[All white. It reminds him, somehow, of his orderly uniform when he still "worked" at HNL — white shirt, white trousers, bleach-clean. Only the black of his shoes and belt to mar the blank canvas of it all. Here, though? Here, he is not so constrained and indulges himself in neutrals, and it is strange to see another who wears stark white as though he were immune from the dirt and grime inherent in a city like this one.
Interesting.
His smile lifts by small degrees.]
No? [A chuckle, airy.] Well, you got me. No, I'm not here for the rave specifically.
[He's right — he doesn't belong here. And this wanderer-by, drawn in by the hubbub, no doubt, doesn't either. He thinks he might've caught a whiff of that thought, too, churning in his mind, but if Henry does, he deigns not to say anything.]
There's someone here I want to meet. The man who organized all of this. I'm hoping to speak with him later tonight, if I can pin him down in the crowd. But someone like that doesn't just make appointments, so here I am. Waiting with everyone else.
[Spreads his hands to indicate their surroundings.]
Not terribly exciting, I know. But don't let that stop you from having a good time if you change your mind. People really enjoy these gatherings, but then again, they're not given much of a choice.
[When Aunamee feigns interest in something, he cocks his head to the side, a wind-up man moving through its prescribed motions. When he is interested -- truly, utterly interested -- he stares.
He stares right now, his eyes taking in every micro-expression in the other man's face. He watches the way his mouth forms the words appointment and pin him down. He watches the smile shift on his lips. He watches the way his arms open wide in an invitation, and he thinks I do the same thing.
We are the same.
But mirrors can be flawed. They bow in the heat, and their images can shift just enough to fool you. ]
You speak as though they're hostages.
[His lips crack into a too wide smile. ]
Does the man you're looking for hold that much power?
[i bet they have the weirdest vibes right now if anyone is watching
Henry doesn't seem to be put off by this man's tendency to simply stare. He has trained himself to look more personable than unsettling, but if he were to shear away those practiced habits in order to blend in better to society, he'd probably do the same.
At that question, though, he actually huffs out a laugh. Just like his voice, it's as light as wisps of smoke, yet he still manages something sardonic beneath it.]
I don't know if I want to give him that much credit. But... to those who aren't going in expecting it, then yes. His mind settles over everyone else's, ensuring they're on their best behavior while they "party."
[In other words: they're dealing with a psionic. And it isn't a hard leap of logic to make that Henry had once been an unknowing victim of this subtle placation and the very idea...
Rankles him, to put it nicely. Makes him want to sink his own telepathic claws into his mind and tear it free and devour it.]
It's an unsettling feeling, and doing it without permission? I just don't think that's acceptable.
Not because he's startled. Not because he's afraid, although fear has made itself his companion more often these days. It's more like how a predator goes still when a prey animal turns its head. His expression doesn't change -- not really -- but something dark and ancient settles behind his eyes. Something dangerous. ]
No.
[He's never met this man, and yet he can picture his death perfectly. He can feel the cartilage in his neck crack beneath his fingers. He can see his eyes roll back in his head. ]
[Oh, he sees that. There is something about this man that really does seem a rather lot like himself; politeness veiling an interest in the darkness beneath. Of course, this should not surprise him at this point. His stay in Diadem has forced him to interact with all sorts, some friendly, some violent, most existing somewhere in the space in between. But he isn't quite sure he's met someone—at least, this is how he perceives it—who might just be fine with less-than-subtle intentions of...
Possibly bringing fatal retribution on a man under the guise of "having a word" with him.
Perhaps he's misjudging, but either way, Henry does not feel the need to lie about how he intends to get closer to him.]
Knowing what I know, it'll be simple enough to steel my own mind against outside influences. Usually, I'm good about that sort of thing, but I was caught off guard last time.
[Now there's fear -- or maybe envy, or maybe rage, all three emotions flickering across his eyes in rapid succession before vanishing back into polite emptiness. ]
Would you believe that I'm a psychic as well?
[He can't help but use present tense. ]
My abilities have dimmed since my arrival. [Which is an optimistic way of saying "they've completely fucking vanished." These days, delusion is essential to his survival. ] Now and again, however, I feel myself drawn towards certain locations. And certain people.
[He smiles at Henry, at his perfect posture, at his well-groomed hair. ]
((ooc; sorry i disappeared for the weekend! also if you'd rather have henry not pick up on his ambient emotions, just let me know and i'll edit this accordingly! ))
[The shapes of those feeling, if even faintly, seem to brush past Henry's mind. That rage is all too familiar to him, for he has his own brand of it always churning beneath the surface, but his only response is to smile as he has been smiling. The mask barely ever slips in a controlled environment like this one.]
Really now?
[Another psychic? All the more reason for him to be intriged; what potential do others have? How powerful are they? What can Henry himself glean from them?
At "perhaps I was supposed to meet you", he leans in, almost conspiratorially, but still utterly polite. His hands remain claspsed behind his back.]
Maybe you were. Maybe you were meant to tag along.
[He wants this. He needs this. Once upon a time, desperation meant nothing to Aunamee. It was an emotion other people felt, a delicious, feverish want that he sampled from them like a fine wine. He'd ask people to beg sometimes, again and again. Until they meant it. Until he felt it.
And now here he is.
He opens his mouth without thinking. Yes, he's going to say, but then he remembers the setting. A rave. He pictures strangers sweating on him. Gum caught between the treads of his shoes. Spit. Vomit. And of course, there's the matter of the psionic. Aunamee can believe the Guest is still with him as much as wants, but the psionic will test that belief. And if he gets inside Aunamee's unguarded mind, he might even break it. ]
No.
[He hates the word as he says it. It tastes bitter in his throat.
But then -- ah. He has an idea. A compromise.
A smile flickers across his lips. ]
But when you're finished with your "discussion" -- [The quotes are audible. ] -- you can give me a call. If your friend, say, becomes aggravated and spills his drink, I'd be happy to clean it up. I'm very good at cleaning up spills.
[Oh? He has to admit, that's not quite the response he expected, and Henry tilts his head just a bit in response, even when presented with a compromise in turn.]
No? Feeling gunshy?
[It's a light-hearted question, of course, without any audible cut to the edges of any syllable. But maybe Aunamee can hear it for what it is: Afraid for what might happen?
Perhaps he fears what the influence of another psionic would do to him, unbidden? Especially if his powers are not what they once were. On one hand, he cannot blame him. On the other? Well. How quickly he is to back out.
The smile doesn't leave his face. He does catch his drift, though.]
I guess I can't blame you. But really, what's one mess in a huge collection of them?
[A rave is not exactly the. Cleanest place to be.]
Still, I wouldn't mind touching base now and again. Sorry— I didn't catch your name...?
[He doesn't give his name. Not right away. Instead, he extends his right hand for Henry to take. He's wearing gloves, white and pristine, stitched with a degree of precision that screams overpriced tailor -- or perhaps neurotic, each seam a little too tight. This isn't fashion. It's obsession.
He only speaks after Henry takes his hand.]
It's everything.
[His handshake is firm. Practiced, like a smile in a mirror.]
The world is messy, dear stranger, but I do not abide by it. I never have.
[Gloves and all. Either he does not wish to get dirty, or he wants to make an impression, Henry muses. Could be both.]
Aunamee. That's an unforgettable name.
[He drops his hand once it's released, folding it back in front of him with the other. Perhaps, if the other man is observant, he will note the inked tattoo of a 001 on the inside wrist of his left arm.
The courteous smile on his face has not gone anywhere, though.]
I'll remember you, for sure. As for me... I'm Henry. Henry Creel. Been here a few months now, so if you have any questions, I don't mind answering them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
excellent!
Interesting.
His smile lifts by small degrees.]
No? [A chuckle, airy.] Well, you got me. No, I'm not here for the rave specifically.
[He's right — he doesn't belong here. And this wanderer-by, drawn in by the hubbub, no doubt, doesn't either. He thinks he might've caught a whiff of that thought, too, churning in his mind, but if Henry does, he deigns not to say anything.]
There's someone here I want to meet. The man who organized all of this. I'm hoping to speak with him later tonight, if I can pin him down in the crowd. But someone like that doesn't just make appointments, so here I am. Waiting with everyone else.
[Spreads his hands to indicate their surroundings.]
Not terribly exciting, I know. But don't let that stop you from having a good time if you change your mind. People really enjoy these gatherings, but then again, they're not given much of a choice.
no subject
He stares right now, his eyes taking in every micro-expression in the other man's face. He watches the way his mouth forms the words appointment and pin him down. He watches the smile shift on his lips. He watches the way his arms open wide in an invitation, and he thinks I do the same thing.
We are the same.
But mirrors can be flawed. They bow in the heat, and their images can shift just enough to fool you. ]
You speak as though they're hostages.
[His lips crack into a too wide smile. ]
Does the man you're looking for hold that much power?
no subject
Henry doesn't seem to be put off by this man's tendency to simply stare. He has trained himself to look more personable than unsettling, but if he were to shear away those practiced habits in order to blend in better to society, he'd probably do the same.
At that question, though, he actually huffs out a laugh. Just like his voice, it's as light as wisps of smoke, yet he still manages something sardonic beneath it.]
I don't know if I want to give him that much credit. But... to those who aren't going in expecting it, then yes. His mind settles over everyone else's, ensuring they're on their best behavior while they "party."
[In other words: they're dealing with a psionic. And it isn't a hard leap of logic to make that Henry had once been an unknowing victim of this subtle placation and the very idea...
Rankles him, to put it nicely. Makes him want to sink his own telepathic claws into his mind and tear it free and devour it.]
It's an unsettling feeling, and doing it without permission? I just don't think that's acceptable.
cw: violent imagery
Not because he's startled. Not because he's afraid, although fear has made itself his companion more often these days. It's more like how a predator goes still when a prey animal turns its head. His expression doesn't change -- not really -- but something dark and ancient settles behind his eyes. Something dangerous. ]
No.
[He's never met this man, and yet he can picture his death perfectly. He can feel the cartilage in his neck crack beneath his fingers. He can see his eyes roll back in his head. ]
It's not acceptable at all.
[All at once, he turns on a smile. ]
How will you get close to him?
no subject
Possibly bringing fatal retribution on a man under the guise of "having a word" with him.
Perhaps he's misjudging, but either way, Henry does not feel the need to lie about how he intends to get closer to him.]
Knowing what I know, it'll be simple enough to steel my own mind against outside influences. Usually, I'm good about that sort of thing, but I was caught off guard last time.
[Grin. He brings up a hand to tap at his temple.]
Psychic, and all.
no subject
Would you believe that I'm a psychic as well?
[He can't help but use present tense. ]
My abilities have dimmed since my arrival. [Which is an optimistic way of saying "they've completely fucking vanished." These days, delusion is essential to his survival. ] Now and again, however, I feel myself drawn towards certain locations. And certain people.
[He smiles at Henry, at his perfect posture, at his well-groomed hair. ]
Perhaps I was supposed to meet you.
no subject
[The shapes of those feeling, if even faintly, seem to brush past Henry's mind. That rage is all too familiar to him, for he has his own brand of it always churning beneath the surface, but his only response is to smile as he has been smiling. The mask barely ever slips in a controlled environment like this one.]
Really now?
[Another psychic? All the more reason for him to be intriged; what potential do others have? How powerful are they? What can Henry himself glean from them?
At "perhaps I was supposed to meet you", he leans in, almost conspiratorially, but still utterly polite. His hands remain claspsed behind his back.]
Maybe you were. Maybe you were meant to tag along.
no subject
And now here he is.
He opens his mouth without thinking. Yes, he's going to say, but then he remembers the setting. A rave. He pictures strangers sweating on him. Gum caught between the treads of his shoes. Spit. Vomit. And of course, there's the matter of the psionic. Aunamee can believe the Guest is still with him as much as wants, but the psionic will test that belief. And if he gets inside Aunamee's unguarded mind, he might even break it. ]
No.
[He hates the word as he says it. It tastes bitter in his throat.
But then -- ah. He has an idea. A compromise.
A smile flickers across his lips. ]
But when you're finished with your "discussion" -- [The quotes are audible. ] -- you can give me a call. If your friend, say, becomes aggravated and spills his drink, I'd be happy to clean it up. I'm very good at cleaning up spills.
[If you catch his drift. ]
no subject
No? Feeling gunshy?
[It's a light-hearted question, of course, without any audible cut to the edges of any syllable. But maybe Aunamee can hear it for what it is: Afraid for what might happen?
Perhaps he fears what the influence of another psionic would do to him, unbidden? Especially if his powers are not what they once were. On one hand, he cannot blame him. On the other? Well. How quickly he is to back out.
The smile doesn't leave his face. He does catch his drift, though.]
I guess I can't blame you. But really, what's one mess in a huge collection of them?
[A rave is not exactly the. Cleanest place to be.]
Still, I wouldn't mind touching base now and again. Sorry— I didn't catch your name...?
no subject
He only speaks after Henry takes his hand.]
It's everything.
[His handshake is firm. Practiced, like a smile in a mirror.]
The world is messy, dear stranger, but I do not abide by it. I never have.
[A beat. He releases his hand with a mild smile.]
My name is Aunamee. What's yours?
no subject
Aunamee. That's an unforgettable name.
[He drops his hand once it's released, folding it back in front of him with the other. Perhaps, if the other man is observant, he will note the inked tattoo of a 001 on the inside wrist of his left arm.
The courteous smile on his face has not gone anywhere, though.]
I'll remember you, for sure. As for me... I'm Henry. Henry Creel. Been here a few months now, so if you have any questions, I don't mind answering them.
[Now, or later.]