2007-04-17: Connecting To Your Psychic Powers


Randall_icon.gif Desiree_icon.gif

Summary: Two strangers at a bus stop have some experiences, and friends, in common. Psychic powers and mind control, oh my!

Date It Happened: April 17th, 2007

Connecting to Your Psychic Powers

Somewhere near Brooklyn, New York

Randall is sitting on a bench near a bus stop, listening to his cheap iPod knockoff. With the volume turned up enough that it bleeds out some. ("You're doing everything your people said to / I'd hate to be the one to break it to you / It's only said because it's true / They misled you when they bred you") Despite this immediate stimulation, he's staring off into the distance, into the midst of the cars cruising past.

Gallivanting down the street is one Desiree Russo, on another one of her jaunts around the city that get her utterly and entirely lost. That's okay, though. This is a woman who looks very distracted and thus, as a handy side-effect, uncaring that she's probably going in the wrong direction. Along with a large, cheap gold purse slung over her shoulder, she's carrying a paper shopping bag and a book. It's the latter that's grabbed her attention away from such things as watching where she's going. It's open as she strolls right past the bus stop. The title: 'Connecting to Your Psychic Powers'. "Ohsh— " Cue: abrupt halt and spinning around. Bus stop! She backtracks and flops down on the bench beside Randall. "Hello!" She's a friendly one.

What's that pink blur? That wasn't a car, not unless the city's champion Avon saleslady is in town. No no, pedestrian, definitely. And what's that book she's got there? Keyword of interest, especially with what he went through earlier. "Hi," he replies, slipping the headphones off and letting them dangle round his neck. "I see we have a common interest," he adds, nodding to the reading material.

Laying the book on her lap - her hand covering only 'onnectin' and part of the New Agey eye, pyramid and beam of light on the dust-flap - Desiree has a big, non-New Yorker smile for the stranger. And, indeed, her accent is very Southern. "Oh, you're interested in this stuff?" she's curious to know, looking down at the book and up at Randall, wide-eyed and inquisitive. "Used to think it was nonsense, but…" There's a roll of her eyes, though her smile never fades. "You ever read this one?"

Randall's voice is some variety of West Coast. "Among other things. And yeah, lots of people think that, and I don't exactly blame them— but I've seen too much first-hand not to." Another glance down at the title; a furrowed brow. "I don't think so… Lately I've been more interested in collective mental energies. Not the sort of thing that you can really split up, by its nature."

"Oh yeah?" This guy seems to know a whole lot more than the actual psychic does, and she's eager and willing to lap any and all information up, at this point. "Issokay," Desiree says of the book with a little shrug of her narrow shoulders. "But it's a lotta… breathe a certain way and interpret your dreams." Pause. "What's a collective mental energy?"

Randall nods, turning to face you more fully now. "Okay, you know how magnets work? You take a piece of metal, all the atoms have a little tiny magnetic pull, and if they're pretty much all lined up the same way then you get a magnet in the traditional sense. Now you do the same thing with thoughts, instead…" At this point, though, he sinks back into the back of the bench. "I had a run-in with it earlier today, only whoever was doing the lining up… I think they'd seriously lost it. They took a lot of others with them, too."

Desiree throws an arm over the top of the bench (opposite the side Randall's on, though) and leans back, continuing to give the bus stop stranger all of her attention. Well, first she idly fusses with the ruffled side of her skirt, crossing her legs, /then/ her attention is undivided. The woman's eyes squint as she listens to Randall, trying very hard to follow his metaphor. "Lil' magnets," she repeats, as if filing this away to memory to try and sort out all the more. His most recent words have her giving him a concerned look, however, all the way to the furrows in her brow. "How d'you mean took a lot of others with 'em? All because they's a magnet? O-or an atom? …Can you s'plain that part again?"

"It'll probably be in the local news tonight." Randall glances past you, off to the north. "All these people were climbing up and… and throwing themselves down to the ground. All these /people/, one after another. Something stopped it partway through, because the rest of us just suddenly snapped out of it."

"They just… jumped?" Desiree asks for clarification, baffled. Her lips pucker into a frown and she glances north instinctually since Randall did. "Why would they /do/ that? I mean, I can see one person, horrible as it is, it happens 'n' all, but— how many? What was there to snap out of anyhow? I mean. How come?"

Randall shrugs. "Like I said, some sort of collective effect must have gone through us. If I'd been outside it, I might have been able to work out where it came from, but… Personally, I'm guessing one of the jumpers was the catalyst. That would explain the cutoff, because they made it up to the front edge."

"So, it … was like…" Desiree pauses working through her thoughts and taking her time; she lifts a hand, gesturing slowly. Her nails are painted a bright pink, a few shades brighter than her cardigan. "Like someone was… makin' 'em do that. You, and the people who jumped, they were part of some collective… what, like," she's hesitant to say it, clearly: "Mind control?"

He reaches up and runs a finger through his hair. "Exactly. Or at least a strong enough influence that they couldn't 'hear' past it, which comes to the same thing." Randall's skin has gone pale by this point, still shell-shocked to some extent; he's only held up this well because he was close to the back of the herd.

Hooold on a second. As Randall clarifies the events that went down earlier today, his impromptu companion begins to get a very worried expression. The kind of expression that comes with experience behind it. Knowledge of a sort that makes her hazel eyes flicker with recognition and fear, though the latter is very fleeting. "Would you believe me if I tol' you I saw that kinda thing before? 'Cause I dunno, I have a feelin' you will." Dezi's eyes flood with their usual warmth and she moves to grasp Randall's shoulder. "You look a lil' pale, are you okay? It musta been awful, what you witnessed."

Instinctively, one hand moves up toward the point of contact, though it stops short. "I believe you. And— I've seen a lot of things since I came here. I'm starting to get a little used to it." Is that good or bad?

"Well, I wish I could say the same," Desiree says, a grave expression tugging at her facial features, on that note; her hand falls away, and she watches it as it wraps around the psychic guide book 101. "But before, we stopped it. The mind control," she adds. "Doesn't look like y'all were so lucky."

Randall arches a brow, even as he shakes his head. "I'm afraid we— Wait. We?" His eyes go wide: takes a group to beat out a group, right? "So there are… others who think along the same lines as you do, right?"

"Well— yeeeah…" Desiree answers, unsure, but thinks about it for a moment and nods a few times decisively with a bob of her dark curls. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, I have this friend who I kinda I helped him out a couple times, when all this weird stuff was goin' on puttin' his life in danger. Like today. With the mind control. It was like that. So I said to the puppet guy, 'you don't wanna do that', real nice, you know? So he wouldn't kill my friend." The people you meet at bus stops, huh?

"And you got him to listen to you? I'm impressed." As Randall pursues this new subject, his skin tone has a chance to recover some measure of its usual non-ashen nature. "So why was the puppet guy going after your friend in particular?"

"Oh, yeah," the Southerner responds with an emphatic raise of her dark and defined brows. She did, indeed, talk a mind-controlled puppet of a man out of killing her friend. True story. She called him cupcake. "Well, is a long story, and I don't even really understand it all. It's got, like. History that I ain't a part of, you know? I wonder if it's connected — the crazy I know about, and the jumping people, today."

Randall inclines his head. "It could be. If I ever find someone who really has a clue about today's thing, I'll tell them to talk to you, see if there's something to fit together there." Ah, the ambiguities of language: he thinks it was the puppeteer that you talked down. Fishing through his pockets, he produces a little notepad and scrawls something down on it.

"Okay," Desiree answers - instinctively more than anything. What she's actually supposed to do with this information, should it come her way, she has no idea. She peers curiously at the notepaper. "I'd appreciate that. And my friend would, too. It's been somethin' he's been tryin' to unravel for a real long time and I guess the police won't hear him out."

Except for the police who have powers themselves, but Randall doesn't know anything about any of that. "I hope he can get things worked out," he offers, along with the top sheet of paper (bearing a phone number, as it turns out).

"Me too," Desiree says with a quiet conviction before she takes the phone number. Holding it between her thumb and forefinger, it's as if she doesn't know what to do with it for a moment before her face lights up - something dawns on her, clearly - and she slips it into her purse. "I'm Desiree, by the way! I just, I got so caught up in your psychic magnet stuff I forgot."

The young man laughs a little and nods. "Randall. Pleased to meet you. —What about your friend, what's his name?" Who knows, he might turn out to know the guy already from somewhere else. You always seem to run into the same few people, whether you plan to or not…

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Randall." Desiree's mouth opens to answer him right away after that, and give him her friend;s name, but halts agape for a moment. How smart is it to tell a random stranger=— "Ramon," she answers. So much for her reluctance. "I'm stayin' with him now for awhile, since I'm not from here and needed a place to stay, him and his daughter Elena."

Randall blinks once at the mention of the first name, and positively lights up at the second. "Oh, I know them! Well, I know her, sort of, and I've met her dad one or twice in passing." After a pause for consideration, he adds, "Tell them I'll help out if I can."

"Wha?" This obviously takes Desiree by surprise. She stares at Randall, blinking blithely for a few seconds that drag on until she shakes her head, coming 'round. "You-you know them? The Gomezes? Well yeah, I'll tell them."

(Fades as the bus arrives)

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