Fireside Chats [Sean]

[Mike Batista]

Depending on his foster situation (if he had any and if they'd come), Mike volunteered for chaperoning the camping trip every year he could. He liked being with the kids out in the greenery and fresh air, and he enjoyed the pseudo-camping aspect. Of course, at his age he appreciated the beds and the latrines, but he was still spry enough to lead some of the hikes and teach a few of the kids swimming basics in the lake. Overall, the outdoors agreed with Mike very well and he spent the five days in good cheer.

But as great as it was spending time with the kids, it was just as lovely after they were all (supposedly) in bed and the campgrounds were quiet. Mike had saved back some of that Ferris fellow's homemade marshmallows, and in the relative privacy of the fire he'd also brought out his flask. It was the only time Mike ever drank Japanese sake - he couldn't say he particularly cared for it, but it mellowed him out quite nicely and had the added benefit of no hangover. He had some of the traditional s'mores ingredients too, and a few bottles of water. In the quiet, Mike could hear the owls calling and the lapping of the lake, the buzzing of late night insects and the rustling of the forest leaves. It was cooler, but the fire before him kept everything toasty. The stars overhead were so clear that they had to number in the millions. Mike was very content, and only became moreso when his friend came to sit.

"Buenas noches, doctor." Mike offered a warm smile and a roasting fork. His jeans and tennis shoes were dustier than usual, but his polo shirt was still clean. Mike's grey hair was a little wavier from his earlier dip in the lake, but it was still smoothed back from his face as usual. "Have you been sailing yet?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean had chaperoned the camping trip every year that it had been offered, since his arrival at Hammel as a member of the faculty. He took the same approach to the camping trip that he took to the dances, which was that he had time on his hands and no curfew and powers to monitor students, so he might as well go and save staff members with families the hassle. It mattered not that Sean didn’t care for dancing or for camping; he still undertook the responsibilities, and, at this stage in his employment, it was expected of him.

Last year, he had developed a routine with Josh. After lights out and bed check, Sean would go for a walk and call his partner. This year, the telepath had followed that routine, but he also took extra care with bed check, so that he could make sure that Bailey was doing fine, since she wasn’t allowed to bunk in the same cabin as he did.

He had just emerged from the woods, after finishing his phone call with Josh, when he caught sight of a campfire and sensed Mike’s presence. Since he, as a chaperone, didn’t have a curfew, there was no reason for him to return immediately to his cabin and his uncomfortably small and rigid bunk bed. Instead, he approached the fire.

“Good evening.” Offering his friend a smile, he settled across from him, and took the offered stick. “I went out on a kayak, which is close enough.”

It wasn’t the same, but given the facilities, this was what he expected. The kayak was good exercise.

“Sake or rum?” Sean asked, nodding towards the flask.

[Mike Batista]

When Sean took the roasting fork, Mike also offered the marshmallows, both the homemade ones and the storebought, and placed the other s'mores ingredients in easy reach. The ends of his own fork were white and sticky from the marshmallow he'd had ten minutes ago.

"I prefer the canoes, myself," he said. "Not as easy to overturn if you've got an excited passenger."

As to the flask, Mike offered it as well. There were several swallows gone. "Sake. I learned my lesson with rum when three of the students knew what was on my breath the next morning."

Leaning back, he grinned broadly, though his voice was still quiet. "Nothing's exploded, and no one's bitten, broken, stung, rashed, inebriated, high, almost drowned, or impregnated. I have to tell you, I didn't have high hopes for this crowd, but there's still a few days left." Mike shook his head. "I feel bad for the younger kids, what with the hormones flying so thick with the older ones."

Looking at the end of his fork thoughtfully, Mike decided he did indeed deserve another marshmallow. He took one of the homemade ones and fixed it on the tines and held it out to brown.

"Did you go on the retreat as a student?" He chuckled. "I wasn't allowed to go till I was seventeen."

Mike's infractions had been much milder than Jesse's or Xavier's, but there had still been a lot of them during his early years as a student.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean needed no time to choose between the two offered treats before he reached for the homemade marshmallows. The telepath had store-bought marshmallows at home, which he could eat easily; homemade marshmallows were a far rarer treat. With one large hand, Sean slid the marshmallow on top of the stick, and then extended the stick into the fire to slowly roast.

“Fortunately, so far Bailey has been the only one who’s shown any interest in going out on the water with me. And Josh and I have been taking her out on the lake to get her comfortable on water.” The family sailing trips had been quaint and enjoyable; different from how trips typically went when he and Josh were alone. However, Sean was quite happy to have both his partner and their foster daughter out on the boat.

In no small part because they went home at the end of the day, instead of camping.

Sean lifted his other hand, making a small gesture to politely refuse the flask. “Your low expectations are the reason I can’t partake, but thank you.”

Some other day, he would. However, he had to set a good example, and he had to have his complete wits about him with this group of students.

Slowly, his marshmallow began to brown, and the telepath turned the stick, to make sure that the marshmallow warmed evenly. At the same time,

He nodded slowly, an affirmative answer to the question. “I went a few times.” He had never been impressed, but even as a teenager, he hadn’t cared for camping. “I spent most of that time on kayaks too.”

[Mike Batista]

"You are a little intimidating to some of the students," Mike said, "I know if Robert Hopkins had asked if I'd wanted to kayak with him when I was a student I would've run the other way."

That, and it was also difficult for students to see authority figures as people they could have fun with, especially when they had disciplinary roles like Sean or had reputations for strictness like Mike. At the mention of the foster daughter Mike's smile broadened. "How is Bailey? And Josh?" He shook his head, still grinning. "I'd say that the three of you should come over for dinner, but I think Naomi has to adjust a little further before that can happen."

The poor girl didn't quite know what to make of him, had probably expected someone much more excitable with more draconian views on household rules. She'd even out once she saw for herself that Mike was consistent and knew he didn't tend to waste his breath. But he had to give her time, time that did not include inviting over the school psychiatrist, his rather outspoken partner, and an impressionable younger girl. There was only so much Orion could temper if his sister got into a mood. They were here at camp, but Mike hadn't seen much of them, which was fine.

When Sean turned down the flask, Mike nodded and took another sip himself. He understood the mindset, but the younger man's responsibilities and powers were different from his and a clear head was a sensible thing. There wasn't enough sake in the flask to get Mike even halfway drunk, but a swallow or two per night helped him sleep, or at least believe it did.

"I've been half expecting the Vanguard boy to win the early ride home raffle," he said, turning his marshmallow. When it caught fire he blew it out, fished out half a graham cracker to set it on, and waited for it to cool. Mike was also keeping an eye on the elder Mr. Stewart, meaning Erik and not Orion, and Señorita Lopez. Oriel was no Vincent Verax (thank everything), but had similar impulse problems, to put it mildly.

"I can see that. Did you always like being in boats?" Mike preferred swimming to being in watercraft, but he liked taking kids out if they wanted to go and didn't know how to do it.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Objectively, Sean understood how he could be intimidating, given his age, his years at the school, his position, and his powers. Even the fact that he didn’t lose his temper could become intimidating in the context of why was he not losing his temper when deliberately antagonized? No matter the fact that he was more of a teddy bear than anything else. His acknowledgement of these realities died on his lips, defeated by the chuckle that welled forth instead.

Robert Hopkins, as far as Sean was concerned, had been the least threatening person to walk the Earth. He understood his mentor’s raw power and his authority, but he could never see him as anything but the gentle, patient spirit Robert had been before his passing.

When his chuckle passed, Sean remarked, “You would have missed out, then. I never had a bad afternoon with him.”

The telepath then shook his head to himself, clearing away the thought. If Robert had still been alive, and had been able, he would have come on this retreat.

“Josh is doing fine. He’s running for Town Council, so that’s a bit of an adventure. Bailey...she’s adjusting. I’m personally glad that she isn’t in the dorms.”

Precisely because of the list of students that Mike began to mentally list as potential disciplinary problems.

“When Naomi has adjusted, we’d be happy to come over. Just throw out a date.”

Sean then shook his head again. “I think the current staff pool has two-to-one odds on Oriel. Jack’s at the top of my list, however.” Even above Oriel, Erik, and the Chevalier twins. If nothing else, Sean and Erik had a rapport.

At the question, the telepath nodded affirmatively. “Since I was taken out as a boy. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy swimming too, but boats make for a better all-day activity as far as I’m concerned.” Besides, he was too old to play any of the pool or lake games which made swimming a bit less repetitive.

[Mike Batista]

Smiling when Sean chuckled, Mike shook his head, a bit ruefully. "You weren't much trouble, either, if I remember right." Not the kind that merited discipline, anyway. "Mi madre told me she'd written Hopkins and cleared any punishment he wanted to dish out when I was fifteen." Then Mike laughed softly, reminiscing. "I don't know if she included it in his letter, but in mine she said if I came home without the usual number of arms or legs I'd brought it on myself."

Town Council? That was interesting. "What brought that on? Has he been on a Council before?" Mike knew Josh was political (and very liberal), and would likely get his vote, depending on platform. Josh wasn't meta, which might count against him superficially in the metahuman hotspot of the US, but Mike thought he had a better understanding of it than most baselines.

"I'm glad the Stewarts are out of the dorms, if only that it keeps them from smoking when not at school." He hadn't smelled anything on them since they'd moved in, but that didn't mean they weren't bumming off someone else during passing time. He didn't think they were, he was familiar with niccing and the moodiness that came of it, but there was no way to be positive.

"Will do. Does Bailey like Mexican food?" Mike didn't cook Hispanic/Mexican exclusively, or even a lot, but most of his best recipes were family ones and he liked giving out tastes of authentic Mexican when it was so absent otherwise.

After a bite of cracker with marshmallow, Mike sighed, but was still smiling. He used his tongue to keep all the mallow strings polite and finished chewing before he said, "Ah, Mr. McCarthy. That one's all yours. He's a little subtler than the others."

With Oriel, Erik, the Chevaliers, Lopez, Shapiro, Muller-Barton, Rixon, Douglas, Tang, Russo, and assorted others, actions tended to precede them into Sean's office. But with Jack, nearly every incident had its origin at the boy's mouth, and that was harder for someone like Mike to police. It was doubtful anyone had ever called Jack McCarthy 'subtle' before, but in this case it applied.

"I didn't grow up with boats, but I grew up with the ocean." He smiled. "The beach and a bottle of wine is a cheap date." Not to mention something all four Batista siblings had agreed on as children. If their parents needed the house empty of children for any reason, it was easy to pay a neighbor to walk them down to a public beach for an afternoon.

Mike then remembered something he'd heard from Randel, something he'd been meaning to ask his colleague about. Brow furrowing a little as he took another bite of his chocolate-less s'more, he thought about phrasing and finally settled with, "Have you heard of this new group, this... it's spelled P-U-S-E."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean shrugged his shoulders a single time. “I wasn’t conscious trouble.” Problems resulting from his powers were another matter entirely, but he had never done so deliberately. Before coming to Hammel, the young telepath, quite literally, had been an altar boy. “I don’t think Eliza Harding had ever been so happy for a student to move on to the next English teacher.” Which was why it had been somewhat mystifying that she had hired him as an adult, although less mystifying when she had stuck him with the task of teaching sexual education to the senior class.

Sean shook his head. “Josh doesn’t have any political seat experience, but we’ve discussed this before, and he finally feels stable enough in the community to make a go at it.” Whether he would win was another matter entirely, but the telepath would do anything within his power (and the confines of law, morality, and ethics) to help his partner achieve this goal.

“I’m glad Orion is out of the dorms.” Orion was less likely to smoke of his own volition, but he also had greater social anxiety. The presence of a stable home would do both Stewart siblings well. “And as long as there are some less spicy options, Bailey should be fine with Mexican food. We’ve been eating a bit bland at home recently.”

The telepath didn’t find anything about Jack to be subtle. Not only did the teenager run his mouth off without thinking, but he was aggressive in doing so, and lacked the basic common sense to even stifle himself when confronted with an authority figure. Jack’s most problematic trait, from Sean’s assessment, was his perpetual victim mindset, even in the midst of being the aggressor. He still remembered, quite clearly, how the teenager argued, not only that there was nothing wrong with making unsolicited sexual remarks to another student, but that he should somehow receive commendation for his advancement of rape culture and his utter disregard for personal boundaries. “He’s more problematic than many of the others.” Such as Sam Rixon. Sean and Sam Rixon had long ago reached an understanding, and while he was a troublemaker, his behavior was rarely hostile.

“The beach and a bottle of wine is a great date,” he said with a smile on his lips. At his age, and in the middle of landlocked Vermont, the telepath preferred his boat and a bottle of wine. That tended to result in less sand in various crevices. Still, a beach, a towel, a bottle of wine, and something simple to eat was a very pleasant date indeed. “Josh didn’t grow up with boats, either. I had to hook him there.” He had been successful in that endeavor.

Sean turned his stick over the fire, so that his marshmallow roasted evenly. He kept a careful eye on the sugary treat, pulling back every so often to make sure that it hadn’t charred; he’d never cared for blackened marshmallows.

At the question, the telepath nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately, I have.” He didn’t find it unfortunate that he had heard of the group, since Sean far preferred to be aware of his surroundings and of potential problems. The group’s very existence, and their mission statement, were unfortunate as far as he was concerned. The world didn’t require more bigots of any stripes, but particularly not more metaphobic bigots. That the group couched their beliefs in terms of political power and morality did nothing to soften their potential threat, nor did it set them apart from the countless prejudiced people who had done so before them.

Pulling back his marshmallow, Sean sighed softly. “Of course, they’d pop up right before the primary season, in plenty of time for the elections.”

[Mike Batista]

In their overlapping time as Hammel students, both of them had had reputations. Completely different reputations, but ones that affected their time at the school in many of the same ways. Mike still remembered his first glimpse of young Sean Neville, after a friend pointed him out in the hallway. He'd seemed... solitary, but in a way that had struck Mike as being by choice and against his will simultaneously. It was what he remembered most about him, and when they became colleagues almost twenty years later and Mike could only detect the barest hint of that same feeling, he was glad.

He nodded when Sean spoke of Josh's political aspirations. "Angie's running for State Attorney. If you need any help with fliers or things, I could give you the names of the printers and ad agents so on she's using. They've been reasonable and on time." He smiled. "It'd be good to see Josh on the Council. They could use some new blood."

Nodding, he said, "Taking out the peppers and dialing it back is good for me too. My stomach's not what it used to be."

But it could still handle the combo of sake, roasted marshmallow, and graham cracker, thankfully. Mike liked his marshmallows burnt on the outside and gooey on the in, more liquid than solid. The char added a bit of saltiness and the tiniest hint of an outer shell. If there was any bright point of going on the yearly camping trip, it was the roasted marshmallows. And, well, the conversations with friends.

"He is," Mike agreed, "but you're more suited to catching him than I am."

With one final bite he finished off his treat and covered his mouth with a hand when he chuckled softly. "More than half my dates with Francesa were wine-beach dates, with cheap food we bought from vendors on the boardwalks." Mike had spoken with Sean before about his ex-wife, though not in the capacity of therapist. He'd handled those issues back in San Diego, and they hadn't followed him to Vermont. "Very romantic, but a little... inconvenient being in public if things got too romantic."

Mike eyed the marshmallows but decided to cut himself off for the night. Moderation. "I can't imagine that your company plus a little alcohol would fail to make Josh a fan of anything."

Relieved Sean had already heard of PUSE (of course he had), Mike sighed. "We'll have to see to it that people are aware of what they stand for. Randel Anthony, do you remember him? He says his sheriff is a member and has it in for metas. Thinks we're aliens or something." He frowned. "I don't know if alerting the kids and telling them to watch themselves while in town would help or appear as a challenge."

Seeking to lighten the mood, Mike suddenly grinned, remembering something else he'd learned from Mr. Anthony. "Randel is a detective now. He has a Yorkshire terrier. What my niece Olivia calls a 'handbag dog'. I've met her. She's the size of a football. It's ridiculous."

Of course, Randel could own whatever kind of dog he wanted, but the juxtaposition of world-weary cop and heiress-celebrity dog still tickled the old trainer.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass that on to him when we’re back in Vermont. We need all the help that we can get.” Which was to say that neither Sean nor Josh had any experience with running a political campaign.

The telepath shook his head at the thought of Jack. “Perhaps.” They would have to do work with the boy before he could graduate, entirely because Sean didn’t want to set him loose on the general population the way that he was now.

The telepath chuckled, nodding in comprehension. “That’s always a hazard when out on a public date. We can’t get too friendly with an audience.” In fact, that was precisely what he had said to Josh on more than one occasion, when they were out together in public on dates. Times had changed such that they needn’t hide their relationship in public, but that didn’t mean that they could be intimate.

The older man’s remark resulted in Sean spreading one hand in lieu of a shrug, coupled with a self-deprecating smile. “I think you overestimate my appeal.” More likely, their reputations in certain circles had permeated the entire adult population of Pilot Ridge.

Sean pulled back his stick to check his marshmallow. A slow turn in the dim firelight told him that it had browned sufficiently, and he didn’t want to risk charring one of Ferris’s homemade marshmallows, which meant that this would have to do.

“I wish I could say that I was surprised to hear that.” Unfortunately, in the telepath’s experience, old guard law enforcement often had prejudices against minority communities, particularly if they comprised a greater than national average portion of a given population. As with meta-humans and Pilot Ridge. “But, if that’s the case, then we should probably have a discussion with more of the staff. A ‘concerned citizens’ group is one thing, but a leader in law enforcement could be quite problematic. That said, I don’t think we should warn the students just yet.” Particularly considering the behaviors displayed by some of the current crop of Hammel students. They lacked good judgment, and they didn’t need a deliberate incident.

The telepath reached for Graham characters and a chocolate bar, so that he could make himself a s’more. “Congratulations to Randel.” Of course, he couldn’t wrap his mind around (personally) owning a lapdog, but if it worked for the detective, then that was what mattered.

[Mike Batista]

Nodding thoughtfully, Mike said, "You're welcome. Do you have a website yet?" His smile became a little rueful when he added, "I know this sounds depressing, but if you can, buy a cheap netbook or something and only use it for campaign things. I know Pilot Ridge town council isn't exactly the Senate, but elected officials are always at risk for hacking, and your link to him will come out eventually. Wouldn't put it past any of the students to see what they could do to make things... interesting. But we have technopaths, too. Might be worth it to see if they can't help you out there."

Mike had never run a political campaign either, but with Angie running he'd learned a little about how that sort of thing worked. And with a mother who had been reasonably famous within operatic circles and a very (very) minor celebrity in Los Angeles, he knew about photo shoots and interviews (and that both were a lot more boring and fraught with mistakes than they seemed).

He suddenly laughed, low, when Sean mentioned an audience. "Not just that, 'Cesa and I had the surf come in on us when we were too close to the waterline, and once I got pinched by a sand crab I put my hand down on."

Though at that time, the two of them had been so in love that they'd laughed both things off and found someplace more private to continue things. Continue meaning kissing only, as even if they did not have to deal with the prejudices of being a same-sex couple they did have to deal with Francesa's conservative views and her then hidden trauma.

Mike knew some of the same people that Sean did, either via work or by being a longtime resident of the town, but he hadn't heard any gossip regarding things like what tended to occur when Sean and Josh drank in a group. Could've been that those in the know were more discrete than their personalities suggested, or that they thought no one would believe them. Had Mike known about that nugget, he would've been slightly amused. Only slightly, as he was friends with Stefan Spencer and had seen what happened when he got drunk.

In this case though, he'd simply meant that he'd seen how very fond Sean and Josh were of each other (and of alcohol, though again, not simultaneously), and figured that for one of them, adding the other plus some wine to just about anything would result in a good time. "To Josh?" Mike smiled. "I doubt it."

And then, because he couldn't recall, "When did you get the boat, again?"

The telepath's careful roast of the marshmallow was fun to watch. Mike didn't know exactly what effect he was going for, but at last it seemed to be done.

He sighed. "Yes. I'll bring it to Yvette when we get back, unless you've done it already?" He shook his head, snorting a soft, humorless laugh. "It's too bad we can't warn just the students who would be decent about it, but they're not the ones who'd really need to know."

Mike laughed a little. "Yes. It's good to see him. I hope he doesn't have too much trouble."

Or have to arrest Stefan, which would be awkward.

Picking up a bottle of water, he cracked open the top and took a drink. "Good?" he asked of the s'more.

Then he laughed a little. "There's a boy in cabin 7, I checked in after lights out and he wasn't there. Thought he'd gone to the latrine, so I checked again coming back the other way, still wasn't there. I checked the bathroom, wasn't there either, and then I go back and I hear a noise. He's on the floor under the bunk. By choice." Mike shook his head. "Never seen that before."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean nodded in affirmation regarding the website. He didn’t have any previous experience with campaigning, and he wasn’t the most technologically advanced person that there was. In fact, the telepath used the Internet and the computer far less than his partner did. However, he was well-aware of the necessity of technology and social media in politics, even the small-scale politics of the Pilot Ridge town council. “We had a friend set up the website to help make Josh more accessible, and we’re careful about what we post.” They had been using Sean’s desktop computer, as opposed to Josh’s laptop, precisely for the reasons that Mike had outlined. “And I have one of the technopaths helping us after hours.” Thankfully, since that was not Sean’s realm.

The telepath chuckled as well, because he could envision these trips to the beach as though he had been there. “Those are the stories one doesn’t read in romance novels.” Those were the stories that were true to life and were thus far more valid than fiction in which everything was perfect.

Mike assessment of Sean’s and Josh’s relationship was true, of course, although to some extent the telepath considered that a private matter. He didn’t tease about Josh too much when his partner wasn’t here to interject, and certain topics were off limits. As well, self-deprecation was a common direction when Sean had to joke about his relationships. “Even to Josh,” he said, although he was prepared to drop that particular topic in order to focus on the more serious aspects of their conversation.

“Decades ago. It was an investment when I was sure I would become a long-term resident up here.” The boat had seen many trips, and it had been in for repairs time and again. Sean took good care of his boat, and, in return, it took good care of him.

“I gave Yvette a brief warning, but we haven’t had a full discussion about it,” the telepath explained. He still had Joe Honnick’s card from their encounter in the grocery store; he wanted to have the other man’s contact information at his fingertips in case he needed it in the future. “It’s unfortunate that we can’t warn the appropriate students and have it stick, but that’s the burden of monitoring adolescents.” They didn’t always make the best decisions, which was why they had adult supervision.

He took a big bite of his s’more, his expression melting into one of pleasure. After chewing thoroughly and swallowing, he said, “Very.” He would have to give his compliments to Ferris.

“Students have to take comfort where they can find it,” he replied. He hadn’t slept that way, but as a teenager, he’d had a few rituals that others might have judged oddly without context. “At least he’s accounted for.”

[Mike Batista]

"Aaaah, very good. I'll have to visit it when I get back. What's the address?" Mike hoped they'd bought the domain name too, but if they had a technopath it had likely been seen to. Ah, technopaths. When they were good, they were very, very good. And when they were bad they made Mike long for the days when the most advanced piece of machinery on his desk had been his calculator.

Mike smiled. "I suppose kissing in the surf might be a picture, but Dios, it was cold."

Mike himself never kissed and told, though he'd spoken of various partners over the years, mentioning jobs or other harmless bits of trivia like how they liked their coffee or tea or restaurants they liked going to. And then of course there was what he had with Stefan, which the telepath likely knew about (though through channels other than verbal ones). The journalist's hope continued to spring eternal, even after Mike had been very clear about how the incidents of the past had been situational and single-time events. It was amusing, and somewhat flattering, even with the knowledge that Stefan, given enough alcohol, could and had tried to charm and feel up inanimate objects. So he just smiled when Sean said, "Even to Josh."

"...I think my version of your boat might be an RV," he said, rubbing his chin. "Might be nice to be able to take the kids on little trips without needing a hotel." Or himself. Mike still lived on a teacher's salary and was socking away all he could for retirement, but he still liked taking his kids out to see and do things. He couldn't afford Disneyland or anything, but there were zoos and museums and parks.

Nodding, he rested his chin on a hand. "I can go with you to Yvette if you want. Might even be able to get Randel in to see her, let her know what's going on."

Sean's smile was a mirror of what Mike's had looked like a few hours ago with his first homemade marshmallow s'more.

"Yes. I thought he was being hazed or something, but... no. There because he wants to be."

((wrap?))

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“It’s joshuabernstein.com,” Sean explained. It was an easy web domain to remember, and it fit the pattern that most politicians followed, of using their first and last name for their campaign websites. “Apparently, joshbernstein.com already belongs to someone who has an exploration show on the Discovery Channel.” The telepath and his partner had learned that when they had begun their foray into purchasing and building Josh’s campaign website.

“I can imagine.” Water didn’t heat at the same rate that soil did. As such, in New England, the water often remained cold even during the summer. The sunset only contributed to that state of affairs, but Sean was certain that it was worth the cold. Otherwise, he was certain that Mike wouldn’t tell this story with as much fondness in his voice and mind.

The telepath was well aware of the encounters that Mike had shared with Stefan. He didn’t speak of them, because they weren’t his affair, the nights were not appreciatively different from past incidents between himself and Josh (even if the long-term potential and background differed), and, Stefan’s alcoholism aside, they hadn’t risen to the level where he felt it necessary to involve himself. Still, one day, he hoped that Stefan would find the help he needed in order to moderate his alcohol consumption.

Sean nodded his understanding of Mike’s declaration, while he took a large bite of his S’more. Aside from being on the water, this was his favorite part (and one of the only pleasant parts) of camping. He chewed and swallowed before replying, “There’s something nice about being able to go out at any hour of the day, without having to worry about reservations.” The telepath liked hotels and his income was at a comfortable level wherein he needn’t worry about those costs, but he did understand the practicality and the freedom inherent in owning an RV.

“Let me think on that, and I’ll get back to you before I have a meeting with her.” Sean didn’t share the same close friendship with Yvette that he’d shared with Claude. As such, he was more careful in how he approached their Headmistress. However, they had at least until the end of this retreat to make that plan, and thus there was time.

“Everyone copes differently,” the telepath replied. He could understand the comfort in being under a bed, even if he had no similar inclinations (and he wouldn’t fit even if he had them).