[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}
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.]