2007-06-14: Those Aren't Bug Bites


Jane_icon.gif Dorian_icon.gif

Summary: A contact is made, and illumination gained.

Date It Happened: June 14th, 2007

Those Aren't Bug Bites

Times Square, Manhattan, NYC

It's a cooler day than might be expected for mid-June, with temperatures in the sixties. This has the brunette guitarist clad in jeans, a t-shirt with a light jacket, and athletic shoes. The colors are all dark. Jane is moving slowly across Times Square, her head bowed and face showing moodiness. Quite likely this woman is brooding over something. A particular place is eyed as she slows in her steps, a street lamp which has yet to come on, even at 7:30 pm. At this time of year, after all, the sun still shines for an hour or two longer. Over her shoulders are a guitar case and a backpack.

Dorian leans up against an unlit street lamp, with only the red glow of his cigarette to lighten up his face. His lips twist up into a shady looking smirk as he watches the brooding girl drag along a bag and an instrument. His eyes follow her as she slowly strides through the park. He flicks his cigarette butt into the grass and pushes himself off of the post and calmly tries to catch up with her, so not to frighten her in such an intimidating spot.

She notices the man approaching, and glances at him sideways. Jane doesn't move, she's just checking out that lamp which held her attention. Maybe it's got some meaning for her. No words are used, she doesn't speak. Up close, she appears twenty-something in age, and perhaps five feet eight inches tall. The eyes are a bit to the wary side, however; she's perhaps wondering what if any agenda the man has.

Dorian shivers a little as a burst of cool air brushes through the young man's curly blonde hair, in this light it is hard to tell if he is 18 or 28. He looks up at the sky for a moment then back at the young lady, he slowly walks up to her as he pulls out another cigarette and lights it with a chrome Zippo. As his thin frame comes closer towards her, it becomes obvious that he is about six feet tall. He stops just behind her and looks at the same light post, "You know, I don't think it'll have anything to say," he says with a soft southern accent.

"Who says I was expecting it to, sir?" she asks with a quiet chuckle, glancing sidelong at the man again. Jane's eyes lower from their target and sweep the square. "You seem to enjoy smoking." Her shoulders shift, rebalancing the weight across them and getting a bit of comfort from the action. The eyes seem a bit haunted when they cross his face. "New to the city, sir?"

Takes another drag off of his cigarette, "Good for the image," he chuckles as he flicks a bit of ash to the ground and exhales a cloud of bluish smoke. He shrugs a little at the question, "Not really," he starts to say, "Well kinda, but don't call me sir. My name is Dorian," he says. He eyes the gal up some more, "Didn't your mama teach you not to go out at not unescorted?" he asks as he offers a smoke to her. His general demeanor doesn't seem to be malicious, maybe a little shady, as he looks over his shoulder ever-so-often, expecting to see someone he would rather not.

A thin chuckle escapes. "She taught me a lot of things. Told me others I've chosen not to adopt." Like marrying a potential Senator just for that reason. "Jane Forrest," the woman offers, her right hand extending to shake once and release. Not a weak grip, hers, but not mannishly strong. The skin is soft and warm, excepting at the fingertips. Those are callused, perhaps from many many hours of playing that guitar. "Not going out at night unescorted. That… sounds almost Muslim of you."

His soft hands, perhaps from an over use of lotion, slides away from yours, "Nice to meetcha, Jane," he says as he takes yet another drag off of his smoke. "Well I didn't mean it like that," he says as trails of smoke roll out of between his plump lips, "I just know what kinda place this turns into at night." He eyes her guitar case some and smirks, "You're either a musician or a mobster, but I'm goin' to go with my gut feelin' on this a say there isn't a Tommy gun stashed away inside there."

A laugh escapes. "It's a fairly safe bet I've not taken a page from the movie Desperado, yes." Jane checks his face again, asking "What about you, Dorian?" She's mulling over his comments about the place at night, and remembering the most dangerous sort are often found in broad daylight. Ah, if he only knew. Sometimes even a voice can be direly perilous.

His smile broadens some, "No, I don't think my pockets are big enough for a Tommy gun," he chuckles and he holds his cigarette between his lips while he delves his hands into the pockets on the sides of his jeans. An errant sound of twigs snapping can be heard in the background, making him check over his shoulder again. He shakes off any feelings of paranoia that have settled in his mind and returns the his focus to her face, "Besides, I've never really had any use for a gun," he says then laughs, "They make to much noise." Although his sense of humor is rather macabre, it is counterbalanced by his boyish face and baby blue eyes.

"What would you use instead?" Jane asks, deadpan. Maybe she's had some experiences involving weapons other than guns. So many possibilities, after all, in her world. Electricity, suggestion, ultrasound, chemistry. Her eyes remain haunted, perhaps a bit more so, but there surfaces the possiblity very little would surprise her anymore. No notice is taken, apparently, of any twig snapping sound, but she does pick up on how he checks surroundings. "Are you nervous, Dorian?"

He looks a little taken back by both questions, "First off, my theory is if you can't get out of trouble using your own wits and talents, you probably should have just avoided the situation to start with." He flicks his cigarette out into the grass and looks around one more time, "Have you ever had the feelin' like you're bein' followed?" he asks. His hands dive back into his pockets as he takes a deep breath of the cool air, "Maybe I'm just bein' paranoid, but, well, never mind," he says as he shakes his head.

"Sometimes," the woman admits. "That feeling comes and goes. And, true enough, sharp wits are important." But inwardly she's thinking stronger will helps too. Jane's eyes trail the flicked away cigarette to the concrete it lands on, there's a definite lack of grass to Times Square in New York City. In doing this, her hair moves a bit and exposes the twin marks at the back of her neck, just past the curve of it, without her noticing.

His eyes widen some as he barely catches the marks on the back of Jane's neck, "Have you been to Missouri, too?" he asks as he pulls his right hand out of his pocket and starts to rub the back of his neck. After a quick rub over a set of matching "bite marks" on the back of his neck, he plunges his hand back into his pocket, "'Cause it looks like one of their killer mosquitos got to you, too."

"Missouri?" Her voice is a puzzled one as the question is asked. Jane's eyes return to settle on him, as she follows up with a second question. They catch him rubbing there, and something in her expression shifts. "Killer mosquitoes?" The radar is turning on.

He nods slowly, "Yeah, I went through St. Louis on my bus trip up here," he says, "there was about a 12 hour lay-over, so I decided to wander out and see what was in the town." He slowly shakes his head, "There was a small incident with me and one of the local dickheads, then I went back to the station. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up the bus was about to take off and I had these bite marks on the back of my neck," he says turning slightly to give her a better view of them. "Come to think of it, I didn't really recognize anyone on the bus, but I guess they could have all stopped off in St. Louis." He quirks his eyebrow some, "You don't think I'm goin' to catch some freaky bug disease do you?"

There's no reply in words as Jane checks the marks he shows her, observing whether or not they're parallel lines. Without a sound she determines whether or not these are the evidence of being in Company custody at some point.

The bulging lines on the back of his neck do stand side by side, although he has always assumed it was from some dirty bus station bug. He looks at her and tries to figure out what she is thinking just by looking at her face, "Oh, God, you do think I'm goin' die from some bug bite, don't you?" he asks with a slight tone of panic in his voice.

"Those aren't bug bites," Dorian," Jane replies quietly. "They're something else entirely. They won't kill you. There's no disease attached to them." Silence follows for a moment, the voice is solemn. Tinged with experience. "The incident with locals in St. Louis, tell me about it. What exactly happened?"

Dorian blushes slightly, "I remember getting off the bus to look for a little business," he says, not really clarifying what kind out business he was looking for, "And this guy was tryin' to dick me around on somethin'." He bites his lower lips as he takes a deep breath through his nose, "I was just tryin' to defend myself and he, well, he got scared and ran away.

Continues with his story after accidentally posting, "I went back to the station and there was this creepy black guy that kept staring at me, but I figured he wouldn't try anything in public so I went to sleep." He continues to think, "Well, then the next thing I remeber was waking up and boarding the bus."
Her eyes close for a long moment, then reopen. When she speaks, the voice is far quieter. "You may not talk about this much. I certainly think that's wise of you. The general public isn't to know the truth of these things, Dorian. It would be extremely dangerous. But… I suspect lately you've found yourself able to do things people really shouldn't be able to do."

His face becomes deathly pale, "Wh-what do you mean?" he asks, trying to decide if he should prepare to defend himself. His body starts to shake slightly, as if his nerves were starting to get the better of him, "Am I in some kinda danger? And what kinda things am I suppose to be able to do?" he asks as he looks over his shoulder again and takes a small step back. That pretty boy smile of his fades away into a dead pan stare, "What the hell is on the back of my neck?"

The words she speaks in reply are quiet, intended for only Dorian to hear. "Only you would know what you're capable of, Dorian. I can't tell you what you've not shared with or described to me. All I can tell you is you aren't in direct danger. You've already been in contact with some persons who have interests in us, and released. That's what those marks mean. Now, as for me and my marks, my voice has some unique qualities. I can reach ultrasonic pitches." Jane's eyes study his face. "There are so many different abilities. Flying, telepathy, invisibility, manipulation of electricity, control of body chemistry, rapid healing from injuries…"

His ears perk up when he hears 'control of body chemistry' then scratches the back of his head, "Listen, I was doin' strange things way before, whatever it was, happened in St. Louis." He looks over his shoulder again "Ok," he says in a hushed tone, "my sweat makes people behave strangely. I don't have to be pouring sweat, but if I want I can perspire and then people around start to act weird." He moves around her and leans on the lamp post, "But that day I found out I could scare people away with, whatever this is," he says he goes back to rubbing the scars on the back of his neck.

"Weird how?" she asks. This is a familiar one. "Is it like a drug, maybe ecstasy, they seem exposed to? They become euphoric? And you can also inspire fear through your ability?" Jane is curious, yet cautious, and definitely not surprised by anything Dorian tells her in this vein.

Dorian shakes his head some, "I found some book when I was in high school, Activating somethin' or 'nother. In it this Indian guy was talking about how animals respond to something called pheromones. It's like some kinda scent hidden in your sweat that trigger emotions." His hand moves up the back of his neck and his fingers start to run through his curly hair, "These smells can attract mates and ward off enemies. I just guessed that I was doin' somethin' like it, but I just thought I was like some kinda primitive throwback, like the missing link or something." He bites his lower lip again before saying, "When I was a freshman I got this crush on someone that didn't want anything to do with me and one day after gym I couldn't get them off of me, if ya catch my drift. But something happened and they lost interest quickly and started to pound on my stomach, I spent a week in the hospital, but I couldn't tell anyone why."

She nods slowly while listening. "And you've got control of this ability, you can sweat without anything happening, if you want? The book," Jane states, "is called Activating Evolution. I've seen it. Quite a few with abilities like ours aren't able to control them yet, and the results can be troublesome. Learning that control, if you don't have it, is crucial."

The color starts to slowly return to his face, "Actually I do have one aspect of it under control," he says as the grim tone in his voice starts to fade and return to a more pleasant one. His eyes still continue to look around the park to make sure that he is merely paranoid and that nobody is really following him. After he pulls out a cigarette and light it up he states, "The only times I seem to loose control of it is when I get cornered, but then who ever is cornering me tend to hot foot it out of the area. I guess I should learn to control it, but it seems like that is when I am meant to use it." He takes a drag off of the smoke and looks at Jane, "What about you? What do you mean your voice is ultrasonic? Can you break glass or somethin'?"

"Among other things," she replies with a chuckle. "That lamp I was looking at. The glass in it is just over four months old. I screamed, and it shattered. My first episode." Jane pulls the phone from her hip and brings up the display of her number, 283-2260, for him to take down. "We'll be in contact again soon. If you agree, there are some friends of mine I'd like to introduce you to. None of them will be told about you without your consent, and likewise I won't tell you who they are without theirs. But we can gain from knowing each other."

He pulls a pen and a business card out of his pants pocket and quickly jots it down, "Umm, thanks," he says as he looks it over again and sticks it back in his jeans. He nods slowly, "Hell, if there are other freaks out there, I guess it would be in my best interest to meet them," he says, then covers his mouth as a yawn tries to escape. He reaches out to shake Jane's hand again, "Well it was nice meetin' ya, Jane, but I think it's about time I crawled back home and got some sleep." His shady smile seems to change a little, looking more genuine than it did before, as his weary looking eyes look around the park one more time.

"I don't think of myself, or anyone like us, as freaks," Jane replies simply. Her hand takes his and shakes once, then releases. "Good to meet you also, Dorian." And with that she's moving again, heading off across the square and resuming the path she'd been on before stopping to check out that lamp.

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