Mind Games [Rhea & Ferris]

[Cecil Wathen]

[Back-dated to 30th September]

Early Tuesday evenings were always pretty chilled out in the bar. There was none of the mad rush of the weekend, nor the clamour of Wednesdays with people trying to drink away the mid-week hump. A steady trickle of people kept the staff busy and money in the till, but it was altogether much more subdued and calm. Cecil considered it his day off, even though he was always actually working.

There were other reasons he quite liked Tuesday’s, but he didn’t openly acknowledge them.

Cecil passed the food order from table twelve through to the kitchen. It was the same as it so often was; a cheddar and Branston sandwich. Ferris had always said he still wasn’t entirely sure about it, that he needed to try it again before he could decide whether he actually liked it or not. Cecil could understand that a bit, it was a rather acquired taste after all. Still, that didn’t stop him from occasionally wondering if there was another reason why Ferris kept coming back to try it. Of course Cecil knew those thoughts were just silly daydreams and it would be really dumb to entertain them as anything other than that, but eleven months or so of trying and failing to repress a crush did weird things to the mind.

It was a crush, and Cecil was finally able to admit that. Not out loud, obviously, but he could acknowledge to himself that it was there. Sometimes he even imagined what he might say if he were to ask him out; sometimes he even played at projecting them towards the other man, since he seemed either unable to hear them or just flat-out ignoring that they were there. Sometimes, usually when Cecil had taken a couple of pills at the world was slightly fuzzy anyway, it wouldn’t just be merely thoughts, just to see how Ferris might react. He never did react, though.

It was a silly crush. It would pass.

At least Rhea was here tonight, so talking to her would provide a great distraction. It had been a little while since they’d had a chance to go running, and Cecil was smiling as he poured out her drink. “So Saturday; you up for it? It’s only four miles or so, but the view is meant to be great from there.”

[Rhea Hartman]

Rhea's visits to the Churchkey were irregular--with two jobs that required staffing 24/7, her schedule was erratic. And not that she would ever tell Cecil, but in her opinion British food left something to be desired (like seasoning). But the Churchkey was clean and friendly and there was always Cecil to talk to, so even if all she ever ordered was fries and a hard cider she made a point to come in a few times a month.

Today she had come directly from the gym, wearing yoga pants with her hair tied back and smelling faintly of shampoo, sweat and deodorant. She upgraded her order to a full fish and chips, and idly watched Cecil as he flitted around his bar. "Saturday? Yeah, I think I'm free, as long as we go in the morning." She pulled apart a steaming piece of cod with her fingers and doused it liberally with vinegar. "I've got a football game later. You should come. Whole lot of big blue-collar men running into each other." She waggled her eyebrows at him over the top of her glass.

[Ferris Macklin]

Going out on his days off was becoming a bit more frequent, but Ferris certainly had the disposable income for it. After canning and making/freezing the meals for the rest of the week, sometimes he just didn't feel like cooking more. And his two favorite restaurants were lovely. He tended to gravitate more to the Churchkey, as a trip to Abe's that involved seeing the Abe in question often led to more jar enabling. Who knew the guy would be that into pickled eggs?

Ferris never minded dining alone. He chose an out of the way table, brought a book, and tried to pick a time where he wouldn't be losing a waiter money if he lingered a little. Tonight he was closer to rush hour, so he'd brought a Reader's Digest, and some jars for Cecil, of course.

He liked the barkeep. As a friend, and as a fellow citizen of Pilot Ridge. The idea that it was anything more never entered his head, and he thought the level of relationship experienced was mutual.

The evening's meal was his old nemesis. The most Ferris could say was that he emphatically did not dislike it. It was whether or not he liked it that bothered him. He felt the same about shrimp cocktail. One thing he did know, he liked it warm. Not hot, not toasted, but not cold, and thankfully the staff humored him and zapped it in the microwave for 30 seconds. The brisk Vermont weather had him in stews and chili at home, and a good hot meal was welcome.

[Cecil Wathen]

The jars from Ferris had been safely put away for later. Cecil always gently insisted that they weren’t necessary, but always ended up accepting them because, at the end of the day, they were good. In turn he made sure his friend’s glass was always full, and the drinks and occasional desserts were always missing from the bill at the end of the evening.

Setting the glass down in front of Rhea, Cecil stole one of her chips and bit it, chewing while she spoke before swallowing and giving a small nod. “Morning it is, just let me know a time. Meeting in the usual place?” He chuckled softly at her suggestion of him going with her to the game afterwards. “That depends. Is it real football or that mockery of rugby that you lot call football?” Either way he would likely end up going, if only because it would give him something to do other than running a stock take again. Or painting miniatures again. Or watching brainless crap on TV again.

As Rhea answered Cecil’s mind and gaze wandered slightly, momentarily occupied with the rather delicious image of a certain someone wearing a blue and amber rugby shirt and not much else in a rather compromising position with a certain barman. It was a fun image and the corner of Cecil’s lips quirked into a small smile. It never hurt to daydream when the person in question was blind to it, after all.

[Rhea Hartman]

Rhea poked Cecil's hand away from her fries--chips, since it was a British pub. "Let's do it. Six works for me," she said cheerfully as she wolfed down several fingerfuls of fish. Maybe it was related to her bizarre schedule or military training, but Rhea didn't seem to need as much sleep as normal people.

"See if you still call it a mockery once me and the crew from the Farmer's Association are finished with you," Rhea said tranquilly. Football wasn't her sport of choice, but as an American she felt obligated to defend it. "I've never gotten a chance to play much rugby. Do you know any teams around? I'd like to give it a try." As she spoke, she tapped a few more dollops of tarter sauce onto her chips.

She glanced up as she did so and noted the dreamy cast to Cecil's eyes. She had an instinct for other metas' use of their powers, and she was fairly certain he was projecting whatever he was thinking about. She twisted around on her bar stool and was not at all surprised to see a certain lean, handsome cafeteria chef quietly flipping through a book in one of the booths.

Since she had a brain and eyes, Rhea had been aware of Cecil's crush for some time. Whenever Ferris appeared at a social function, the Welshman was impeccably groomed and spent a suspicious amount of time on his side of the room. Plus there was the amount of fanfare he gave to Ferris's jars whenever they were set out at parties. It was tasty stuff, but there's only so much attention you can reasonably expend on something that you spread on a cracker.

But Cecil hadn't been chatty about it, and Rhea left him alone. After the bloodbath of his divorce, she expected that reentering the field of romance would be confusing and painful. Still, she silently encouraged him. The first crush after a breakup was a significant milestone, and Rhea knew he was lonely.

Ferris didn't seem like an asshole, and as she watched Cecil making cow's eyes at him it occurred to her that maybe she should get to know him a little better. Cecil had been laughing too loudly at parties for months now. She was curious.

"Mm," she agreed to whatever Cecil had just been saying. She finished her fish, then announced, "I'm going to go say hi to Ferris." Deaf to any protests, she popped a few more fries into her mouth, grabbed her cider, and headed across the room.

"Hey Ferris. It's good to see you." Rhea paused and rested her arm on the end of Ferris' booth. "Still fighting the Branston sandwich, I see." She cracked a grin. "I tried half of one of those and Cecil couldn't pay me to finish it." She gestured to the empty seat across from him. "None of the regulars are around tonight. Mind if I sit down?"

---

People differed in their reactions to being interrupted from a book, and it satisfied Rhea to see Ferris close his magazine and warmly invite her to sit down. As they got to talking, curiosity niggled in the back of her mind. Almost everyone who worked at the school had some kind of power, and he either had the world's best damn poker face or something funny was going on. On a whim, she brushed him with a suppression.

Nothing happened. Rhea paused with her cider halfway to her lips. She tried a stronger one, and still nothing. But this wasn't the normal kind of nothing. Suppressing someone felt like pulling a lever or pushing a button, there was a springy resistance that she could manipulate. When she tried to suppress a non-meta, it was like pressing on a tabletop. She could feel the resistance, but there was nothing to yield. But from Ferris, she felt nothing at all. It was like she had tried to suppress a ball of yarn.

The situation from Cecil slipped completely from her mind. A shove of her strongest suppression again did nothing. Was it just him? She moved her focus from Ferris himself to a general field that happened to include him. Then she felt a flicker of opposition. She broadened her range, and the opposition solidified into springiness. She pushed, and felt the field take.

[Ferris Macklin]

Though Pilot Ridge wasn't the biggest town, unless someone made overtures themselves or had something clearly in common with him Ferris tended to keep to himself. Not out of anti-social-ality, but because he was used to doing that while traveling. Plus, during his time at Kocher he'd been The American, and people who'd wanted to hang out more wanted to see if all the stereotypes were true.

And yes, there was the fact that he, Roman, and Devon in a group were becoming rather suspect. So far they hadn't been (explicitly) thrown out of any establishment locally, but Burlington wasn't all that far away. There was also very little one could do when photos of two men walking a prancing otter appeared in papers.

Either way, it meant when the friendly voice made him look up from his Reader's Digest (if they had a Day in the Meta Life the submissions would be out of control) he smiled warmly and gestured for her to sit down. "Evenin' Rhea. Please, be my guest." Regarding his Branston after tucking away his magazine, he said, "Nah, we're not fighting. We're more like... acquaintances who ride the elevator together every morning." When she was seated, he leaned over to whisper, "Don't tell the Brits, but I think I'd like it better toasted."

Which was apparently on level with adding tea to the milk already in your teacup.

Suddenly his head tilted, just a little, and a puzzled expression crossed his face. He knew Rhea was a meta, but that was the extent of it, and like almost everyone else in Pilot Ridge, he didn't know if she knew he was, or what he could do. But just then... he'd... he didn't know how to describe it. Like someone had turned on a TV inside his brain with a picture that flickered for just an instant, the way the old tube TVs used to do when you switched it off. Ferris had been near a lot of metas flexing their powers in the last three years but he'd never felt anything due to his own.

Well. New experiences all around then.

There it was again! It was longer this time, so he could make out there were... two people. And... it felt like it was coming... from the bar? From... Ferris momentarily looked over, but nothing unusual was going on. He waved to Cecil, who was looking their way.

And again!

Except this time he caught all of it.

Oh god.

Oh god

OH GOD.

Himself, naked but for a very billowy sports jersey that did very little covering. Stretched out, head thrown back, like he was about to be drawn like a French girl. Tangled with a similarly clad Welsh bartender. And eventually they morphed into a configuration that Ferris knew for a fact was physically impossible.

The look of confusion on his face went straight to horror.

And all of this happened inside 30 seconds.

Abruptly standing up, face (and probably ears, neck, chest, torso, and feet) fire-red, the cook stared at Cecil and blurted, "I am not that hairy!"

Uh oh.

[Cecil Wathen]

Cecil smiled easily, nodding his head. “Six it is.” In truth the thought of such an early morning was not an overly pleasant one. He worked long hours and often late into the night, so he had really come to value his lie-ins. However, it certainly wasn’t an everyday thing and he could make an exception this once. Besides, Pilot Ridge always looked its best in the early hours of the morning, before all the people were out and there were cars everywhere.

Rhea’s comment brought a laugh to his lips, and Cecil shook his head in amusement. “Now that does sound more promising. But what’s with all the padding? You all scared of breaking a nail or something?” At her question, though, he gave a small shake of his head. “Not that I know of. I’ve been keeping a look-out for one, but I guess all you yanks are allergic to real sport.” He took a quick step backward to try to avoid any playful punches that might have been slung his way at that.

Cecil was of course oblivious to Rhea’s awareness of his little crush. He’d never mentioned it to her and always thought he’d done a pretty good job of being careful to not let it show. After all, it was only a crush (God, admitting that made him feel like a teenager) and it would pass soon enough. He wasn’t sure he was ready to attempt to re-enter the world of relationships just yet and, far more importantly, Ferris had never shown the slightest bit of interest back. It was all completely one sided, and Cecil fully believed he would get over it soon enough.

In the meantime, though, it didn’t hurt to daydream.

When Rhea announced she was going to go and talk to Ferris it was a physical effort for the Welshman to not try to stop her in her tracks. It would have looked suspicious and probably pretty weird, if nothing else. He just nodded and uttered a soft “fine”, but the expression of quiet concern was likely evident on his features. As she wandered across the room Cecil turned, busying himself with realigning the wine glasses on their shelf. It was easier when he had something to do to try and keep his mind occupied… but he still couldn’t help it wandering. Even as he carefully took a slightly grubby looking glass down and started polishing it, his mind went back to that rather delighful image of the chef in the rugby shirt.

Eventually though curiosity got the better of him and he glanced back towards the table, in time to see Ferris give a wave with a slightly confused look on his face. Oh God, what was she saying to him? After a moment though the look of confusion on Ferris’ face turned to something else, and now it was Cecil’s turn to be confused. Why was he staring at him like that? Why did he look so utterly pani-

Cecil’s mad train of thought was quickly cut off by Ferris’ shout, and all of a sudden it made horrifying sense. Somehow, Ferris had seen his projections through whatever fog it was that normally blinded him to them… It could only have been Rhea’s power, surely. Oh God, oh God no! Confusion gave way to horror gave way to embarrassment, and Cecil’s face went scarlet as he stared from Ferris to Rhea and back again. Crap crap crap crap! Panicking, he turned quickly and cut through the kitchen, heading outside into the little garden attached to the rear of the bar. He needed to get away from there, needed to not be in the same room as them. Oh SHIT! Hands shaking, Cecil pulled the packet of menthol cigarettes from his pocket and he lit one up, taking a long draw. Well, that was certainly one way to ensure a crush was never returned. Shit.

[Rhea Hartman]

Rhea was so puzzled by the way her powers were behaving that she paid very little attention to Ferris himself. She had barely stabilized the field on him when he jumped up, spilling both of their drinks. Rhea twisted around in her seat in time to see Cecil turn brick-red. She was halfway to her feet herself when she felt her field shudder again.

Whatever delicate balance had existed between their two powers shifted. One of the researchers up at the school would have probably been quite interested to observe how it happened. External power suppression and local power negation, two inversions of the same ability, and in one confused moment of feedback they canceled each other out. Rhea felt a sudden stab of a headache, her sense of her powers vanished, and she saw--

“Hooo whoa!” Rhea slammed her hands down on the table and pinched her eyes shut. “Okay! What just—Cecil!” She whirled around just in time to see the door to the garden bang shut behind the fleeing barman. Her gaze snapped to Ferris. “You're a meta. What do you do, and what the hell just happened?”

[Ferris Macklin]

Having absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happen to his physical person was not a great way to acclimate to meta experiences. In fact, Ferris often forgot he was meta at all, even working in the schools.

So when the very angry and very large and suddenly rather threateningly muscled cop loomed over him with her whole, “You're a meta. What do you do, and what the hell just happened?” ...Shit just got real, son. For a long minute Ferris had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, or what metas had to do with what just happened. Which, by the way, what just happened. A split second after the image faded (but was unfortunately not forgotten), the worst headache of his life created a pair of mosh pits right behind his eyes. Rhea's words and the sounds that followed told him Cecil had vacated the bar, which sounded like a great idea. Except yes. Angry, large, muscley cop accusing him of Doing Something.

It was a little weird to be in this sort of situation without Roman and Devon.

Pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes because they felt very much like they were about to explode out of his head... he really had no idea how to answer Rhea. Moaning just a little, he managed to say, "I don't know what happened. What does meta have to do with it? I didn't do anything. Oh my god my head."

Stumbling backward, his butt found the bench again and he didn't even care that he sat in a puddle of something, probably his drink. There was an extinction-level volcanic eruption going on in his brain.

The last coherent thought he had was that it was possible he was going to have to call Devon to drive him home from a bar.

The irony made him say, again, "Oh my god."

[Cecil Wathen]

Cecil heard Rhea call after him, but he was in absolutely no mood to stop and try to explain what had just happened. How the hell could he have explained it, anyway? Cecil had absolutely no clue how what just happened had happened. All he knew was that he desperately wished for a TARDIS to appear so he could go back in time a few minutes and try to stop it from happening again.

Yes, running away from the issue was so very mature, but frankly right now he didn’t care about that either. The cigarette was doing nothing to ease the clusterfuck going on in his head, and he rubbed his forehead with his left hand as he let his head fall back against the wall he was leaning on. ”Shit!”

Cecil was just considering the very real possibility of Rhea now wanting to arrest him for some kind of psychic sexual harassment when he heard the doorway to the bar open, and he cringed slightly before looking over to see who it was.

Mal stood there. Cecil wasn’t normally the sort to just storm out like that, and confused concern was evident on the assistant manager’s angular face. “You okay, boss? Y’need anythin’?”

Cecil closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall again, giving a strained bitter chuckle but shaking his head slightly. “A time machine? Other than that, nah, thanks”. Just before Mal disappeared back into the bar, though, Cecil changed his mind. “Actually, can you let Meph down, please?” He then handed over the key to the door that seperated the bar from the apartment upstairs.

Mal nodded and went to get the dog, walking back through the bar and glancing over at the people that seemed to be having some sort of Event over on the other side of the room. Unlocking the door, Mal was not surprised to see Mephit already stood on the other side of it. He lightly held her collar as he brought her through the doorway and locked it up again, then lead her through the room and out the back to where her owner was waiting.

Mephit bounded up to Cecil as soon as Mal let go of her collar, and Cecil quickly put out the cigarette and knelt down to affectionately ruffle her ears and back. “Cheers, Mal.” Once the other man had gone back inside, Cecil spoke to Mephit. “You up for a long walk away from here now, girl? I’m thinking maybe Canada...”

[Rhea Hartman]

Rhea's eyeballs throbbed. She had stopped suppressing, so why did it still hurt? She took a deep breath and intentionally unclenched her jaw and fists. This helped the headache somewhat, and she released her breath in a sigh when Ferris gave his panicky and not especially helpful response. 'He hadn't done anything,' indeed. Probably some kind of local suppression, then. She glanced back over towards the kitchens, where Mal had just clattered down the stairs with Mephit in tow. “Okay, I believe you. Sorry about the headache. Look, I'm going to go talk to Cecil.” She edged out from behind the table. “Don't move from this spot,” she commanded, pointing first at Ferris, then down at the damp seat. And with that she turned and disappeared into the cluster of bemused employees.

The next pair of eyes that Cecil met were not filled with nearly as much soppy affection. “I'm curious. What part of surprising your crush with rugby brain sex sounded like a good idea to you?” Rhea stood with her arms crossed, frowning in the doorway. She only sounded mildly irritated, but it wasn't her voice that was the problem. She was blocking the exit. Her headache had begun to fade as soon as she walked away from Ferris, but the brief flash of flapping jerseys did not leave her mind's eye nearly as quickly.

[Cecil Wathen]

Cecil had thankfully managed to avoid the chorus of headaches that the power collision had caused, but he was acutely aware of something that sounded like a distant buzzing in his left ear. The sound was quickly getting louder, to the point where it seemed like there must be a bee or something hovering around near his head. He glanced quickly to the side, hoping to see it, but catching sight of nothing. “Ah, shit.” He ruffled Mephit's ears again before standing, reaching into his pocket and producing a small packet. He popped one of the pills out of the foil and was just about to swallow it when Rhea appeared in the doorway.

“Rhea, just... don't, alright?” He swallowed the pill dry, followed by a frustrated sigh. “I just... I didn't mean for that to happen, obviously.” Cecil bent down and picked up a ball, sending it skittering across the grass for Mephit to chase. “I don't even know how it happened! I don't need a lecture. I just...” He gave another sigh, this time harbouring less frustration and more quiet defeat. “I just don't. I know I fucked up. I really... really fucked it up.”

[Rhea Hartman]

Rhea snorted. “While you're popping Valium is a bad time to throw a pity party,” she said. If she had liked him less she would have burst out laughing at the sight of the Welshman wilting in the beer garden. As it was, she felt enough pity to make Cecil's situation the subject of her exasperation rather than her ridicule. She rubbed her forehead with one hand. “God, Sess, I don't know which is worse, you being this fucking high or this fucking dumb.”

Mephit chose this moment to come say hello, and Rhea spared a chuckle as she ravished the dog's ears. There had been, she couldn't deny, extenuating circumstances. “Look, I know it was an accident. You're a dumbass, but if I hadn't been there you would have at least been a dumbass in private. Ferris has got some kind of local suppression, I don't think metas normally work on him.” She sent the dog back to Cecil with a slap on the rear. “But, you can ask him that yourself, when you apologize.”

[Cecil Wathen]

The comment about the Valium caused Cecil to roll his eyes. Many of the people who actually knew him away from work also knew about that little habit, but they also tended to know what caused it. He knew it was hardly ideal and it was something he did wish he could shake, but it really did work when the odd hallucinations got too much. It wasn't much, but it did take the edge off. And well, right now there was a pretty fucking huge edge to take off, even without the buzzing. “I'm not high.” He gave a bitter snort of a laugh. “Not high enough yet, anyway... Not gonna argue the 'dumb', though.”

Rhea's explanation brought a soft nod from Cecil. “Yeah, I kind of figured that when he seemed like he couldn't hear all the times I'd sent words like that. I guessed he was either deaf to it, or the rudest arsehole in the state... I knew which I wanted to be true, at any rate.” Cecil gave a soft shrug, leaning his head back against the wall and fishing around in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes. He leaned down and ruffled Mephit's back when she returned to him, but his head shot up when Rhea spoke again. “Not happening. Just... No.” He sent the ball skittering for Mephit, standing upright again and drawing a cigarette out of the packet. “Not tonight, at any rate. I need.... I need to work this out, Rhea.”

[Rhea Hartman]

Rhea's arms, which had been folded across her chest in an appropriately confident and slightly condescending manner, pulled free in disbelief. “All the times? What, this is a habit with you?” She had half a mind to snatch his cigarettes right out of his hand from sheer exasperation. “Well thanks for telling me, man. Now I don't I have to feel bad about sticking my foot into it.” She ran one hand over her scalp. “If you got away with this once and decided to try it again, you had it coming.”

The tremendous foolhardiness of her friend aside, the more the initial shock and headache wore off the more her ire gave way to exasperated amusement. Cecil's pensive, mopey, ridiculous comment as he sucked on a cigarette behind his bar finally tipped the scale. She threw her head back and burst out laughing. “Work this out? What have you got to 'work out?' Or, you know, other than Ferris up against a wall all night.” She slapped her hand against one thigh, still laughing. “I mean, your Devils and Dragons stuff was pretty cool, but this left nothing to the imagination.” She chuckled and wiped some mist from her eye. “I don't think there's much mystery think over, Sess.”

This was perhaps a little unkind under the circumstances, so she did her best to wipe her face clean before she continued, “Seriously though. As much as I'm going to enjoy blackmailing you with this, that was like walking up to Ferris and grabbing his balls.” Her expression solidified further into sobriety. “You're embarrassed, and you've got some baggage about having a new crush. I get that. But you can't actually not apologize, not without being a huge dick.” Her mouth twitched. “Or, you know.”