Winging It - Robbie tags Dalton, May

[Robbie Wilkes]

Giving the girl a sideways glance as she wrote in her little black book, Robbie wondered if she was prone to bursts of noise. Unlike Robbie who was all noise all the time though why he was suddenly quiet now he wasn't entirely sure. Again it might be attributed to having two people at once to talk to...maybe.

The words his professor used were words Robbie understood but he just nodded, not seeing any other suitable responses. 'Cool' would have sufficed but he doubted his professor would really appreciate it. He was after all an English professor. He looked up at the back of his professor's slightly tilted head and gave a little chuckle when he was asked of his interest in performance. It was non-existent.

"Yeah, I doubt confidence needs to be gained than it is needed to be...uh toned down. At least in my case." Robbie answered with a sardonic chuckle. "And I prefer the term humour specialist." He leaned back and let the conversation continue.

"A good name for a cat. Is Cat. Or brat because that's what they are." Of course, Robbie didn't have any problems with cats but they really did act like little brats. Slinking away when they've done wrong, being generally annoying as they cough up hairballs everywhere. And not to mention the screech they call meowing. Weird.

"Dalmatians are awesome coz they can run fast and they're like...mini horses. Their history with firefighters I was told is like...a whole variety of reasons apparently. Hard to pinpoint just one but basically, it's because they were fast. Zeus is super fast. It's fun playing frisbee with him." Done with his share of the conversation, he fiddled with the blue leather seat of the car as Mayu spoke.

The mention of Ant and a hamster named Killer made Robbie laugh simply because of the irony. And once they arrived at the restaurant and were seated, Robbie commented on how nice the place was. "Don't get to come here too often, I can tell you that." He looked around before settling his sight on the menu. Not noticing how his professor had to put on his glasses, Robbie scrolled his eyes all over the menu until he found what he wanted.

"So I'm ordering the burger because spaghetti don't got nothing on this jumbo meat." He tapped at the picture of the two patty burger. He was hungry and the burger looked enticing. "Does this place have milkshakes?"

[Mayu Yoshiko]

Mayu remained quiet, not something unusual for her to experience but it made her feel out of place among both the boys. She slid into the seat, careful not touch either of the men mostly because she didn't want to hear their thoughts. But a big part of her was because they were boys. Boys were not good for her in one bit.

She plucked at the threads in the sweater she was wearing, not bothering to remember this was not her over sized sweater. It was soft, and warm, and only slightly warn out. This meant it must have been well loved at some point, or just washed one too many times.

May turned her thoughts back to her two companions just as they started ordering food. Now even if she wasn't fat, she was slightly obsessed with looking good. This was something she blamed on Antosha. "I'll just have hot chocolate; no whip cream or cherries please." she denied herself the urge to get low-fat milk as well. That might just seem to weird wouldn't it?

She folded her hands on the table in front of her, inspecting the chipped black nail polish. Ant had decided to do a make-over a few days ago and she was still scrubbing all the products out of her hair. Talk about looking goth. Purple was definitely not her color.

"So Professor, Robbie. What are your powers? I mean, I know what yours is, Robbie. But what about you, professor?" This earned a tiny smile from beneath the mass of deep brown hair that hid her eyes. She had waited till the person taking their orders had left, and kept her voice low just in case they would be over heard.

She wasn't about to admit that she knew the answer to that question already. But it seemed to be a polite thing to ask, after all what else would they talk about? Homework didn't seem likely with Robbie around. Even without being his friend she could tell just how much he read. Which just happened to be never.

"I suppose I should tell you.. I'm a telepath." May raised her head a little, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The only reason she offered up information was that to get somethign, you had to offer something in return. Again, it was also the polite thing to do. A small smile tugged at her lips, threatening to betray the sincerity in her voice. She figured one of them, if not both, would freak out at her being able to invade their minds. Like she had with the professor. May returned her hands to a folded position on the table, eyes flicking from her fellow student to the older man sitting with them.

[Jacob Dalton]

<< "Yeah, I doubt confidence needs to be gained… "And I prefer the term humour specialist.">>

Dalton chuckled. Obviously he hadn’t provided any good selling points for Robbie on the drama department. No matter: not everyone had the same interests. “Then ‘humour specialist’ it is!


<< "A good name for a cat. Is Cat. Or brat because that's what they are." >>

Dalton raised an eyebrow. “No warm feelings for the felines, eh? You might be surprised: they are as individual as humans. But no matter…”

<< "Dalmatians are awesome coz they can run fast and they're like...mini horses… >>

Dalton nodded. “I do seem to recall something about them originally following after the fire engines instead of riding on them. But I don’t recall why…”

<< "So I'm ordering the burger because spaghetti don't got nothing on this jumbo meat." He tapped at the picture of the two patty burger. He was hungry and the burger looked enticing. "Does this place have milkshakes?" >>

Dalton glanced over in surprise. The majority of the menu was traditional Italian fare, but apparently they had a small section of basic Americana. Perhaps they had had a few too many guests who didn’t care for pasta? Hard to tell. “Well, well: if they have burgers, I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t have shakes.”

He glanced over at the bar. “Apparently they have a full service bar: that would mean they have all the equipment and supplies for shakes…”

He checked the back of the menu, finding a beverage list. It was buried, but there it was. “Yes, indeed. They appear to list quite the variety of flavors, too. Enjoy!”

<< "I'll just have hot chocolate; no whip cream or cherries please." >>

Dalton turned his attention to his other companion. “Already ate? Most courteous of you to join us in that case: I suppose it was rather silly of us to presume that because we had not, you had not. Very well, then: hot chocolate it is, and ‘cheers’ to you.”

He folded his menu and laid it down, drawing the attention of the waitress so they could place the order. Once the young lady had left the table, he had expected Mayu to start explaining about the school paper: but apparently she had another subject she wished to address first.

<< "So Professor, Robbie. What are your powers? I mean, I know what yours is, Robbie. But what about you, professor?" >>

He hesitated. At Westridge, of course, not only had he not discussed the specifics of his powers with anyone, but not even the fact that he had powers. Given the fact that there might be people hostile to Hammel spying on the school, his initial reaction was a reluctance to share this information with anyone. But that would not do at Hammel. If he were to assist students in controlling their powers, he would certainly have to demonstrate his own as an example from time to time: not much point in secrets.

“I am a hydrokinetic,” he explained: “perhaps more specifically, a biohydrokinetic: I can move water, but only water which contains sufficient biological organisms. Your glass of tap water is perfectly safe due to the chlorine: nor would I be able to divert a rain shower. But groundwater: ponds, lakes, oceans, wells and the like: these are my clay. I can call water from beneath the surface, or mold surface water as I please.

“I can’t make water float suspended in the air: my power doesn’t grant any kind of antigravity. But with sufficient water about, I can generate fairly tall columns or waves, and direct them at speed. I can create a mobile platform of water an inch off the ground, stand on it, and move at speed, if the surrounding ground is wet.

“Also, if the right solid shapes are available, I can press water through whatever might serve as a nozzle to generate a spray: but once droplets lose a direct line of contact with the earth, they are beyond my control.

“In Switzerland, they concluded after several experiments that what I do is send some sort of telepathic message to the organisms in the water, and imbue them with the ability to control the surface tension of the body of water in which they reside. The larger the body of water, especially in depth, the larger the organic community I may call upon: more water equals greater control.

“Unfortunately that weakens the surface tension of the water within my body: it begins to evaporate rather quickly, leaving me dehydrated. And the larger the body of water, the more quickly I suffer the dehydration. And something about the means by which I send the telepathic signal tends to trigger migraines: again, more severe for greater efforts.”

He paused, and considered ruefully. “I suppose that I went considerably beyond the scope you intended with your question: most likely you would have been satisfied for me simply to say: ‘I move water.’ Please forgive me: that educator’s gene tends to kick in, wanting to explain every detail…”

<< "I suppose I should tell you.. I'm a telepath." >>

Dalton nodded, considering the biological implications. “Then our powers probably have much in common: you may be a ‘receiver’ whereas I am a ‘sender,’ but it is most likely the same mechanism operating in the same portion of the brain, with similar side effects.

“I presume that you also suffer from migraines? If you do not, it would be interesting to consider the differences in side effects, and what causes them.” Having started with the explanation for his own powers, his thought process was firmly in tech mode: science over social.

“So: what kinds of limitations do you experience? Range, depth of awareness, certainty: do you ever feel you are assimilating some portion of the identity of someone whose mind you have read? Do you ever receive thought impressions where you are not sure who was the source?”

Struck as he was by his train of thought, the implication that she might have read any aspect of his own mind had, for the moment, escaped him utterly.

[Robbie Wilkes]

The Dalmatian story was told to him millions of times before, even before Zeus came to live with them. Robbie wanted a Dalmatian even before he saw 101 Dalmatians [the cartoon, not the live action movie]. "They were the olden days version of the siren now. Cause before, the firemen used carriages and stuff you know? So the dogs, because they were fast, they could keep up with the carriages and warn people to get out of the way. At least that's what my dad told me."

Raising an eyebrow at the minimal order the tiny girl gave, Robbie shrugged and continued to order his burger and shake. Once she was gone and Mayu asked her question, Robbie was keen on hearing the professor's answer but Mayu interjected to tell them her power and Robbie blanched. "Seriously?"

Now self-conscious of his thoughts, Robbie wondered if there was any way he could block his thoughts from her. He'd never had to do it before and now this girl could just open his mind waves and know everything there was to know about him? That was bogus.

He turned his attention to his professor and tried not to think too much. It was usually easy since he doesn't do that a lot anyway, if ever. But now he knew that his classmate could be listening in, he was panicking. But it did help that the professor explained his powers scientifically (read: talked. A lot.) so Robbie just let the information seep in.

Their drinks came early and he took long sips of his shake. "Oh, dude could you send me some cold water too? Thanks." Robbie waved at the waitress who took their order.

[Mayu Yoshiko]

Mayu smiled at the waitress, giving her a small nod in the way of acknowledgement to their drinks arriving before she had believed they would. It was very kind of the little human to have made them as comfortable as possible before she would stop paying attention to them. Normally she ignored small gestures such as this but it was something to keep her mind off of Robbie’s sudden mental cry. Though he might not be a telepath, thinking so clearly didn’t help.

“It’s like swimming in the ocean. Sometimes skimming the surface is your best bet, and that’s what I normally do. I can read surface thoughts without too much effort or side effects, but then I lose myself the deeper I go. Once I go past the surface it gets harder to remember if I am them, or I am me.. And once I’m out I will experience intense migraines, minimal.” She paused to sip on the drink before continuing. “Let’s see… Right now? I can read just about every single persons thought wave in this room, though it becomes distant and more like mumbles the farther they are. It’s earlier with physical contact and closeness… And when they are ‘mentally shouting’ I guess you could say. I also seem to stumble into to someone's mind when it is something important, such as something that could potentially cause me harm. Or even mildly entertains me, such as you 'jumping at grasshoppers' as you so put it.”

May looked up at both of the boys, turning her attention away from the chocolate in front of her. “Anyway, Professor. I like to know about people’s powers, it interests me. So, Robbie, what are your limitations?” she turned in the seat to look at the boy, resting her head on her hand. It was abnormal for her to talk so much in one sitting, but it seemed appropriate to explain it however she could. Even if the answer was longer then it needed to be.

[Jacob Dalton]

<< “It’s like swimming in the ocean… ... And once I’m out I will experience intense migraines, minimal.” >>

Dalton listened intently, absorbing the ideas she was describing. And she did describe them most beautifully: a poetic style that would be well suited for prose, though not so much for the newspaper. He smiled ruefully as he considered the limitations he would have to pound into student’s heads if he were to assist with journalism: “who, what, when, where & how,” as briefly as possible. As Hamlet’s mother would have said: “more matter, less art.” It was a style that had its place: not his favorite place, but a necessary part of his subject matter.

He nodded as she confirmed his suspicion about migraines: it made perfect sense. Now he was wondering about the difference between telepathy and telekinesis. It was almost as if his own talent were a form of telepathy masquerading as TK, achieving the same ends by different means. What, then, would be the different mechanism for a true TK, such as Lani?

And if Metas were the result of some natural genetic mutation, how very odd that there should be some who experienced such blatant physiological changes, and others where the change was hidden away in the processes of the mind, physiologically invisible! Truly fascinating…

<< “I can read just about every single persons thought wave in this room… …stumble into to someone's mind when it is something important… … could potentially cause me harm… …such as you 'jumping at grasshoppers' as you so put it.” >>

At first he continued to listen from the purely academic standpoint, still tying everything she said to his theories and educated guesses about the mechanisms behind the process. Then suddenly he realized she was making veiled references to some very specific issues – oh, dear God! How could he not have realized!

Mentally he began a frantic, desperate backwards scramble, trying to remember just what-all he might have thought about which she would have caught and which should not have been released. He realized almost at once that he was in a mental panic: an image came to mind of Martin, having playfully launched himself towards the back end of a large dog sniffing by the swimming pool, then practically folding himself into a pretzel trying to reverse direction on the wet tile as the dog had turned and commenced a furious barking. That perfectly described his state of mind at the moment: god, how much did he think in metaphors? And what did Mayu think of that? – or that, or _that_, or that? Different images of things he might possibly have been considering in the privacy of his mind: guilt feelings probably unearned, as his focus had been very much on his students and the conversation. But the mind of man is subject to a thousand distractions and temptations…

A dawning awareness struck him. This was the way she saw everybody. She knew, as only a virtuoso of a telepath could, of all the dark demons that plague our souls, the wild, untamed thoughts not of our deepest hearts, but from our superficial, instinctive ungoverned reactions: thoughts that dissipate like a momentary flame, leaving behind no change of heart nor intent, but only their own ghostly afterimage. If some clumsy oaf were to bump his arm in passing and spill his drink, she would see that flicker of fantasy in which he leaped out in rage to pummel the man to the floor: but she would look beyond, knowing it for the chimera that it was, and not a mirror of his soul.

His mind reeled yet again: she saw people almost as God saw, every thought, every motive. No: that was an exaggeration, but she came far closer than most of us could ever hope to attain.

Another panicked image flashed across his mind, of her eagerly typing out all the deep dark secrets entrusted to him by Emiko and splashing them across Facebook or Wikileaks: but he immediately discarded that image out of trust. She had hinted to him in order not to reveal these secrets in front of Robbie: she had learned discretion. How could she not?

Of course, all this chaotic thought process lay nakedly open to her. There was no point in trying to hide it: he could not, and with her experience of the human mind, to her the things he would find so embarrassing, so revealing, to her would not matter.

All this plethora of thought raced through his mind in a matter of seconds: then his focus returned to the table.

*You tried to warn me. I just didn’t listen well enough. Thank you.*

He felt confident she could hear the thought, floating at the surface of his mind. Then he picked up the thread of the conversation. “Grasshoppers? Yes, I seem to recall using the metaphor. At this moment, it seems a hundred times more appropriate…”

[Mayu Yoshiko]

Mayu was in-tuned to Dalton's thoughts directly, and had been for the last couple of minutes. She had hoped her not so blunt mention of telepathy would have him realize the error of his thought-speech. It caught her by surprise by the sudden whirl of activity in his once still mind. Thoughts flew into her brain like they were her own, making her head dizzy by the sudden-ness.

A cat jumping at a dog, and reeling back. Man this guy thought in metaphors. Why couldn't he just think in a straight pattern for the ease of her sanity? The random thoughts kept up like a wave threatening to drag her over; dogs, grasshoppers, books, so open.. There were times May couldn't make heads nor tails of the incoherent thoughts of her professor.

God, was her talking really that poetic? And not good for a newspaper? Great way to be a buzz kill, professor. She didn't need that journalism career anyway.

Seconds for him seemed like endless hours for her, so when the waters of his mind finally stilled she was left breathless and a headache building behind her eyes. "Yes, Professor. It seems grasshoppers are indeed more fitting now." May paused to steady herself, silently cursing the professor for pushing her into this corner.

Alright, she had forced herself into this corner but it made her feel much better to blame someone else. She pressed the tips of her fingers against her eyelids in order to relieve the building pressure. How could she phrase this question so Robbie would have no clue? "Professor, I had a question about an assignment." she peered at him through her long fingers, hoping to god he'd understand this was not really about some assignment.

"It talked about the sephard leading the lamb to the lion to be slaughtered.. I was wondering if this was simply because the lamb did not know of what the lion had planned, or because the lion was a secret to even the lamb and the Shepard? I mean, the Shepard is there to protect the lambs, so should he have told the lambs? And what about where the lion was lurking, did that matter to the slaughter?" she frowned, hoping he'd be able to pick that apart for the real questions- why weren't they being told, what was out there, and where they were. It was a long shot, but she had to try.

[Jacob Dalton]

<< "Yes, Professor. It seems grasshoppers are indeed more fitting now." May paused to steady herself, silently cursing the professor for pushing her into this corner. >>

As he looked at her, Dalton suddenly realized what his mental hysteria had done.

“Or a plague of locusts, perhaps.”

He focused. All the background chatter drowned out as he formed the image in his mind of a slow-moving swarm laying waste to the land. The orchestral conductor in his head played a sad, contrite dirge as soundtrack to the image.

*I am so sorry…*

He wanted to reach out, lay a comforting hand on hers: then he realized that with the strength of her receiving, that could make things ten times worse. Reluctantly, he drew his hand away.

<< "Professor, I had a question about an assignment." >>

With all the under-talk between them in the last few minutes, he would have been astonished if she had meant an actual assignment. He also realized this might take some interpretation, so he focused carefully, not to miss any relevant detail.

<< "It talked about the shepherd leading the lamb to the lion to be slaughtered.. >>

Dalton’s heart ached, half from the guilt of concealing anything, half from how badly his snatches of thought seemed to have been misconstrued by the poor girl. He slowly summoned another mental picture: a sheet unfolding and laying out like a blanket for a picnic, and him figuratively laying his heart upon it: everything open, everything exposed: nothing hidden. The sincerity would ring through: there would be no way he could lie to her right now that would not set off bells like fire alarms.

“I do believe, Mayu, that you have misinterpreted the story. Or more properly, that the story was written as if from the viewpoint of one of the uninformed lambs, and not intended by the author to be taken as an accurate depiction.”

An image flashed through his mind from a recent Broadway show based on a book written from the viewpoint of one of the wicked stepsisters – but he blocked the image down and focused on the sheet and composing a proper response to give her both honesty and clarity.

“There have always been lions, and they have always hunted lambs.
The shepherd does not lead the lambs to slaughter: he leads them to the golden field of grain, where they can eat their fill and grow to be strong, healthy sheep.” For clarification, he allowed a calm segue to images of graduation and happy adult lives, then back -- to an image of a shepherd holding his long staff with the crook in it, standing on a hill overlooking the ripe field in the golden light of dawn. This image had come unbidden, as if something else inside him were pulling up a deeper truth.

“The lions have always known where the lambs would find their best grazing grounds, and so they crouch about the field, preparing to spring on the unwary. But they are cunning, and don’t always hide in the same place. Even the shepherds don’t know where: how could they warn the lambs?”

Why was the emotion of this analogy rending him so deeply? His heart ached at the image of the shepherd in the golden light, and the dreamlike slow motion image, again unbidden, as the shepherd slung his staff, crook out, in a majestic arc.

“The shepherds are not there to feed the lions,” Dalton assured her quietly, more watching the images in his head as a spectator than directing them himself: “They are there to stop them, and protect the lambs.”

The movie in his mind continued, still in slow motion. A huge lion had leaped from hiding and was charging towards a lamb that had strayed too far from the flock. There was no way the shepherd could get there in time. Was the lamb doomed? Why was the image playing out this way?

Dalton watched, entranced, as the lion scooped up the lamb in its mouth, not pausing to kill, but rather seeking to carry the lamb away. His own words echoed in his mind: “…it would seem likely they would first target students whose talents are most appropriate to combat…” and a few quick images flashed through to remind them both that military intelligence such as the secrets she could be forced to take from enemy minds could be worse than any weapon.

But the movie continued. The great lion had come to a full stop in order to grab the lamb, and now coiled his powerful muscles to turn back and run. The shepherd, meanwhile, was gaining speed. The lion sprang away, but the shepherd overtook. The long crook of the cane caught the lion by the throat: then the shepherd twisted his grip, forcing the lion’s head to the ground.

The great beast lay pinned and furious: in his struggle for freedom he had no choice but to release the lamb, which ran back squalling to its mother.

With a powerful twist of his shoulders the lion wrestled free of the crook and stood roaring in anger at the shepherd. For a moment they exchanged a silent glare: then the lion padded off to wait for another day. The image of the shepherd silhouetted in the golden light remained.

“The shepherd tries to keep the flock together,” Dalton murmured, feeling entranced, not quite sure where the words were coming from: “but the field is so full of grain. There are temptations on every side, and he will not beat the lambs to keep them in line. He guides them gently: thus often they are heedless, and stray…”

* You were not the Shepherd, Jacob. You were the lamb. *

The quiet voice in his mind left him humbled and shaken inside. This was not what he had intended to share.

“I… sorry…”

For once, the professor did not know what to say.

[Mayu Yoshiko]

Mayu was quietly digesting all of what was said, the words and images slowly sorting themselves in her mind. Lambs and Lions- and oddly enough Wicked. She got all the thoughts meant for her, and them some. As well as some that weren't. Dalton as a young boy flickered through her brain once or twice in the exchange, warning her that she was diving in waters too deep. Once that happened she knew it was time to take a break from paying attention to any one mind.

Was Martin really that silly of a cat?

She watched what he wanted her to see, straight from the minds-eye itself. It was so intimate to work with another persons mind sometimes it was a wonder how telepaths could manage staying sane at all. May pulled herself into her own mind, reaching out to pat Dalton's hand so he would understand that she heard it all; ignoring the brief flare of his entity being hers and hers being his. It was enough to make her retreat into the corner of the booth, pulling the sweater around herself to avoid more contact.

So she had misunderstood it? That wasn't surprising but it made her feel the tiniest bit upset with herself. Telepaths should be able to avoid misunderstandings like this. The pain in her head made it harder to function properly, a pain she could place squarely on Dalton's shoulders for not keeping his thoughts straight. To think, a teacher not used to working with telepaths such as herself.

Still, all this left Mayu one last question. "But professor, surely the Shepard is aware of the lions now? Could he not have warned the flock so they would be less likely to stray? Some of the sheep are bound to have thorns beneath their fleece, so why not warn them?" She closed her eyes now, hoping the pain would lessen if she kept herself in darkness.

[Jacob Dalton]

Dalton’s head was still spinning from the – what does one call it? Personal revelation? Epiphany? Word from God? There was a time he would have had no doubt: but fifteen years of devotion to a dream that had ended so badly leaves one with questions, and Dalton had been facing a few.

Dramatist that he was, Dalton regularly phrased many a mental quandary as a stage play between characters representing opposing views. This was a conscious, deliberate choice on his part; but that which the conscious mind can do, the sub-conscious mind is just as capable of performing. So many years of chaos, seeing no eternal plan coming together, his faith had begun to erode. Was he so certain as to know this was a Voice from Beyond, or could this merely be his subconscious imitating that conscious choice, to help him confront some unpalatable truth?

He did not know, and it bothered him. More than anything it bothered him that such a revelation should come at a time when he was so open to a telepath: that so intimate an insight, regardless of source, should surface right when a student in his charge could eavesdrop on it as well.

But somehow it never occurred to him to doubt the content or significance of the message itself. It rang true: that he had been posing as a guardian when he himself was in need of rescue.

His attention returned to Mayu. “The question is, can the sheep even graze without ‘going astray?’ Life and learning are both about exploring our boundaries and pushing them further out: expanding our world through risking the unknown. There is always risk: but there is also always reward. If the sheep are too scared to step beyond the herd a single step to take a bite, the flock will starve.

“I am not sure how to interpret the analogy of the thorns under the fleece: at the moment, I am not feeling particularly qualified to comment. After all, was I not just told: ‘I’m just the lamb?’ Perhaps you would need to ask a real shepherd.”

[Mayu Yoshiko]

Mayu leaned back into the chair with a sigh, rubbing her fingertips against her temples with adequate pressure. "Well Professor, this would be an example of my migraines." she complained, her voice much quieter then it had been moments before. Everything was louder in here then she would have liked, though all she wanted was to go to sleep.

An image flashed through her mind, demanding attention to her right now. She watched as a young Dalton helped a tiny girl up to the top of a pretty Christmas tree so that she could put an angel on the top; an angel with pretty blond hair and a bright flowing robe-dress. Her name was Elise, and she was obviously Jacob's baby sister. But when May tried to watch more it simply vanished from her mind and she was left with a sharp pain where it had been.

"Might I say, Professor, you were rather strong for such a tiny thing.." Mayu stifled a yawn, her eyes still closed as she burrowed into the sweater. Her head was pounding like there was a thousand fat soccer players stomping their cleats onto her brain. Maybe if she just shut her eyes for a moment, and didn't think about anything it would lessen.. Well it didn't take long at all for May to fall asleep against the wall and enter the land of dreams where she saw sheep grazing in an open field with wolves surrounding them at every side. It was safe to saw she was having nightmares. Though you couldn't tell by looking at her all too still form.

[Robbie Wilkes]

Robbie hadn't paid much attention as Professor Dalton and Mayu spoke. If he had though, he would have thought they were speaking in tongues. There was talk of sheep, migraines and thorns. And those were the only things he heard coming from the two. Whatever they were talking about, Robbie sure as hell wasn't part of it.

Their food arrived and Robbie devoured his without even waiting for the other two. Once he got two bites in, he realised that Mayu's eyes were closed and his professor looked a bit...sick. Left with his burger hanging a few inches away from his mouth, Robbie looked from his schoolmate to his English professor and back to the sleeping form and frowned slightly.

"Did I miss something?"

[Jacob Dalton]

Dalton was beginning to feel a bit of a headache coming on himself, but he was well aware this was tension related. Sudden revelations can tend to be emotionally exhausting, and carry over to the physical.

It took him a moment to recognize that their meals had indeed come. They smelled quite delicious. But Mayu was apparently fast asleep. Wouldn’t it be more proper for him to get her back to the school, if she were so spent?

But there was Robbie already digging in to his burger. It wasn’t like Mayu had anything sitting and getting cold other than her hot chocolate: and certainly he could watch over her as well here as on the road. He picked up his fork and started on the Chicken Parmigiana.

<< "Did I miss something?" >>

He managed a weak grin at Robbie’s question. He had been asking himself much the same question over the past few minutes.

“Nothing to be concerned with: just Mayu attempting to pick my brain with questions about an assignment.” Quite true, that! At least as far as it went. “And also demonstrating just how successfully she does so.”

His eyes looked at bit haunted: if Robbie chose to believe because there had been some battle of wills between his professor and the young telepath, so be it: better that than to make the boy privy to the information Mayu had unveiled.

Then again, he wouldn’t want Robbie to think ill of his classmate and suspect her of some sort of nefarious mind spying. He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about: not like she attempted anything inappropriate or untoward. In fact, she was most respectful of privacy issues.”

She had been more than respectful. She had revealed to him what he had inadvertently given out, and kept her questions veiled to protect his secrecy.

“And, how is your burger tonight? The Chicken Parmigiana is quite delicious…”

[Robbie Wilkes]

Robbie missed the tired look on his professor's face as the older man reassured him that he wasn't out of the loop. The better part of Robbie nodded and accepted it, not needing anything more than that since he found it unimportant. But the girl was sleeping. Rude much?

Of course, the fact that he zoned out went over his head.

Professor Dalton asked about his burger the moment the boy bit into it. Not having the decency to actually finish chewing the burger before replying, Robbie nodded. "It's pretty good." He replied with his mouth full. At least, spittle didn't start flying around.

"Dude does that thing have cheese in it?" Robbie's eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of his professor's food.

[Jacob Dalton]

<< Not having the decency to actually finish chewing the burger before replying, Robbie nodded. "It's pretty good." He replied with his mouth full… >>

Dalton grinned and made a silent note to himself not to ask questions when Robbie’s mouth was full. Actually that was a good note for anyone: Dalton had merely forgotten in his distraction.

<< "Dude, does that thing have cheese in it?" >>

Dalton smiled. “Certainly, Robbie. That’s what chicken Parmigiana is: a breaded chicken breast with mozzarella on top, served with marinara. As to the lasagna: ricotta, mozzarella, parmesan: possibly a few others. I take it you like cheese?”

*I take it you like cheese?* Dalton groaned. Was he really reduced to such inanities? At the moment it seemed he was. Perhaps he was more rattled than he cared to admit.

“So, Robbie: I believe we covered the issue of your assignment. What else were we talking about?”