(no subject)
22 January 2006
Lennox Hill
After many trips through the floor, walls and other solid surfaces of the hospital, Kitty has finally mastered the art of remaining tangible for extended periods of time. Two and a half hours is her current record, which leaves ample time to keep her butt in contact with the seat of a car long enough to get back to Xavier's. "At last! Freedom!" she practically squeels as she nears the doors marked EXIT. "I /can't wait/ to get back. I don't think I've ever been so excited to sleep in my own bed before," she says.
Hovering attentively behind Kitty like the worried parent she half-considers herself, one Dr. Grey inna lab coat clasps her hands together to stop from patting Kitty on the shoulder as she warns "Jus don't get too excited. It's fifty miles between here and the school, and you're going to have to hold tangibility for all of them." A glance over to the third member of the trio, and she switches to conferring with Piotr instead, micromanagine in lieu of being free to drive Kitty home herself. "Now, you've got the map? And you're going to hit back roads as soon as you get out of the City, right? And if she looks the least bit fatigue, pull over and let her rest..."
Though he is somewhat more subdued, there is certainly an element of the Kitty's excitement in the tall young man who follows after Kitty, her bag of clothes, presents and supplies to stave off boredom -- largely brought by himself and other concerned visitors over the weeks of her recovery -- carried easily in one hand. Piotr nods at Jean's instructions, patting his pocket containing the map as she asks after it and promising solemnly, "I will take good care of her, and I will not let her wear herself out."
"I'll be /fine/" she assures the two of them, eager to get going. "I promise not to fall out of the car," she adds. "Can we please get going? Please please please?" She gives her two caregivers a pleading look, making the most of big brown eyes. The look is one she perfected years ago, the gift of Daddy's Little Girls everywhere. "Please?" she repeats one last time.
Jean, not a Daddy, nonetheless tips her chin firmly, opens her mouth to add a futher caution, and then... relents, with a breath of a laugh. "Fine," she assures, waving her hands. "Go forth... although I'm taking the same route home when I get off work, just to be sure."
Those big brown eyes make a sucker of Piotr and fondness overwhelms his expression, reaching out a hand to place it on Kitty's shoulder and then withdrawing it again before contact is made, not wanting to prompt her to unphase a moment before she has to. "Thank you, Jean," he says quietly and sincerely, huge gratitude packed into a few small words.
Success! She really should look in to a way to use that look in combat situations. "Thank you Jean," Kitty repeats, unphasing just long enough to give her teacher and doctor a very quick hug. "You're the best," she says, before joining Piotr once more, anxiously inching towards the exit.
Jean shakes her head but hugs back, before stepping close to the sliding doors out, and watching the pair depart with her hands in her lab coat pockets, and a smile on her face. The kids, it seems, are going to be all right.
Piotr steps forwards ahead of Kitty in an automatic attempt to open the door for her, a gesture more futile than ever given her current state. The door slides aside nonetheless and he shoots one last thankful look and a quiet, "Goodbye," back to Jean before ushering Kitty out with an onward gesture of his free hand, out towards the car and freedom.
Kitty is practically -skipping- on thin air on her way to the car. "Thank you for playing chauffer," she says to Piotr as a familliar vehicle is spotted. "I think at this point I would have tried to /walk/ home if I couldn't stay unphased long enough to ride anywhere. I was going a little stir-crazy up there," she confesses, pointing in the general direction of the ward she was staying in.
Piotr's smile is every bit as cheerful as Kitty's, deep fondness showing on his face as he walks alongside her, watching her like a man entranced. He lifts the bag a little and reaches into his pocket for the keys, hitting the button to unlock the car as he replies, "It is more than a pleasure, Katya. It will be so good to have you back at the mansion rather than all the way out here in the city."
"No one will be happier to have me home than me," she says, unphasing and opening the car door. She takes a few moments to settle herself into the bucket seat and buckle her seatbelt. "If I never see the inside of that hospital again, I will be happy."
Opening the back door of the car to place Kitty's bag on the back seat and closing it behind him again to get into the driver's seat next to Kitty, Piotr gives another tiny smile, carefully fastening his own seatbelt before turning the key in the ignition and shifting the gearstick, brushing Kitty's hand in the process. "I am sure," he agrees, pulling out, "but we have all missed you."
"It's nice to be missed," she admits with a smile, reaching accross the seats to rest her hand on Piotr's knee, if only because she -can-. She plans on getting as much physical contact as she possibly can, now that it's actually possible again.
Given their recent luck with cars, Piotr is careful not to let Kitty's touch distract his attention from the road, but his smile becomes undeniably wider at the contact. "It is much, much nicer to have you back," he replies with a hint of amusement colouring his tone. "Lockheed will be pleased to see you," he adds diplomatically.
"I'm sure. Considering how moody he gets if I come home late normally..." Kitty shakes her head and laughs, trailing off. "I asked Kurt to make sure he didn't get too mopey. If anyone can cheer up a moody dragon, it's him." Her grip on his knee tightens just a touch, a tactile reminder to herself to stay tangible.
"Lockheed may have been a little too well fed in the festive season," Piotr mutters, and the guilt of a few attempted peace offerings of his own is not absent from his voice. "But Kurt, I think, could cheer up almost anyone," he opines sagely. "It is good to have him back as well. In the wake of all that we have suffered, so many people are returning to the mansion. It almost feels like a home again."
"Stuffing the dragon is a bit of a festive tradition now, I think," Kitty says, amused. "It /is/ great to have him around. He visited me the other day. He's got a way of putting anyone in a good mood." She suspects even Logan has a hard time not smiling around the Fuzzy Elf.
A nod meets Kitty's mention of a visit and Piotr replies, "Yes, that was not long after I picked him up from the airport. Did he tell you about our, ah, idea? A chance to cheer up the children, and I think, just a little, to entertain ourselves as well."
Kitty nods. "Yes! I think it sounds like a great idea! I bet we could even write ourselves in as antagonists and supporting characters. I'm sure the kids would love to make a teacher walk the plank," she says excitedly. "You think we can get Scott to don some garb? He could be our Admiral."
Piotr gives a laugh, warm and happy, at the mental picture that conjures up. "I think, perhaps, in the spirit of harmless fun, he just might," the Russian opines, watching the road carefully as the traffic ahead thins out and the city is slowly left behind, and he takes one hand from the steering wheel to fish in his pocket for the map and hand it over to Kitty. "Would you make sure we follow the route Jean has marked?" he asks, before thinking once again of pirates. "I think perhaps more than a few of them would like to see me walk the plank," he says, a little of his light-heartedness fading.
"They're kids, we're authority figures, they'd send us all to Davy Jones' locker if they had the chance," she tells him, unfolding the map. "Take the next right turn," she instructs after looking it over for a moment.
Watching for the turn, Piotr takes it obediently as he answers Kitty with a reply of, "I am sure they do not all think in this way, and not about all of us. I know they are rather fond of you, certainly."
"I still get to catch them doing things they shouldn't. And I've had less time to forget all the tricks that come with being one of them. If anything, I'm more dangerous than some of the older staff members," she jokes. "Plus, my pet dragon prowls the halls at night on the lookout for curfew breakers."
"They still like you," Piotr assures her with a warm fondness as he hazards a glance towards her now that the road is quieter. "I know they do." It is said with the quiet conviction of one who knows what it is like to be disliked by them.
"Could you pull over there?" Kitty requests, quietly, extended hand indicating a vacant lot alongside the road up ahead of them.
Piotr risks another concerned glance over at Kitty before nodding with a quick, "Of course," concentrating on the road ahead as he urges the car on just a little faster in case his companion should be struggling to keep her control. A few seconds later, the car slows once more and pulls into the lot, coming to a neat stop as the Russian looks across to Kitty, studying her face carefully. "Are you all right? You can phase if you need to here."
"I'm fine," she assures him. "I just," she puts the map up on the dashboard "need to do something."
There is very little one can do to prevent a small, determined young woman from launching herself (well, more climbing, really) towards the man sitting next to her. She ends up in an awkard position, half-sprawled accross the front seats of the vehicle with her arm wrapping around Piotr's neck to pull herself too him, pressing her lips against his.
"Katya!" Piotr exclaims, startled -- or rather, tries to exclaim. The first syllable is sharply muffled as she kisses him, and the second fades completely to a tiny, pleased sound as he reciprocates, his arms travelling to her back to offer support in awkward position, not wanting to break the contact for a second.
It is quite a while before Kitty pulls away to catch her breath. "Sorry. I... just. I've been wanting to do that for a while, and couldn't wait any longer," she explains, blushing. "Now that I can."
Piotr too is rather breathless as Kitty pulls away, larger lungs not entirely compensating for the years of practise Kitty has put in at holding her breath while she phases. He smiles as he looks over to her, broad shoulders rising and falling in large but measured movements, and admits quietly, "I have missed that." He looks up to meet his companion's eyes and suggests, "We could stop for a few minutes, you could rest."
"Rest. Right," she replies. "that sounds like a good idea," she says, planting another kiss on his lips. "Let's do that." Her idea of rest and his might be slightly different. Just a touch.
Piotr goes to bring Kitty back to the mansion. I'm sure they made it there eventually.
22 January 2007
The Rec Room
"Look out!" Mira's voice echoes in the great hall, followed by the surprised squawks of a few students. She glides easily past the door to the Rec Room in the direction of the front door. There is a soft thump and she comes rolling past the door again, backwards and much slower. "Well, they'd be pissed if I put brake marks on the floor, wouldn't they?" Her hand catches around the edge of the door and she rolls into the room and folds over the back of the couch with a bump. Rollerblades are not suited for plush area rugs. They're not really suited for hardwood floors either, but that's only a technicality.
With Mira taking the quick and easy route down, via the main elevator, Cassy is forced to take the more inventive route - via the stairs. "Death from above!" she declares, amidst several loud crashes and sudden yelps. There is a loud thud, before she comes skidding to a halt outside the Rec Room. "You /totally/ cheated!"
Youngsters screeching and the noise of thumps and crashes are not sounds that lend to Piotr's general belief that all is right in the world, and upon hearing such unwelcome intrusions into the relative peace of the school his progress towards the great hall from the kitchen speeds up considerably as he runs towards the source of the sounds of distress. Is it the DHS? Is it the CIA? No, it's Mira and Cassy! "...Mira?" the tall man hazards, leaning into the room under the door frame and then spotting the other perpetrator of chaos skidding up to one of the other doors on her side. "Cassy? What are you doing?"
"I still won. You didn't say I *couldn't* cheat," Mira says and lifts her feet up off the floor. See-sawing her weight on the back of the couch and hoisting the heavy black and purple rollerblades into the air, she pushes her face up off the cushions. "Umm... a race?" the now partially upside down Mira says, looking up at Piotr with the most innocent of spritely child-like smiles. That's a dead giveaway right there.
"You missed me making the most awesome catch after I knocked that... Oh hi Pete," Cassy replies cheerfully, sprawled out on the floor. Thoughtfully she muses "I wonder if I broke anything?" While slowly flexing her limbs. Then, when nothing seems to be out of place, she crawls into the room.
It is not Mira's oh-so-innocent smile that gives her away; rather, it is the fact that she is waggling her rollerblades in the air somewhat conspicuously. Piotr gives a blink and then a weary shake of his head, stepping through the door and towards the girl on the couch. "You should not wear those skates inside," he cautions sternly, looking at them both to make sure this message is clear. Cassy's method of entry into the room fails to shock him.
"Broke something of yours or somebody else's?" The warning from Pete is met with a subtle roll of her eyes. "We *have* helmets and pads and stuff," Mira says defensively and curls herself around the couch to put her skates back down on the floor where they belong. Or don't belong. "And if you don't practice, you don't ever get any better at it."
"I even took mine out of the packaging!" Cassy chimes in an entirely unhelpful manner. "But Pete is right, we should build a ramp outside. Then we can do jumps for some major air! Or aim it out over the lake and play chicken."
Weariness increases its hold on Piotr's expression as the two defend their exploits and plan more, and shakes his head again, more firmly. "Building a ramp would not be safe, you could get very badly hurt," he asserts, and there is a look of concern behind his stern tone. "You should practise on the flat, outside. And away from the pool."
It's tough going to rollerblade across the room's area rug, but Mira is lucky to latch onto the foozeball table for support. "So just skate around in circles on the basketball court? How boring is that? I'm trying to practice so I can wear these in the city!" This is not the most reassuring of explanations.
Cassy takes the far easier option and crawls her way across the room, towards her favorite couch. "Flat /could/ be fun! We just need some kites, then next time Professor Monroe has a bad day...."
Fighting down an instinct to run and hide somewhere, Piotr forces himself further into the room to take a seat on the couch Mira vacated, looking across to both girls seriously. "You truly cannot see how these things would be dangerous for you to do?" he asks of them, his tone not particularly hopeful.
"They're cooler than a bicycle and harder to steal without you noticing." Mira circles around the foozeball table and gives each handle a spin in turn. "And we're exercising. You want us to exercise, right?"
"How else will I beat Professor Wagner unless I'm in peak physical condition?" Cassy asks earnestly. "I'll need to be fast, agile and used to dodging things at high speed!"
"I think that if you end up hurting yourselves, the benefits of the exercise would be cancelled out," Piotr notes in dry answer to Mira's statement, settling against one arm of the sofa to keep both of the girls in view. "And Professor Wagner would have little difficulty beating you if you were injured. There are far safer ways of improving your reactions."
"You're just required to say stuff like that." Mira dismisses Pete easily. Too easily, like she's not even really paying attention to him. "I've never broken a bone in my life," she says proudly and folds her arms across her chest. Then, in a much quieter voice, "Mine *or* somebody else's."
Cassy smiles cheerfully. "Ahhh don't worry about us! We're untouchable," she informs reassuringly. "Just not in the mob sense." Finally she pulls herself up onto the couch, to sprawl blissfully.
Piotr's eyes rise to flash harrowed blue at Mira before he looks away again, his lips pursing as his gaze falls ruefully to his hands. Cassy's cheerful response, though, bewilders him out of apologising again, and he says nothing more than a quiet but sincere mumble of, "I do not want to see either of you come to harm."
A row of static soccer players on the foozeball table spin in frantic backflips when Mira gives the handle a sharp twist. "We'll be fine. No more skating inside once the weather warms up, I promise." Getting her to even halfway agree to this is still technically headway for the beleaguered boys' RA.
"It's not /that/ cold!" Cassy declares stubbornly. "Say, do they have anything special planned for Valentine's Day? I was thinking I could totally hold auditions for Mira's valentines now."
Piotr's guilt does not cease quite so quickly as Mira's accusation, and so his response to her promise and his bafflement at Cassy's question are more both muted than they would otherwise have been. "I would hope to spend the day with Kitty," he informs Cassy without venom. "She is back from the hospital now," he adds, in case the girls hadn't heard.
If Mira had a drink, she would have just spit some of it out. But seeing as she doesn't have a drink, the gesture is still much the same, just with a fumbling exhale of startled breath. "*Auditions*?" she repeats accusingly at Cassy but quickly drops it with only a stern look of 'You and I are gonna have a talk later'. "Why was Kitty in the hospital?"
Cassy nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! I don't want you putting up substandard cards in /our/ room," she informs innocently. "I've already started writing mine out now, like how I do my Christmas cards three weeks early. Only I seem to have twice as many of these."
"You had not heard?" Piotr wonders of Mira, inclining his head slightly as he carefully avoids prying into Cassy's love life. "We were in a car accident at New Year's, and she was hit in the head and has been unable to unphase herself for long enough for us to drive her back here from the city since then, until this afternoon."
Mira's just as glad for the distraction from the topic of her own love life, or general lack thereof and Cassy's natural inclination to meddle in such things. She scratches just behind her ear, looking uncertainly at Piotr. "I think I heard. I'm not sure. But is she okay now, or just well enough to travel?"
Cassy chews on her nail thoughtfully, then after a moment gasps. "But how on earth did she keep her clothes on? Poor Kitty!"
"She was able to phase her clothes with her," Piotr informs Cassy, and his mild, polite tone would only sound even the slightest bit forced to someone who was expecting it to. "And other than the head injury she was not physically harmed, I suspect because she was phased. She has had some unpleasant headaches, but I think she has been bored more than anything, waiting until she could stay tangible for long enough to come home."
Mira seems to have nothing to say to this, merely fiddling idly with the laces on a skate, propped up on the edge of the foozeball table like a ballet dancer stretching before a performance. "That's good," she mumbles somewhat incoherently.
"Well, at least that's one thing! I mean think of the alternatives," Cassy replies solemnly. "The sooner she's back the better, Lockheed is starting to look like a balloon."
On Cassy's suggestion is possibly one of the last circumstances under which it would occur to Piotr to think of the alternatives, and so his tone is unharried when he agrees, "It is true Lockheed has been a little spoiled of late. He is glad to see Kitty again, though, that I know."
"I haven't seen Lockheed much lately. Do you think he's avoiding me?" Mira jokes and quirks an eyebrow curiously. The skate slides off the edge of the table, marring it with a black streak of the heel-brake's rubber. With sudden self-recrimination, she curses. "Speaking of fat pets, damn. I forgot to feed Pestilence today."
Cassy shrugs, wiggling her skates at Mira disapprovingly. Or, well, at least attempting too. "No worries, Pest still had some the last of that treat from earlier," she notes. "He should be fine with a late lunch today."
"You should make sure to feed him soon," Piotr cautions, although these words are closer to rote than a lot of his warnings and carry a certain amount of trust for Cassy and Mira in this regard. "And I am sure not seeing Lockheed so much is nothing personal. He has been quite unhappy with Kitty away."
"Yeah, yeah, alright," Mira says dismissively, like they're telling her something she already knows anyway. "I'll do it before dinner. Not like he couldn't stand to run on his little wheel some more. You and Irene spoiled him over Christmas, y'know."
"Maybe Lockheed was avoiding you because he tried your cake?" Cassy teases playfully. "It was Christmas, /everyone/ got spoilt. I swear I've only just started to get back in shape after the feasting!"
"I know this feeling," Piotr agrees with a slightly rueful nod over at Cassy. "Not so much with eating a lot, but I have not had as much exercise over the vacation as I would have liked. I think the gym will be quite busy in the next few weeks."
Mira sticks her tongue out at Cassy petulantly at the mention of her unfortunate cake disasters. Plural. "I already said I'd take Home Ec with you, y'know. You don't have to *keep* rubbing it in." A quick snort exhales. "But at least you didn't call me fat."
Cassy eyes Mira for a moment. "Why, should I have?" she asks innocently. "Hey are you doing Professor Logan’s Phys Ed this semester?"
"Phys Ed is compulsory," Piotr reminds the pair of this cheerful news with a tiny inclination of his head and a hint of a wry smile on his face. "But what else are you thinking of taking?" The question is directed to both of the girls.
"Ugh," Mira groans at the mention that running around in the gym will be mandatory. For all the talk of exercise and skating around the city and working off the holiday pounds, she is not enthusiastic about the idea of gym class. "I already took a history, English, and social studies, so this semester's gonna be hard. I've got Intro Physics. And I suck at math."
"Awesome! Gym will be /so/ much fun," Cassy proclaims eagerly. "I've decided on Home Economics, Fencing and that leaves English, Social Studies and Phys Ed as my mandatory ones."
Piotr shoots a look of wry sympathy to Mira, lifting one hand from its resting place in his lap to gesture palm-open to the girl and offer, "If you have any trouble with physics, feel free to come and ask me. It is my minor at college, and I would be glad to help you."
"Actually," Mira begins at Piotr in a tone suggestive that she was just waiting for the right moment. "I was looking at a drawing class to round out my schedule, but right now it just says it's taught by 'Staff' and I don't know who that could be." She gestures off-handedly. "If it's like Mr. Summers or something..." Then that would be adequate reason not to take the class. But this is politely unspoken. Just implied.
"Yah know, I'll go feed Pest," Cassy decides. "It can be your reward for winning!" Springing to her feet the telekinetic terror begins skidding across the room. "You kids play nice without me!"
A thoughtful look crosses Piotr's face at Mira's statement and his lips twist in faint disapproval at her unflattering mention of Scott, but he has no time to reply before Cassy announces her intention to leave. He raises a hand in a faintly defeated wave with a quiet, "Be careful," as she heads off, before turning back to Mira to answer. "I would expect that Melissa would be taking the class," he says, "although if there has been some problem with the timetable and this is a difficulty, I could perhaps help to teach it."
"Seeya at dinner, Cass." Mira waves at her roommate from behind the foozeball table. Which she is casually standing behind, not holding onto to keep from rolling away. No sir. With just her and the Russian left in the room, the air becomes a touch more tense without the distracting influence of Cassy. "Oh, right. I didn't know she taught art." A bit of silence. "I was just thinking about it because I got this cool pencil case in the city a while back. I was just putting random stuff in it," she explains, digging into her hip pocket and drawing out a small metal tin. "But it feels like it should actually have pencils and stuff in it." She holds out the tin toward Piotr, the black paint having been etched with a coiling snake or dragon. No, definitely a dragon of some kind, with the outstretched wings and the enormous tail that curls around the side of the case and onto the back.
Piotr's eyes widen in ghastly recognition as Mira presents the pencil tin for inspection, the hand he has resting on the arm of the sofa curling into a tense ball that drags shadowy furrows through the fabric beneath his fingernails. "You--" he half chokes, seeking understanding, and then attempts again in a slightly more even voice, "Where did you get that?"
The girl is reasonably observant. Pete's tensing arm and his suddenly and very deliberate change in tone to something that sounds calm enough but actually isn't is enough of a tell. But of what? Mira pulls the pencil tin back quickly and presses it to her chest protectively. "I didn't *steal* it," she retorts venomously.
"No," Piotr assures her hurriedly with a quick shake of his head, some of his initial panic reappearing on his face as he is thrown off guard by her assumption. "I-- no, I did not think that you did," he mutters, his speech broken again despite his best efforts. "I h-have seen this creature somewhere before, and I am curious," he manages, though it is perfectly clear that he is more troubled by the image than his words are letting on.
"Uh-huh." Mira seems unconvinced, set more on edge by Pete's curious explanation. Skates back on the floor, she squeezes her ankles together which propels her gently backwards and away from the big Russian and his discomfort. She isn't giving him the pencil tin now, that's for sure. "I got it..." she trails off uncertainly, brow furrowing. "In the city," she repeats.
The tall man takes a slightly ragged breath, his stomach pulling in tight beneath his tee shirt as he forcibly calms himself, looking back to Mira only when he is certain he can speak without faltering, and without the same look of panic in his eyes, although it is replaced by a harrowed desperation. "The telepath who attacked me took the form of this exact creature," he says slowly and carefully. "If you can remember where you came across it..." he trails off with a slight shake of his head, hoping Mira can understand the gravity of the situation.
Quavering slightly with discomfort and the creeping feeling of a cold draft, Mira tightens her jaw to keep it from doing something she doesn't want it to. "I don't know," she says evasively and looks away, toward the invitingly open doorway that's only a few rollerblade kicks away. "I just picked it up somewhere. My pencil case gave you nightmares?" The last is said in a peaked tone of disbelief, almost but not quite a joke.
There is nothing at all of a joke in Piotr's tense sitting position and he shakes his head, speaking quietly but earnestly in dear hope that the teenager will understand. "Mira, please... The creature on your pencil tin is exactly the form of the telepathic influence the Professor removed from my mind. Anything you can remember about it might be helpful, but you also may be in danger yourself. You should find the Professor as soon as you can, and ask him to check that you are well."
"I don't remember!" Mira blurts and throws her arms down against her thighs. She is obviously uncomfortable with any sort of questioning, but perhaps especially from Piotr, who in her eyes has no right to get nosey with anybody about anything anymore. "Look, I think I just found it somewhere! The only thing I did that weekend was hang around with that Rossi guy. Me and Cassy barely went anywhere without him. Go ask *him*." Her temper flares obviously, an uncoordinated thrashing of one arm waving the pencil case around.
Piotr winces slightly at Mira's discomfort, withdrawing as far from her as he can to press back into the cushions of the sofa. "Please," he mumbles quietly, "please, do not get upset. I-- I will ask him, if you think this will help. I need to know, Mira, I need to know who did this to me, and if this pencil tin could help me find this out, I would be able to--" His plans, though, remain unspoken, and he cuts the desperation that has risen in his voice down to quietness again. "Please, ask the Professor to make sure that you are all right?"
"My brain," Mira starts, stuffing the pencil tin into her pocket and gliding away back into the hallway. "Is fine. Speak for yourself about evil telepaths making you do stuff. I'll go talk to the old man if you want, but-" She snorts once, signaling that she is done talking about this for now. "See you at dinner." There is not even a hint of looking forward to dinner now, and she very purposefully twists a skate on the hardwood floor to leave two curving black wheelmarks on it. Through the quiet muttering of students and ambient noise, the kitchen patio door opens and closes forcefully to let Mira out toward the pool. Where she'd been told not to go.
A quiet, "Goodbye," follows Mira as she leaves the room, though it is feeble and likely too soft for the youngster to hear it as Piotr speaks the word downwards, his head drooping dejectedly as his eyes press tightly closed and his brows peak painfully at the centre of his brow. He pulls both of his hands into his lap, thick fingers folded round into weak, futile fists, and slowly his eyes crack open to stare at them in guilt and shame.
Piotr is a killjoy and spoils Cassy and Mira's fun. Mira is a meanie and guilts Piotr out.
From: prasputi@x-school.edu
To: x-staff@listserv.x-school.edu
Subject: Mira
I hope that this is simply me being a little paranoid, but Mira has a pencil tin with a picture of the form that the telepathic who attacked me took, and she does not remember where she got it from. In case this is connected, though, we should be vigilant for behaviour that is out of the ordinary for her.
Peter