Another awkward moment courtesy of nostalgia (Evan

[Evan Coleman]

As soon as lunch hour hit, Evan bustled out of his office with ungodly haste. It wasn't that the amount of paperwork he had to re-process was gradually turning him off of the idea of a just and merciful God (or similar figure), but . . . oh, wait, it was exactly that. Aside from his run-in earlier that morning, School Counselor seemed to revolve around leaving more marks on E-44 forms (what the hell were those, anyway?) than students.

Besides, he'd been promising himself a little something before lunch: A tiny little on-a-whim flight of nostalgia for his days as a student here.

The auditorium was dark when he discretely shunted the door open, with unwilling sunbeams speckling the floor and seats with patches of light through the windows placed high along the walls. Evan switched on the lights and marveled at the changes. Somebody had splurged on better lighting equipment, and he could see an actual tech booth had been installed, rather than the less-than-discreet folding table behind the back row over which Tanner and Riley had so memorably fumbled and hovered and cursed. Still, the smells were the same, and the old proscenium theater seemed to beckon him.

He slung himself onto the stage and took a deep breath, savoring the aroma of theatrical productions long past. With his eyes closed and the familiar clip-clop of the stage boards on his shoes, it was not so much of an effort to take himself back to that night. Orsino and Viola had just exited, leaving him alone on the stage. He had been wearing corduroy pants with suspenders over a collared shirt splashed with colors, which had combined with a polka-dotted bow tie to make him look truly foolish. He remembered the initial spiral of anxiety as he opened his mouth, fearing that his voice would betray him in his final, favorite lines of the play . . .

"When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With a hey, a ho, the wind and the rain . . ."

Evan was a nervous singer, but the haunting melody that Annie had composed more than made up for it. He swayed across the stage, drinking in the memories of that show.

"But when I came, alas! to wive,
With a hey, a ho, the wind and the rain . . ."

He'd been overjoyed to be cast as Feste, and had watched in amusement as the sexual politics of the theater department had played out in ridiculous parallel to the events of Twelfth Night. A flicker of memories danced before his eyes: falling into hysterics while watching their Toby Belch and Andrew Aguecheek learn how to properly act drunk, Annie coming in one day and utterly reblocking the entirety of Act 4 Scene 1 in a manic haste, the awkward moment when Viola and Olivia had to embrace each other as sisters when the actresses had wanted to strangle each other over the actor playing Orsino (oh Greg, you card!). It had been, if not his best job acting or singing, at least one of favorite experiences at the school.

"The world began a great while hence,
With a bang and a crash and the wind and the raiiiiiin . . .
But that's all one . . . my tale is done . . .
And we'll striiiiive to please you every dayyyyy . . ."

Stillness greeted the end of that song, and Evan sighed contentedly. God, he'd missed theater.

Suddenly, the door ground open. Evan started and attempted to assume a normal attitude, swearing internally. This would be the second time that day for a student to catch him in a somewhat embarrassing attitude.

"Hi there!" he beamed to this new face, trying to seem personable, inviting, and absolutely not insane.

[Penelope Lopez]

She heard the singing from further down the hall, and whoever was in there sure had some talent. Penelope hadn't encountered a whole lot of these people yet, and she had to admit; It piqued her curiousity. Also because the voice was male, and male singers were usually easy to get into bed.

The sight that met her when she opened the doors and walked in (Without knocking, how typical of her.) was far from what she had expected. It was a tall, brown haired man probably in his early twenties who stood upon the stage. He looked rather embarrassed, but she didn't really mind; He was HOT.

Penelope put on a confident smile as she walked towards him down the aisle. ''Hi yourself, Tarzan.'' She got up on the stage and eyed him up and down, taking all of him in. ''Aren't you a little old to be hanging around here?'', she asked before resting her hand on her hip and looking straight into his eyes. Maybe he was a college student who had came back to haunt himself with the past good times? She really had no idea. But hey, she had always wanted to sleep with a college guy.

She clearly wasn't afraid to use clothes that complimented her body, though she had no idea he was a counselor and how incredible inapropierate it was. Not that she would have cared either way. He was hot, she was hot, checkmate. And it wasn't like she hadn't had an affair with a teacher before. Though, he had been in his thirties/forties, so...

[Evan Coleman]

Evan took one look at the young lady that had just walked in and immediately understood the circumstances that would have inspired Alan Ball to write American Beauty. He'd known that Hammel's dress code was pretty lax, but this girl's clothes appeared to have reached about halfway up her chest and halfway down her thighs, declared victory, and resolved to never extend their borders through conquest again. Dark haired, tan skinned, piercing eyes married to a slight Mexican accent . . . He felt the urge to hum a certain ditty by Messrs. Hall and Oates.

And her emotions . . . Lord. It was all he could do not to gag at the pepper and vinegar of her emotions. Anger, certainly; this girl had an anger swooping through her like a crazed hawk (old, too: it savored of something that had been left to ferment in the wine cellar of her mind). There were yellow twists of self-doubt buttressed with orange bitterness and misanthropy, and the lust! Oy with the lust! Hardly the confused pangs and jolts of pubescence (which he rather savored when accompanied with the right smoothie), it was a sinewy shimmering thing, snaking amongst her anger like an anaconda, caked with unresolved childhood issues. The concoction was spicy, bitter, and altogether overpowering. The only thing separating this girl from gainful employment at a strip club was a good education and Vermont statutory laws.


All right, Evan thought to himself, this will be your first tough nut to crack!

Tough nut to crack/bust. Tough nut to bust. Lolz, I made a funny. GOD I hope she's not a telepath.

"Can't say I've heard Tarzan before," he chuckled, jumping off the stage, "and hardly. I'm Evan, the new school counselor. Although you do have a point; I am certainly too old for this stage."

He extended a hand to her, smiling as politely and professionally as he could and doing his best to ignore the dolphins of her lust as they flitted about the surface of her thoughts.

"What's your name?"

(OOC=apologies for the lateness of the post. I have varying wireless access)

[Penelope Lopez]

The second he mentioned he was a counsler, she quickly took a step back. Her entire being glowed with suspicion. She quickly looked to the right and to the left to make sure they were alone, before her eyes glared at him. She didn't want this, she wanted nothing to do with this man. She merely looked at his hand and scoffed. Yeah, as if. She wasn't going to bite on this one. She had nothing to say to this idiot who probably planned on fixing her. Not that there was anything to fix, or so she herself thought.

All feelings of lust had been replaced by anger, suspicion and disgust. He had truly caught her off guard as she would never have taken this guy for being a counselor. She made sure the distance between them were far enough so she could bolt if he tried anything. And the fact that she didn't know what this could do, scared her. Maybe he could read minds? If so, she was already screwed. She tried pressing out every thought about her father and her childhood away, just in case.

''As if, Egghead.'', she said with a hostile tone added to her voice. She was stepping on her toes here, being as careful as she could. She wanted to get out of here, as far away as she could. But that would just raise suspicion with this man. Though, he was young, so his experience couldn't have been all that much to brag about. But after her experience steps of caution was always to be made, no matter how friendly or good looking they were.

(OOC: Oh, don't worry. Take as much time as you possibly need!)

[Evan Coleman]

"Woah there! Just saying hi! I come in peace!" exclaimed Evan, holding hands up in mock surrender. This was less than optimal: the lust had receded, but in its place popped up a whole legion of anger and suspicion, prickling and steel-sharp. Preconceived notions of authority? Of course, this girl had probably had some negative experiences with therapy before.

"Okay, let me correct myself: I'm Evan. I'm EMPLOYED as the new school counselor. I'm also a graduate on a nostalgia trip during his lunch hour. Believe me, I'm not here to drag anyone into my office."

Suspicion lay heavily on her brow and emotional landscape. She looked like she was ready to bolt. Her whole emotive landscape had collapsed into a smoldering primordial stew of suspicion and fear, with a heavy black crust of repression. Evan was beginning to feel bad about his initial assessment of her: this girl had a peculiar wounded strength about her. She had the undefinable air of one who had cut her way through life by sheer force of will, through jungles of iniquity that would have long swallowed up a lesser soul. He hoped she'd talk to him eventually, but didn't kid himself that it'd be a quick process.

"I'll make you a deal," he continued, backing up, "I'll go take a look around backstage, and you can have the auditorium to yourself if you'd like. I'm just here for the memories, anyway."

[Penelope Lopez]

She took a deep breath and held it for a second before slowly releasing to calm herself down. She was still suspicious to this man, even if he promised he came in peace. She had to be careful so she didn't say anything wrong. She didn't want to be sent to some office so they could tell her everything that was wrong with her. She already knew that.

It didn't matter much why he was here. She had learned from everything that had happened that one had to be careful around people who picking your brain apart for a living. But still, there was something soothing about his presence. Almost comfortable. She calmed down a little, though still wary of his every movement and word. ''It's fine.'', she mumbled awkwardly and looked away.

She felt bad for putting on such a hard shell when he hadn't really done anything wrong. He was just being nice, and yet, here she was, scaring him away. He had truly caught her off guard, and to think, she almost hit on him! She sighed. ''Look, I'm sorry.'' She couldn't really believe what came out of her mouth. She, Penelope Lopez was apologizing to someone? Wow, that was a new one.

[Evan Coleman]

The girl's suspicion and fear had simmered lower at his willingness to walk away, but now her emotional landscape was oscillating, in that awkward little pendular motion between insecurity and awareness of how irrational it was. Evan (for purely aesthetic reasons) absolutely hated that kind of emotional dynamic. Just watching it made him feel like he was on one of those goddamn spinning teacup rides, and he despised those rides. He rifled desperately through his Psych classes, trying to remember anything that might make it go away.

In his haste to escape adolescence, had he entirely forgotten just how much of an emotional roller coaster everything was? Or, had he remembered the roller coaster but forgotten why it was such a ride in the first place? Everything could be so bloody new in terms of how people suddenly treated you, and how your body was feeding you the world, but you still had the same old memories and experiences from before. It must've been like waking up with someone else's emotions in your head, but not having Evan's luxury of being able to say "Oh, well, that's all right. Probably someone next door is having a bad time." You're never in your right mind as a teenager, Evan reflected, simply because your right mind doesn't even exist yet.

Right mind . . . the mind . . . oh, of course! That would explain the skittishness around therapy.

He just hoped that lightly denigrating his boss while on his 30 day probationary period wasn't grounds for termination. He really didn't want to have to go back to job hunting so soon.

"Hey, it's fine," he assured her, having a seat onstage, "I'd prickle up too if the only therapist I'd ever seen could read minds AND prescribe pills. All respect to Dr. Neville, of course (seriously, bless that man for my paycheck). How about this: I'll accept your apology if you'll tell me your name."

He found himself slipping out of his professional mentality somewhat, just trying to talk to this girl as one person to another. He felt a pang of worry about this. Was this unprofessional and potentially detrimental to his ability to potentially play the role of her therapist?

Ah, screw it. I'm on my lunch break.

[Penelope Lopez]

She smiled as he started talking about the school's therapist. She hadn't met him yet, but he was well known around the school. She was glad she hadn't been called in for a meeting yet. Someone who could read her mind is scary enough as it is, but a mind-reading therapist? Sheesh. ''I'm Penelope.'', she finally said. She was still suspicious, but at least it seemed as if this one couldn't read her mind, so that was at least good.

She walked towards the stage. ''Were you in the choir or something when you attended Hammel yourself?'', she asked and got up on the stage. If there were any places in the world she felt the most comfortable and safe, she'd pick a stage. The second she got on, she felt her heart calm down and she could finally breathe normally. She closed her eyes and sighed.

She loved singing. The way it calmed her down, and how alive the songs felt as you performed them. And of course, if it included dancing, it was perfect. Simply perfect. She felt at ease here. She didn't care if there was a hundred people, thousands even watching her as she stood on a stage singing her lungs out. (Hey, she loves attention. A thousand people with all eyes on here? Damn.)

''It's a grand feeling, isn't it?''

[Evan Coleman]

Evan giggled ever so slightly, as much from the calming down of her emotional state as her asking if he'd been in choir. He'd been around her long enough that he was starting to get a bit of a bleeding effect, and that was never fun. Calm (still mixed with minor suspicion) was good. He could work with calm.

"Heh, no. I never had much in the way of vocal talent. I got cast as Feste in our production of Twelfth Night because I begged for it. Like, literally begged. I was on my knees and everything during auditions."

He started warming up to his speech more, fueled by fond memories.

"See, I was more of a theater brat. Oh, I wasn't particularly good at it, I don't think, but I didn't make an ass of myself either. I just kinda liked not being myself for a while, you know? It's hard to care about your own ups and downs when you're onstage yelling like a crazy person about how you deserve to be king. It was also great because our student director was a time manipulator, so she'd stop the action during rehearsal so she could give you notes without embarrassing you. Of course, most of the theater kids were telepaths anyway, but you learn tricks to keep them out of your head if they accidentally start snooping . . ."

Mid-ramble, he looked at Penelope. She had partially closed her eyes and seemed almost to be leaning back against the sheer presence of the stage. He saw, flitting amongst her emotions like roots in fertile soil, a strong centered feeling, perfect equipoise with her boots to the boards. He recognized that feeling. He'd felt it every rehearsal, every audition, every show he'd ever been involved with throughout his half-abashed, half-addicted relationship with theater.

". . . yeah," he said, cutting himself off, "It's pretty f-cking grand."

A moment, and then . . .

"So, I'm gonna guess that you are a choir person? What style of music?"

He wasn't just being polite, he realized with a mild start. He was actually curious.

[Penelope Lopez]

She knew what he was talking about, all too well. ''Passion is the true beauty of the art, not the talent.'', she said silently before walking further on to the stage. She listened to what he said with silent nods of agreement. ''Besides, from what I heard before, you're not half bad.'', she said without looking at him.

She looked at him over her shoulder wondering what kind of power he really had. But, she wasn't going to ask. In all honesty, she didn't want to know. Choir? No. ''Not at all.'', she began and took another look around before continuing. ''Whatever comes to mind and fits my mood I suppose.'' She was feeling insecure, safe, uncomfortable and calm all at once. Her usual self; The rude, obnoxious girl was nowhere to be found at this moment. It was all the stage. Bringing fourth her true self, even if she didn't show it on the outside. ''Here, I'll show you.'', she said and walked over to a music player by the radio. She found the correct CD with the tune she wanted, placed both her feet on the ground and started singing.

The SONG she sung filled her entire being with emotions, she couldn't even describe it herself. It consumed her, as most songs did. She didn't just sing with her mouth, she sung with her entire body. Her soul.

[Evan Coleman]

As soon as the final note of the song had wound its way into the ether, Evan released a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding.

WOW. It wasn't even just her voice, although that was impressive in its own right: It was the way the entirety of her emotions had, for the duration of the song, synched up with one another like a Swiss watch. All of the anguish, the pain, the insecurity . . . hell, even traces of unadulterated happiness had shown up, instruments in a well-disciplined orchestra led by a master conductor. There were many perks to being an empath, but watching an artist embody their art was definitely one of the top experiences. If he smoked, he'd be lighting up right now.

"That was . . . wow. That was actually amazing . . ."

The song had been so meaningful to him too, in a way he hadn't expected it to be. It made him simultaneously sad, defiant, and allowed him to own the isolation that surrounded himself in on a regular basis. He'd never been so conscious of how unfulfilled he felt about his social life's potential . . .

Oh, shit. SHIT. He was getting stuck in a feedback loop.

Damn it, not now, not NOW. When was the last time I had one of these? Josh's wedding? Convocation, maybe? God, I hope that's not a freakin' tear running down my cheek.

Evan stood up and went to face the back of the stage, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. He went through the routine Dr. Neville had helped him with almost ten years ago, trying to focus on the mix of adolescent mysticism and nonsense, drowning out all else.

I am the Nachtmench, furious in my ways
I lurk in the midnights and spy on the moon's auspices
The forest is my habitat, the knee-deep snow my respiration
The crow breaks my vows and the frozen stream kneels to my grace
I am the Nachtmench, furious in my ways

"You . . . I hope you do that often. It was . . . well, I mean, it sounded . . ."

I am the Raven King, and my meditations are pines
I live on the thin winds and ride them to transcendence
Rags flutter on the wings of my breeze and their poems are longing
Keening on the night air brings my gospel to the sleepers
I am the Raven King, and my meditations are pines

". . . great, it sounded great. I don't think we had anyone with a set of pipes like that while I was here . . ."

I am Richard of Yo-NOPE NOT GOING THERE WE'RE ALL DONE HERE SHUT UP NOW

Evan's brain retreated out of itself. The backstage wall rushed out at him, brown and wooden and comforting. He became aware that he was kneeling down, breathing heavily. Impatiently, he wiped off the tear hanging off his chin. Well, wasn't THIS just a day for unprofessionalism? Maybe he should go upstairs and piss on Dr. Campbell's desk, just to really round out the whole morning.

[Penelope Lopez]

As the song finished, she was panting. She had completely forgotten that Evan was there, and as she spoke, she almost jumped. She was pulled back into reality and quickly burnt her eyes into his. A piercing glance, as if she was looking into his soul. She wasn't, she had just been caught of guard yet again, and her piercing look was only a sign of surprise, even as cold and sometimes scary it could be. She was still panting, and under a heavy breath she spoke. ''You sound surprised.'' Her voice was cool, no longer showing any hints of insecurity or fright. She was at ease.

Evan stared to act weird, as if he was having a panic attack. She took a step closer, unsure how to react, and then he spoke again. His voice sounded weird. His entire being seemed off to her. His movements, his voice... She ran towards him.

And as he snapped out of whatever he was doing, she was next to him. Kneeling in front of him, holding his chin up with her index finger. ''Don't die. I really don't want the blame for killing a teacher.'', she said with a hint of a smile in the corner of her lips. She stood up slowly, removing her finger from his chin and took a step back. ''You all right there, Doc?

[Evan Coleman]

"Yeah, yeah, I'm all right . . . I'm all right," Evan half-squeaked, backing up a little bit. The world's colors felt just a little too intense, "I'm sorry about that, I just had a meta moment. Damn . . . that was a hell of a song . . ."

A few deep breaths, and he was feeling closer to himself again. Getting sucked into the emotions of others was a bit of an occupational hazard as an empath, but he'd thankfully avoided an overload. A bit of water and he'd be fine. Had she been touching his chin? He giggled a bit, nervously

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but you won't have my death on your conscience today. But hey, now you know how to deal with me! If I ever try to abduct you into my office, just belt out another song like that and you'll have me on the floor!"

He chuckled a second, and then shook his head in wonder.

"In all seriousness, though, that was amazing. You seriously don't do choir? Please tell me you don't just keep this to yourself."

[Penelope Lopez]

She tilted her head and watched him with great curiousity. She had to admit, it was rather cute. Why she didn't know. She laughed before running her hand through her hair. ''Man, if I knew I had that effect on people, I'd sing more.'', she said cockily and grinned. She bit her lip so she wouldn't ask what kind of power he had.

''Oh, I'll get you next time. No worries.'', she said slyly, with a hint of playfullness in her voice. She thought about it for a while. What kind of powers get affected by someone singing? She had no clue, but it did make her more curious by the second. But, all in all, she was kind of glad he had the reaction he had. The atmosphere wasn't as tense anymore, and that was by far an improvement.

Choir had never been her kind of thing. The word reminded her of people singing and a church, and that was far from where she belong. It was probably different here, but it just didn't feel right. ''I'm really more of a dancer than a singer.'', she explained with a soft smile. ''Singing is more a hobby for fun, while dancing is a passion.''

She bumped into his shoulder and reached out a hand. ''Need any help?'', she asked and chuckled.

[Evan Coleman]

Evan gratefully took the proffered hand and hoisted himself back up.

"Thanks," he said, straightening up, "but, uh, I'd take another look at singing as a source of passion, if I were you. Or, better yet, if singing's just a hobby, I don't know if I could handle watching you dance . . ."

He trailed off for a second, getting another look at her. She was grinning, and even with his power a little blitzed out he could tell that her emotions were in a calmer place: hackles down, suspicion relaxed, even a little bit of enjoyment mixed into the proceedings. He only wished he could see deeper than the immediate surface; he was seeing a kraken-esque silhouette of something that might either be a budding camaraderie or fresh flirtation. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be one of those redditors that always seemed so confused by the motivations and actions of the fairer sex?

Regardless, he liked relaxed-Penelope. He could see interacting with her out of something friendlier than a clinical sense of professional duty. That, alas, meant that he should probably explain his little breakdown and give her the option of backing off if it made her uncomfortable.

"See, my ability is very geared towards feelings. I pick up emotions really loud and clear off of people, like a sixth sense that piggybacks off of the other five. Just being in the same room with people is a full body experience, you know? I've gotten better at tuning it out and keeping it from really taking me over, but sometimes I get distracted and . . . well, I slip up. Badly. I'll start feeling other people's emotions really intensely and then next thing you know I'm curled up in a closet and sobbing about . . ."

He caught himself, and then sighed. What the hell was wrong with him today?

"Sorry, that's got to be a bit TMI. Shutting up now."