Starring:
Summary: Following the 'accident', Mikhail goes to find out what happened to Quinn.
Date It Happened: March 19, 2008
Another Alley
Another Alley, Harlem
She did go down into a nearby alleyway, right? Or was he just…seeing things?
He's not exactly sure, but it was a thought that lingered on his mind after the initial questioning was over. Although he knows several others saw the same thing he did, they were at least children. And children tend to make up stories. Instead of going back to the dorms, Mikhail ventures forth into the dark to look for Quinn.
Of course, it would be nice if it were sunny or something…
It is a bit shadowy there. But there is Quinn, well, or a piece of the brick wall that detaches itself and she, without anyone (she thinks) looking, she shifts appearance again. First to the girl you saw before.
The artist blinks, glancing over right when she shifts. "…So it wasn't just a strange occurrence," Mikhail says loud enough to signal his presence. He walks over to her slowly, almost unblinking. It's like he's not surprised now.
Quinn is brushing the wrinkles from her well cut suit. Probably trying to get at least some sense of normalcy back before she.. She pauses, to get an image into her head. But she hears the voice, turning with surprise, "Who.."
She's greeted with the silence that settles between herself and Mikhail. He then raises his hand to wave. Awkwardly. "…Hi," he says softly, giving Quinn a lopsided-smile.
Quinn pauses, looking him over. There's a sense of resignation. Well, it isn't like he didn't see it all. She sighs, "Hey there." she smiles wryly, "Come to meet the freak?" with more humor than anything else.
"That's…one way of putting it," Mikhail replies with a weak shrug. "But it's actually reinforcing something someone said to me a couple of months back." That 'someone' is missing now, but surely he'd show up again soon. No word and all of this is happening? What happened to the normal life?
Bleached bangs are brushed away from his eyes. "Actually, I like to call it a 'gift.' A strange gift."
Quinn hmms, 'But no returns.' she jokes. Then she chuckles, "Actually, sometimes I find it really handy. Except when it glitches." she sighs, 'Then its a serious pain in the butt."
Mikhail nods. He did see the glitch, after all. "So you're still getting use to it?"
Quinn nods, "I've really only been able to do this for, well.. not quite a year." she admits. "I have NO idea why." she shrugs, frowning in curiosity. "It kind of came out of nowhere. Took me a while to figure out what was happening, how, and, well, what I could do. I still screw up."
A thoughtful look crosses his features. "I never really figured it out either," he says, "but…it makes things a little more interesting, at least." Sometimes a little too much. Mikhail chuckles softly, tilting his head to the side. "Practice makes perfect."
Quinn pauses, "I'm guessing this means.. you can't do it too, can you?" curiously, "I mean, that'd be a coincidence, meeting another.. hell, I don't even know what to call it."
"Gifted person," Mikhail says simply, with a nod. That's what he calls it. He's heard some of the other names for it, but wasn't really phased by it.
Glancing over his shoulder for a moment, the artist makes sure no one else is around. Well, who else would be in an alley at this time? "…I don't usually do this all of the time, but…this is an exception." Blue gray eyes focus back onto Quinn as he starts to raise his right arm up. Depending on her strength of will, she would start doing the same thing to a certain extent. "But yeah. I'm Mikhail And I'm gifted, too."
Quinn feels her arm tensing, the moving. She tries to move it down.. she has enough will to make it at least a struggle, but she whoas. "That is.. really something." she smiles, "I'm Quinn Lyons. Pleased to meet you, then. Nice to know I'm not the only one out there."
Proving his point, he lets his arm down gently. "Same here, Quinn," the artist smiles weakly.
It was nice to know that no one is truly alone. Especially when they had these gifts.
Quinn looks at her wrist as she extends her hand, seeing her watch. She mutters, "Oh, shoot. I have to get to rehearsal." she reaches into her blazer pocket. "Here.." handing a genuine business card. "Call me, we can talk about.. well, all this. I need to know more. Oh." she quickly writes something on it. "I have a gig over at the Imago, Wednesday through Sunday. If you show this, it'll get you a good seat and some free drinks." she takes a closer look, "Probably non-alcoholic, I'm afraid, but still.. they're free. You can catch the act, and maybe we can talk about all this."