it meant she couldn’t lay down a card of her own.

It was all going well until she looked up and found she couldn’t lay down any of her own cards. Great. Now she would have to wait and see what happened on his end.

Damia may have had youth and agility over him but that didn’t count for everything. Dr. Neville could still run out of cards first, and even if he didn’t all he had to do was beat her to the slap.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

With her explanation, Sean thought that he had a fair grasp of the rules of the game. The worst that would happen is that he would lose, and he was sure that if he had difficulty as the game progressed, she would be willing to stop and clarify. It wasn’t a competition, and thus he wasn’t concerned about the play.

He was more concerned with how she felt.

The psychiatrist kept up with her, taking cues from her actions and turning cards up when she declared the spit. Once their starting piles were down, he began to try to move cards as she’d explained, piling cards either one up or one down as the opportunity arrived and then turning over the facedown cards in his personal “board.”

Still, his unfamiliarity with the game made him slower than she was, and the fact that she was thirty-plus years his junior also gave her the reflex advantage. From the corner of his eye, he saw that she had run out of available cards to play. If memory served from her explanation, this was the point at which he was supposed to try to slap the smaller of the two piles. He had only a split-second to make that determination, and then he made his move, slapping his hand down to try to beat her out while also not wanting to hit her in the process.

“My father used to play cards with me,” he remarked. “He and my mother taught me most of the games I know.”

[Damia Owens]

Dr. Neville may not have had the experience or the speed she did but it seemed he wasn’t having too much trouble catching on. The girl moved quickly but she made sure to keep a constant eye on him. It wasn’t necessary but it helped her. Plus, if he made any mistakes or got confused she could always help him.

With the advantage and a bit of luck, Damia was the first to run out of cards. She could see it coming as the last few cards came all in a row. Her attention flickered to Dr. Neville to see if he had noticed. Unsure, Damia decided to act quickly. There was always the chance that he hadn’t noticed and she didn’t want to draw his attention by hesitating. Moving hand over hand she laid one card after another after another then quickly slid her hand to the slap the second pile. Damia beat him to it, but just barely.

Taking the cards, she shuffled them a few times then counted them out. It wasn’t necessary to the game but Damia felt the need. Besides, it helped her determine whether or not she had picked the smaller pile. Counted and approved, she shuffled them some more, added her remaining spit pile, and shuffled a few more times before setting up for the next round.

All the while she debated whether or not to respond to his remark… and what she could possibly say. ”I learned at camp. One of the counselors taught me so I just stayed at Arts and Crafts and we played all the time.” But that was before her mom found out that her daughter refused to participate in anything else and withdrew her from camp.

With her cards set up, Damia shifted herself, lowering the knee she’d been leaning against and kneeling on both legs instead. Then she returned to picking at the cap of the unopened soda bottle until he was ready However, a question lingered on her mind. ”Do people not like to play cards with you sometimes?” Damia didn’t have a problem with it but she imagined that his power might give him an advantage that others might not like.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Unsurprisingly, she had beaten Sean to the smaller of the piles. That didn’t faze the psychiatrist in the slightest, as he wasn’t a competitive person when playing with his peers for money, let alone when engaged in a bonding and distraction activity with a student. Instead, he smiled at her, moved to grab the larger of the two piles, and then followed her actions. He mixed all of the cards together with the remainder of his spit pile and his left over cards from his play area.

The psychiatrist nodded his acknowledgement of where she learned to play the game. It was good that they were having a conversation, even if it was relatively innocuous; it was progress. “Did a lot of people play games like this at camp?”

Summer camp during his childhood hadn’t been the same as it was now. Far fewer people went to camp, and it was usually affiliated with a youth group, like the Boy Scouts or the Girl Scouts. It had been far more common to stay home if one was too young to work, and then to find a summer job if one was old enough.

“Some people don’t,” the psychiatrist admitted, as he set his cards out the way she had shown him earlier. “Some people are uncomfortable with my telepathy and they make snap judgments which are wrong and hurtful, but it isn’t personal.”

Sean didn’t cheat at cards; he didn’t cheat at anything. However, some people often confused opportunity with motive, inclination, and actions. That was inherent in anti-psychic bias, something about which he had strong feelings but only so much could be done. “I found my own group of people to play poker with.”

He could play with Josh when they were together. Otherwise, he played with Claude, and playing with a probability manipulator automatically negated any accusations about telepathic cheating. Claude was also simply skilled at card games.

[Damia Owens]

Damia shrugged a little. "Not really. Most just made lanyards." She had given it a try, but could never really get the stupid bits of plastic to line up evenly enough. So it had been just her and the counselor for the most part. Occasionally other kids had played with her but that never seemed to last for long.

Having set up her cards already, Damia waited for Dr. Neville to be set up as well. She didn't say anything but the way the girl adjusted and readjusted the cards indicated her impatience. Yes, there was bound to be time in between rounds, but really there aught not to be much. At least, as little as possible, and Damia was determined to make there be none. The more time she spent working on following the flow of cards the better she would feel. Conversation was just..... a necessary nicety.... Well, it was polite, and Damia was never comfortable leaving something unaddressed.

As such, the girl felt the need to nod in reply to his response - even as she moved from readjusting the alignment of the cards to picking at the soda bottle. If she'd had his powers, Damia wouldn't have been able to refrain from using them to her advantage. It would have been just another information gathering method. At least, that's the way she saw it. So she could understand why people, might make snap decisions. What surprised her was how nonchalant he seemed about it. Again, she was amazed by how well adjusted he seemed to be. Somehow it helped her feel more at ease.

"That's good," she said, feeling the need to vocalize a response. However, the desire to keep things moving was just as strong as she saw he was set for the next round. Putting her hand on the top card of her spit pile, Damia watched him to make sure he was following suit. Only when she was confident he was ready to go would she flip it over, declared "spit" and started to shed cards as quickly as possible. However, she was determined tha be sooner rathern than later. Playing the game was more her thing than managing the conversation between rounds.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean nodded his understanding; that had been his impression of camp, based on what some of the other students had told him over the years and what he had seen with his nephew. There were arts and crafts that Sean wouldn’t know how to do well, some swimming and other sports, some nature activities, and then whatever else one might do at camp. A couple of patients had made him lanyards before, and the psychiatrist wouldn’t know how to begin doing that without tools. He could knit, but he required needles for that. “Do you like summer?” He asked. It was a fairly innocuous question, but there were potential directions for that conversation. If nothing else, he could discuss sailing.

He was slower at setting up his cards than she was, although he was faster this round than the last. He thought he was getting the hang of it, which was good. He hoped that as the game progressed, he would get even more comfortable, so that he didn’t hold her up, waiting between rounds.

Sean heard the thought, which was also a common response to topics about unethical uses of telepathy. And while he was sure that she truly believed that of herself, the psychiatrist didn’t. Many people gave into minor temptations in everyday life, because nobody was perfect. But when someone had to contend with telepathy on a daily basis, without voices in their heads, with the anti-psychic bias, with everything, they tended to lose the inclinations they might otherwise have. There were ill-mannered psychics, of course, but they weren’t the majority. It wasn’t because psychics were any better than non-psychics; it was because circumstances dictated their behavior.

When she declared spit again, he flipped over the top card from his spit pile. Assessing what had been thrown out by each of them, he then began to try to match where he could.

[Damia Owens]

She was stumped at his question. Did she like summer? For that matter, did she like any of the seasons… or did she dislike any of them? It seemed a peculiar thing, to like or dislike such a general thing. Thinking about it, Damia felt that she had indeed liked summer at one point, years ago – like, back when she was six or seven, maybe younger. However, that was practically a different lifetime. Everything prior to three or four years ago felt like it. Now she didn’t know how she felt about summer.

Damia tried to shake the question from her mind, choosing instead to invest as much of her focus on the card game as she could. It was easier that way. Just her and the cards. But, again, she found that she couldn’t just let the question go. By not saying anything she felt that she was leaving something unfinished. The empty space just hung there. It needed to be filled.

“Do you like summer?” she asked. Still focusing on the cards, Damia’s gaze didn’t break. Maybe he could help her clarify her own thoughts and feelings on the subject. Anything he said could be used to consider whether or not the same applied to her. Then maybe she’d have an answer… or the start of one.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean’s attention wasn’t focused on his cards. While he was keeping up with the game as best he could, given that he was new to this and didn’t have the reflexes that she did, he was far more interested in Damia. As such, he watched her from the corner of his eye: her facial expressions, her body language, the pattern of her gaze.

They would make progress; he was sure of that.

The psychiatrist added another few sequential cards to the piles between them. At her question, he nodded and offered her a smile. “I do. I liked it when I was a student, although for different reasons. Summer meant vacation and time with my family; it meant the baseball season and sailing and swimming.” He sighed to himself at the nostalgia. “I still go sailing, and I enjoy the warm weather and the greater daylight. Particularly in Vermont, any respite from the snow is welcome.”

He neared the end of his “game space” as he added another card to the pile nearest him. He had to determine if he had anymore playable cards.

“What do you think of the snow?” Since summer hadn’t worked to spark conversation, they could try its polar opposite.

[Damia Owens]

Damia glanced his way as she caught sight of the movement of him laying down a few more cards. Quickly, she added a few more to his, eager to take the opening his cards had given her.

At first she wasn’t sure if asking him had helped at all. Vacation and family time weren’t exactly something she looked forward to. As for baseball? That meant almost nothing to her. All sports were stupid and pointless. Swimming was definitely a big no. But sailing? Sailing sounded interesting. And she could agree to both the warmer weather and the greater daylight. “Daylight is good,” Damia said, glad to have found something. “I like that.” She paused a moment as she laid down a couple of cards. “What- what’s sailing like?”

Damia found herself glancing up at him out of curiosity. She was quick, however, to turn her attention back to the game. They were both almost out but it seemed things had slowed down as less of the cards were playable. If both of them still had cards to lay down but neither pile was open they would have to spit again. Since it was looking like they would have to, she let her right hand hover over her the spit pile, ready to go.

Ah, he had changed the question a little there. Damia wondered if he had done it on purpose and was quick to conclude that he had. There was a big difference between thinking and feeling. Thinking she could do.

“The light reflects off the snow. A lot.” She probably wouldn’t have noticed it prior to her powers. Now… it was impossible not to. Of course it only reflected so much, but it was a lot more than the regular ground. “It’s like a second sky.” Although dimmer, it changed the directionality and tones of the light on the world. Shadows were practically non-existent. Even on the most cloudy of days. That never happened when there wasn’t snow.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean had hoped to make some inroads discussing hobbies, and he could go off about increased daylight for a while. It made sense that she would take some interest in the seasons and how they related to her powers. Although as quickly as she had mentioned it, she changed the topic on him, albeit marginally. Once again deflecting back to him, not talking but instead choosing to listen.

It was a familiar tactic, but one which the psychiatrist would indulge for the sake of conversation. “I’ve always liked sailing,” he said, once more splitting his attention between watching the card piles to play and watching her movements through the corner of his eye. “There’s a lot of freedom on the water. You’re a bit of an entity unto yourself, away from everyone else, unless you go with someone. And in some ways, it’s close to nature, between the sunlight and the water and the wind whipping through your hair. I find it relaxing.”

It was a break from the pace of life. And if he was able to convince a friend or significant other to go with him, then the trips were all the more pleasant. “You can picnic on a boat. Or fish. Or feed the fish.” He smiled at the thought, before laying down another couple of cards and turning over what he could on his “board.”

And then it happened. In discussing winter, he finally got her to take the initiative in the discussion. Again, about light, but that was important to her, and he was happy to listen. “Particularly in Vermont, with our winters,” he remarked, before lapsing back into silence to let her continue to talk. When little followed, he eventually prompted, “There must be so much you can do in the winter.”

Although the days were shorter.

[Damia Owens]

Damia had no experiences with which she could compare his description of sailing to, and perhaps she was quick to romanticize the idea of it, but it sounded quite wonderful. She imagined it was peaceful, alone on the water. Like an escape from the world, from life and everything else. Maybe she would go one day. It could be her get away.

Even as she thought it, however, Damia knew it wasn’t going to happen. There was no way she could do it. Something would stop her. Something always did. It saddened her a little, but she could still hold on to the idea of it. Even if it was an exaggeration.

She nodded at his comment. The winters in Vermont were quite white. Although, she wasn’t so sure there was all that much to do. Laying down her final cards, Damia slapped for the lowest pile, but her speed had slowed. It seemed she didn’t know how to respond to that.

There was silence as she mulled over what he’d said. Was there a lot to do? Her first response was ‘no’, but the more she thought about it, the more Damia realized that she simply didn’t do much at all. The season didn’t matter. She just… sort of sat around by herself. It wasn’t that the realization made her uncomfortable, but she did feel kind of guilty. She didn’t do any normal activities because she had no interest. In fact, it was the opposite of interest. She wanted nothing to do with the things people did. But, at the same time, it made her feel like there was something wrong with her.

“…I don’t… do anything.” Refusing to look back up at him, Damia finally began to gather up her cards and set up for the next round. She didn’t know what she expected him to say, but there was part of her that surely hoped for some sort of reassurance.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean agreed that sailing was wonderful, although he didn’t romanticize it in the quite the same way. It wasn’t an exotic pastime, but rather one that had pleasant memories and one at which he knew that he was skilled enough. However, whenever he thought about sailing, he smiled to himself, because it was pleasant and calm out on the water, and nothing could take that away from him.

For that reason, he advocated it as an activity for those in need of the relaxation. For that reason, he would recommend it to Damia, when she was a bit calmer and more accustomed to the area, perhaps a little older. If she had a proper guide, he was sure that she would get the hang of it, and that she would enjoy it.

But that was a matter for the future.

With this turn, he was a bit faster than the last time, although his reflexes were still those of a middle-aged man. Because she had been slow, he managed to beat her, but just barely. The psychiatrist was inclined to give her the smaller pile regardless, but he knew that was against the rules of the game, and he didn’t want her to think that he treated this as anything less than serious and in good faith. As such, he picked up the smaller of the piles and counted quickly, before shuffling those cards to set up his “board” again.

Her revelation wasn’t particularly surprising, given what he knew of her time before Hammel and of her current anxiety. However, a lack of hobbies or other pastimes could be remedied. “That’s all right,” he told her, glancing across the floor to gauge her facial expressions. There was no eye contact, since she had her head bowed, but he offered it regardless.

“Sometimes it takes a while for us to find a hobby that suits us. Do you read?”

Popular culture didn’t count reading as a hobby, but it counted as far as Sean was concerned.
"Do you like hot cocoa? That's always nice in the winter."