2019-11-23 - Sparking a Fire

Leon had given an address after piling into the car next to Maggi, and though the Uber driver looked a little confused, he didn’t really give them much flak for it. Leon trades a genuine, harried look with Maggi at the state of the car. It was definitely not a long drive, maybe something they could have even walked on a nice night. With the rain, it only made sense. He rides next to Maggi, the trepidation of what this had meant, what he was supposed to do in this situation making him a little indecisive. Does he reach out? Return that touch of the hand? His face was forward, for all appearances making sure they were headed in the right direction, but his eyes worked this way and that as he tried to think, thankful for the darkness of the ride.

“So why Parapsychology…” he begins, though they would soon arrive in front of an understated little house, two stories, no fence, large garage dominating the front, muted blues and grays of a typical seaside town style. It’s reasonably clean, and a barely noticable hole in the front lawn might indicate it had only been recently sold. There was enough of an awning for them to hurry to out of the rain and him to pull the clip of keys off his hip to unlock the door and lead her in.

It was a clean space, is the first indication, the front hall opening into a big living room, hardwood floors with a large plush rug covering most of the area. There was a sectional couch and entertainment center. It might be noticable or not, but there was a lack of decoration, or personal touches, possible dismissed as a bachelor's space, or just lending more idea to being a recent move in. There were some pictures, framed, but resting on the floor, unhung as of yet, waiting for a home.

It seemed as though Maggi was about to answer his question when she noticed the direction they were headed in. There were actual houses being passed. Her heart-shaped jaw drops as they pull up to his address. Walking up to his stoop, her eyes are large with incredulity. "You own a fucking house!?!" is her awed response. She had seen the dip in the lawn, this was not just a rental. Even given her massive amount of student debt, there was no way she could have even considered home ownership.

Stepping inside she spreads her arms wide and spins in slow circles as if to illustrate one could. Stopping she faces Leon with the cheshire grin reapplied. "You gotta warn a gal before she steps into a Christian Grey sitch" she says taunting. The lack of decor did nothing to dampen her excitement.

Curiously, she approaches one of the pictures that looks like he may have taken. "Anything you can't do? You're making the rest of us look terrible." Her look turns skeptical "What's the deal? Weird roomates who steal socks? Inheritance? Mafia?" She seems to know all of these possibilities are ridiculous, appealing to his sense of humor. she eyes the photograph more carefully, moving now damp hair to one shoulder.

He had been clenching and unclenching a fist as he decided what he was going to do. Then... her genuine reaction to his owning a house. She really did know nothing about him... And she seemed generally... Mostly... at ease. She didn't even detect his mind reaching out to verify the truth to her feelings. Before long, he's slowly chuckling to himself as the tension leaves his shoulders. "Yeah, I own a house. And... who's Christian Grey?" he seems a little flabbergasted by the reaction, brow raising in confusion at the reference. Clearly he did not belong to the 50 Shades demographic. Maggi was looking at a picture of a landscape, sandy and barren, the colors drained out of it as the light was beginning to fade over the horizon. A single, child-like figure was watching the sun set, sitting, the posture straight, as if watching with interest. It was an artsy piece, for sure, and his signature was in the bottom corner.

Crisis averted, suspicious of Maggi's intentions, but at least doubtful enough not to assault her and pump her for intel immediately, he decides to head into the kitchen area. Again, nothing really decorated the area, though it had been recently renovated, all black granite countertops and silver appliances. His single bit of decor was a tray where a decanter of amber liquid sat with two upside down tumblers. After opening the freezer and pulling two large ice cube from a little tray inside, he flips both the glasses and unstops the container, going to pour them a drink. "I didn't do very much with my money for a few years. Being a Vet and having a big down payment makes it a tad easy to get loans." He would come back into the living room if Maggi hadn't followed, handing her a bourbon over ice either way. "They're either banking I can adjust to society, or I'll go bankrupt and they can collect everything back from me when I'm homeless. Kinda morbid either way."

She in fact did not follow him, continuing to sit on the living room floor despite the more than adequate sofa. She was trying to decide if the piece had more hope or blatant dreariness to it, still undecided. She takes the glass from him, looking up but remaining seated. She gives it a little sniff, wrinkling her nose. Strong stuff. Maggi flicks her tongue at the liquid distrustfully. It wasn't as bad as she expected and she decides on a sip. It went down fairly easy which must have meant it was fairly expensive. "Rich dude, S & M romance novel for housewives." She was pretending she had not read it. Even if she had, she didn't think highly of it. Not enough grit.

A thin wrist lifts the glass in his direction as if toasting. "May the man beat it out of our dead corpses." The explanation did not lower her impression of him at all. "Least the second bedroom this place has isn't filled with some 10 year old weekend warrior, spawn of Dependapotamus." She found her joke quite amusing, watching him. He had seemed less excited after she had left him to his own devices, yet he was still waiting for her at the bar. She had determined this was net positive. Placing the glass on the ground, she nimbly undoes her Martin's, not wanting to track water or dirt in his home.

Rising to her feet, she retrieves the tumbler and looks to him for instruction. This was unfamiliar territory for her. "Also I like morbid." God, why was she so awkward?

There's a short laugh at the explanations, a shake of the head, he holds an opened palm outward, indicating moving to the couch. He steps on his own heels as he takes his own boots off, feet nudging them together and out of the way before he moves to follow her. The bottle with the liquor had been brought with him and he sets it on the coffee table. He seats himself close enough that he can put an arm behind her on the back of the couch, body turned slightly toward her so he can look and talk to her, one ankle folded beneath the knee of the other, getting comfy, head rested on the knuckles of one hand, other hand holding his drink casually.

"Ok, I am way more in debt than I have saved. Not rich." His own toast is raised toward her for a clink, "Good ol' American way." He sips, a slow breath released as he enjoys the flavor of the drink. He rolls his eyes as he goes on, "And nah, the guys I know who ended up with those were the kind that married right out of high school right before they head off to bootcamp. No idea who their women would be as an adult. It's almost like a cult belonging they way those women buy in. Jesus, and the ones married to officers? They thought they had rank." Another drink, fortifying against the memory.

On the ride over Maggi had started to feel a bit tipsy, though she was loathe to admit it. Not wanting to lose the high, she takes another long inhale of the deceptive tumbler. She almost spits it out at his words, beginning to cough. "Holy fuck my parents would love you." She side eyes the door provoking him. "Maybe I should go..." The entire thing was in jest, other than the portion that her parents would love him. Oh brainwashed drones...she elaborates for him. "Mom and Dad subscribe to the American dream mega church style. I am sure you understand why the weirdo before you is an utter disappointment. Their last hope for me is probably that I will find a nice army boy who picks me up before he realizes what a mess I am." She pauses making a face akin to open disdain.

"I've tried doing research presentations for them on the merits of scholarship over dependence in correlation with housing market trends and I think it just upped their weird faith in the entire concept of me being a house wife. Maybe before and afters of your buddies ex-wives would shake that. Only sin worse than being single is being fat to mom." Maybe she had more alcohol than she thought...This was the most she had spoken about her family to almost anyone, ever.

Realizing how long she had been speaking, she motions to the photo she had been studying. "It's pretty good, care to give some artists input on inspiration?" Maggi was obviously trying to change the subject, but she couldn't much drive the conversation in a direction Leon did not desire to take it at the moment. Her lips a bit loose. She has a seat cross legged so close to him, her knee brushes. Her icy pools of blue have a slight sheen like lights on the water, her attitude rather snugly for what usually passed for a stray cat on a bad day.

His hand comes away from propping up his head as she begins to cough, touching her shoulder lightly as he laughs a little at the sentiment. When she mentions possibly leaving, a brow is twitch upward lightly as his hand is... a little more firm now, resting on her shoulder. Was that a challenge? His statement is just as provacative, "I mean... you do look kind of light, I could probably get the job done." He takes another drink innocently, having to move the hand as he leans to get a refill. he was smirking a bit, coming back to rest and resettling, finding a comfortable place for his arm behind her head now. Total coincidence this would give him access to her hair, no doubt, which after a minute or two of interaction, he may start to toy with idly. He'd listen about her family. It was almost like living vicariously through others when he heard stories of functional parents.

When his eyes turn to the picture, he contemplates her words. His head tips back and forth as he tries to find the words. "Would you be surprised if I said it was mostly just angst? Like I look back on it, and the nihilist in me was like 'Oh, look at how dark and broody this is!'" He motions with his glass hand, index finger pointed. "Now, probably 3 years later?" He has to tilt his neck so he can consider if that was truly the case, then nods in confirmation. "The kid I took the picture of, his posture doesn't really lean anyway, the emotion is very neutral. It's a good piece because people can take from it what they want to. Depressing sun escaping, calm end of day, or even hope that the next day is coming." He doesn't really meet her eyes for this, only brief glances made, a nervous catch, his own realization of his speech, "I guess it's just... You have what you make."

She holds out her own drink to be topped off. This is the type of experience that could turn her into a darker liquor gal. Ceasing her sputtering she savors another lengthy sip. Readjusting Maggi seems to lean into his touch, resting her head against the back of the couch, his arm. It is as though she is begging to be played with. She smelled like citrus and coconut this close to him. Her parents are functional, just not...accepting. The tendrils of her sun colored hair are soft and wavy, an indication of natural texture given the rain. Having all but memorized the portrait, she instead gazes at him, listening intently. He had a good quality smirk, not overly sarcastic.

She liked his answer, but couldn't stop her self from analyzing it further. "So it's a reflection? People see what they wanna?" The tone is not accusatory, more searching. Her determination was that the mood of the picture was to be determined, it's how she felt about him for the moment too. Depending on the way you angled Leon he could be broody, cheesy, successful, or a rebel. It was the headline put with it that made the difference. Adding to the pile of questions she had for him she balances another. "Also did I piss you off or something on the car ride?" Her eyes lower as if not actually wanting to know his answer, she had probably done something to deserve the earlier dip in mood. Maggi bites the inside of her cheek, her eyes going to her glass. She didn't want to ruin the mood here, but she didn't want the interaction skewed with falsehoods either. While enjoying being a mystery, she prided herself on blatant honesty, a quality many thought she would be more attractive without.

"See? I keep saying I'm not an artist, I didn't even know there was a term for it." he mutters self-deprecatingly, reaching to take the bottle up and top her drink off. He smiles, he was glad she liked the liquor. In his mind, cheap vodka was not the sort of thing she deserved. Setting down the heavy crystal decanter with a soft clunk, his hand begins to softly move through her golden locks, curling, rubbing gently against her scalp in places near her neck. He brings his steely blue gaze back to her as he has to consider what to say of the question, mouth opening once in a false start, closing, then opening again.

"No. You didn't piss me off..." There's a twitch of his cheek, a tightening of a a muscle in his jaw, contemplating the cool amber liquid of his glass. "Old damage dies hard, really." His eyes go back to Maggi again, staring her in the eyes if she would meet his gaze, "I don't think your parents would really hope for an army guy like me. I'm not exactly the 'nice' type. The 'Nice' types have their shit together." He lifts his glass-wielding hand, waving it around, indicating their surroundings. "I've got a roof. And no idea what to put under it." The last bit of the sentence is muffled by the echo of the crystal tumbler, having raised it to his lips for a bracing sip. While she may have been afraid of dampening the mood, at the vary least, his fingers would be taking a little more liberty going through her hair, maybe even giving a soft grip, a sideways glance, a ghost of a smirk. "Though... I'm considering some options."

Feeling frisky, she pulls lightly away from his grasp, creating tension and giving a hum of enjoyment. She basks in his attention, the chances of him being bitten if it lessens rising with each passing second. "Visual artists don't need words to convey emotion." A swig passes her lips and she holds the glass farther from ingestion, deciding to wait a moment before deciding how much more she wanted. In this moment the stray cat was more an obedient kitten. The likeness was so incredible in spirit, the internet would have been wild for videos. She considers his lips, the texture of them. If she were to place a forced bet, he was an aggressive kisser, though not unskilled.

Maggi respects his answer (Though she wanted to ask what ghost-hunter broke his heart), deciding he would tell her when he wanted to. She understood emotional damage. The idea of disrepair bringing her own jacket to mind. Somehow the damn thing had lasted seven years and never looked more worn than she liked it...odd. This was not the time for mysteries involving her own wardrobe however...there was a far more attractive item before her. "Perfect is boring and unrealistic" she spits the words vehemently, she wouldn't stand for negativity when describing the fascinating. "You are in fact magnetic in a weird way, besides, you aren't trying to fuck my parents." She lets the statement hang in the air for a moment. Maggi could comment on ideas for home furnishing, but he seemed to already have better taste than she did.

She was gorgeous, there was no question in Leon's manner as he stared at Maggi, eyes sliding over her features, a stray emotion drawing his gaze to her own lips, contemplating what it would be like to kiss her. Her words rang some truth to him, though the bits about her compliments would only stroke an ego for so long before darker moods took over. There's another pause, another thought, his eyes coming back to her lips again, then meeting her eyes. Finally, his fingers starting to fully curl into her hair as he felt that tug, attuned to that energy. All he really says, knowing full-well she was setting him up for it was, "True." The time for flowery words and talking had now passed, and he could feel the roller coaster at that apex of the climb, eking its way over to the plunge that was coming.

His face descends towards hers, his lips growing closer, moving at an almost painstaking pace. First, he would brush against, a tease before he finally presses into a soft kiss, a soft suction applied to keep the contact, and if she responded positively, he would immediately press his tongue inward, deepening the kiss quite forwardly, seeking that taste of his bourbon with the augmented sweetness of her mouth.

Maggi hated waiting, but loved the anticipation. She is tingling as he approaches her, trying not to lunge forward to meet him. A favorable response was not a strong enough phrase for how she took to the kiss. He had placed a holiday meal before a starving women, after forcing her to stare at a two dimensional version for, well, hours. The hand not holding a glass of alcohol moves to skate the edge of his shirt collar, her nails giving a gentle dig into the back of his shoulder. She allowed him control over the kiss to measure rhythm, her own tongue dancing with his within moments.

Portions of his face felt rough him the late evening touching her delicate face. She moves her hand down to his bicep, stretching the collar of his tee. Feeling the flex of muscle, she withdraws her tongue, face dropping an inch for a ginger bite of his lower lip. Maggi pulls her face backward from him enough to let him experience the intensity of the desire in her piecing eyes, letting him decide if he wanted more.

The look was a clear challenge he was eager to meet, staring back at her with eyes slightly widened, then narrowed with hunger. He is for the most part careful with his glass, deciding it needed to be set down hastily, his arm long enough to do so easily. He is in for another kiss immediately, head tilting, pressing his lips into hers and tasting her once more. His fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of her neck, holding her into it with intensity communicated through the strength of his hands. His breath was hot and deep, body turning more toward her, bearing his weight toward her to press her back into the couch. Were he to hear ice clink, her own glass would be taken and set aside if she didn't herself. He didn't have time for that shit. There was work to be done.

The amount of time she had spent here so far could be measured by an egg timer, limited enough she did not have the inebriated capacity to set the glass on the table without looking. She allows the tumbler to be liberated from her, stripping off her jacket. Maggi purs at his increased tugging. Furthermore, he would be able to tell the increasing excitement within her at being pinned to the couch by his his imposing frame. Her recently unburdened hand moves to run dark nails along his scalp, holding him to her. She tangles her digits in the longer top of his hair skillfully. Recalling him enjoying her earlier arch, she inhales and bends, lifting her chest into his, a trailer of the movie he would be seeing. Maggi draws in his scent through her nose, committing it to memory.

Leon is just as eager, helping her remove the jacket as soon as he feels her arms going for it, almost tearing it from her grasp to toss it aside. His hands come back to her sides now as his body moves more towards her, quite forwardly, taking hold of the top curves of her hips and digging fingers into her lower back eagerly, a pressure that would bring her body closer to his. Also, it meant that he could exert enough force to push her slightly to the side, urging her to lay backward along the length of the couch as he bears down on her. Still kissing her, the force and eagerness building with each moment, one hand begins to inch up the side of that tank, revealing a bit of her midriff.

Maggi gives a smidgen of push back to his actions, the mirage of a fight. It's enough to get him to throw a bit more force her way. As she slides down beneath him in full, she uses the thrust of her hip to him to curiously explore the topography of the front of his jeans. The hand on his shoulder all but rips his shirt, nails digging harder. Her head is tilted enough to allow him air. The move is entirely selfish given her desire to leave her lips locked to his. She wasn't about to stop his removal of more layers, especially given how hot the air around her suddenly felt. Leon was possibilities an unread book she was dying to read. Her sexual preferences were picky. Maggi was antagonistic, teasing. He could take her, but he would have to hold her down the entire time.

Her antagonism would get a rise out of him, and Leon grunts a bit as their lips break free, his eyes opening to grin down at her. The rough treatment of his clothes cause an answering use of force, a mental 'Fuck it' of a decision. He was reading those bratty signals loud and clear. No soft, slow disrobing. Gentle foreplay wouldn't please this little Valkyrie. Both his hands slide up her body, as his knees interpose themselves between her legs, roughly pressing upwards over her bust as his fingers pass over them. Fingers curl around the neckline of her tank, and in one hard jerk, he tears the garment open from neckline to navel, his teeth clenched as he smiles a bit ferally down at her, meeting her eyes.

Her now ruined tank and black lace clad chest rises and falls in the way of someone trying, and failing to hold themselves together. Damn. A simple thought, occupying the entirety of her being. Her mouth is open in shock, eyes comprehending his strength with a reverence. He could do that to every article of clothing she owned for all the cares she gave. Maggi's brain, which typically worked an expected overtime, had stopped. Though she was not strong, the shoulder seam of his shirt starts to unravel, then the whole damn thing (She had wanted it off pretty badly). She doesn't seem to notice aside from excitement at touching his skin, his arms felt good enough to obsess over.

The shirt coming off him was to be expected, and for a moment, Leon doesn't even notice. But that sense fires off like a shot in his mind. His face turns aside, he looks down at the destroyed remnants of his shirt, a phenomena he had literally never encountered. Regardless, that sense of something that was greater than oneself, that specialness, he knew it in the core of his being. Maggi had already seemed special to him, magnetic. Then there was the Parapsychology. The suspicion. The cold icewater all came flooding back down his spine in a flash. His eyes going wide, Leon's hand whips up, wrapping around Maggi's throat and pushing down, leveraging himself up straight, towering over her prone body. He wasn't squeezing, she could breath, but there was weight holding down on her.

Leon's other hand was aloft, up above his shoulder, fingers curled into talons, and with a clear crackling sound, electricity started to ark from digit to digit. In a low voice, staring down at Maggi, the threat clear in his eyes, Leon asks, "What was that?"

At first, Maggi enjoys the escalation of his rough care...Then she notices palm of electricity...Her eyes have grown to the size of teacup saucers, her fear with it. While she may be able to breathe, given the shock and not pressure on her throat, her voice is barely above a whisper. "What the hell?" She states while staring at his hand obviously far more terrified of the man wielding lightning than the anomaly of poor Chinese manufacturing. All of her attention had been focused on removing clothing? Moving slowly, she lightly wraps a hand around his wrist (The one not seemingly dangerous to touch) and pulls feebly, hoping he would snap out of whatever this was enough to release her. She had barely been thinking, stress creeping to panic, though she didn't wish to agitate the hulking man further. "W-what are you talking about?"

Leon wasn't letting her up so easy, and the hand remains in place, keeping her in place if she didn't fight harder. The crackling of energy of his hand does not dissipate for a few moments. He was anger and suspicion and fear. It ruled him. A hundred voices shouted a cacophony in his head, telling him to fry her, to let her go, to choke her, to run. At once, he wanted to live, kill, save, and die. He was not whole, broken by a decade of war and half so fighting the darkness in himself. A thousand emotions in a second, each a micro-expression on his face. Doing better than the rest of them? Hardly.

The lightning seems to flare, then die, and Leon pushes himself up and off Maggi, stepping off the couch and away from her. Both his hands clenched and unclenched, he was glaring, he was pitiful, he was confused, he was resolute. Intense eyes stare at Maggi. One hand raises to the scraps of his shirt, holding it in example. "You used it. The power. I felt it. It's not like mine. Who are you? What do you know?"

For a moment, Maggi looks like she may cry, her bottom lip quivering. She inhales slowly and takes stock of the situation. Leon, whatever else he may be, was also suffering from PTSD. He had already created space, that was good. She had to stay calm, that was the most important part. She holds up both her palms innocently, sitting up on the couch at a snails pace, tucking her feet beneath her. Her tone is the softest it has been so far, almost cooing. "Hey Leon." She would wait for him to look at her face, trying to take the fear out of her eyes. "We are going to talk about this okay? First I need you to agree we aren't going to hurt each other." Personally Maggi thought the idea of hurting the over six foot man with electrical powers was ridiculous, but he seemed to think she posed some threat. If she can get a sign of acknowledgement she would continue. The next step was reminding him where they were, making sure he was present. "We are in your house in Gray Harbor, we were making out, and your shirt came apart." She states these facts, still unsure of the cause of his shirts fraying. "If I did that, it was an accident, and I am really sorry okay?" Maggi is being blatantly honest with every word, she didn't know why, but something told her it was important.

Besides the quiet obvious ability to create energy, there was another sort of energy about him, an agitation, a tick. Muscles in his jaw worked, flexed, his arms and chest, visible now that she'd wrecked his shirt, were also twitching, the hundred different urges of fight or flight pulling at his psyche. She was afraid of him now. She should be. He hated it. He hated himself. He couldn't meet her eyes, not that the constant flitting back and forth as he tried to figure out the situation was helping that cause any either. His hands were shaking, and after a long moment, lips pressed into a tough line, he jerks his head in a nod. His eyes find the glasses deposited on the tables, heavy enough that his brief brush on the coffee table hadn't upended them. He leans and snatches one up. His knees almost buckle as he sinks nervelessly to the ground. Leaning his back against the couch, his knees lifted into a tent, he puts one arm across the tops of them while he knocks back the rest of what was in the glass. He still wasn't looking at her. He shakily reaches for the decanter for another refill.

While everything she had ever been taught academically told her that additional inebriation was beyond the worst idea, she was pretty sure stopping him sounded worse. When in Rome...Maggi reaches for the other glass with sloth like speed, knocking back the remainder and placing it on the table as near him as she dared. If he refilled it, cool, if he ignored it, at least it hasn't obliterated. "Leon, I want to answer your questions, but I have to know you are here. Can you please look at me?" She wanted to ask him a million questions but decided now was not the time. The reminding a victim that everything was normal part was going to be a heavy challenge, given well...superpowers? Normal was relative anyway, Parapsyc 101. "I got super pissed two years back and I was pretty sure I lit a candle on fire without a lighter, but I have never straight up destroyed something alright? That is uhhh...new?" She watches his twitching. "I don't want to go anywhere right now, but I can if you want me to. I was really enjoying you." Still true. Fear, curiosity, hope; Maggi didn't want to leave.

"You won't." he almost croaks. All the shaking, spawns, tremors, his vocal chords almost didn't want to work. But he does glance up at her, at least answering her question if he was there. His face dips down again, hung between his knees, his hand lifter and placed on the back of his head, rubbing through his closely shorn hair, groaning a little bit. Finally, he whips his head up again, a thousand yard stare finding the wall far in front of him as he raises the nearly full glass now to his lips, taking a sip. The arm is hung straight out now on the lever crux of the top of his knee, "You're fucked. If you're like me, you're fucked." He finally looks to her, not even caring how she was going to react, "Like I get you wanna help, I feel that, but you have no fucking idea how bad it gets. Fuck, I used them like three times this week..." He presses the heel of his hand against the center of his brow and rubs, a sort of twisting grind motion like he could drill the feelings out of his head.

She decides he is calm enough for her to pour her own drink, she understood very little of what he was talking about, but she wasn't sure there was enough alcohol in the house to fix it. She stands, walking with her glass to stand a foot back from him, facing his direction. She sits cross legged patiently, still watching him. Maggi was more concerned for him than herself for the moment. She takes a swig, fingers gripping the glass almost too hard. "You might have to explain like I'm five, this isn't exactly well covered material in class. I started Parapsychology because I wanted to understand how it was possible to do something I did, that's about all I got. I do want to help, but primarily I want to understand." If she could make this more about her than about him it should help alleviate some of his guilt. "I need your help." She didn't want to be facing whatever he was talking about without proper information. Her head angles to meet his eyes.

"There is... darkness... that follows this. Like, these powers, whatever they are? They're not free." Swig. This man was leaning on his medication real hard tonight. "I didn't even know other people with these powers existed. I thought I was alone with this... shit." Again, he rubs his face, maybe a bit rougher than one would normally would rub their own face, like the skin and muscle there would maybe just start rolling up and slough off in the way play-doh would... He gives up, though, the edges of his eyes red, like he was fighting his own tears, though his face was dry. "They make we want to die. On the regular. That's why I quit the Army. I don't know if anyone knew what I was doing, how I was doing it, but I was getting assignments that I had no idea how a real person could do..." Both his skeletal vulture tattoo and another was now visible through the ruined shirt, a colorful piece of art, but also an imposing depiction of a bearded vulture was tattooed on one pectoral and spread into his shoulder. A gyre vulture could be seen across his opposite shoulder blade.

With a weak smile, Maggi holds up her tattooed wrist in response 'You're not alone'. "What if..." Every ounce of researcher in her being wanted to pummel her right now, "for tonight, we just worked on not wanting to be dead?" She knew those feelings on an intimate level, hers mostly quelled by the existence of the connection to people she had started to feel. "We can talk about big stuff on another less sucky day?" Maggi sets the glass onto the floor, removing the ruined tank, not seeming to care that she was just in her bra. The depictions on his skin made more unspoken sense now that she had seen a little of what he could do. "We are both real, and we are both different." She slides forward just a hair, still allowing him space. "Tonight we could just be Leon the Locksmith and Maggi the Grad Student?" She ties back her hair, waiting for his reaction. Him yelling was a possibility, but she didn't think he would hurt her using whatever he was afraid of using for the moment. The wrist she had held up extends toward him. "I would very much like that at least." There wasn't much else she could do now, this was the hardest part. With any amount of a trauma spike, you had to choose to let go of living in that moment once triggered. He had to decide if it was worth it, she couldn't do that for him.

Leon stares her down as she reaches for him, intense eyes locked on her, but before she touches him, his eyes flit away and he takes another drink. He does not shy away though. Should her hand be on him, his own hand would come up and cover hers. "I wish... I want that, too..." He says, his reddened eyes plastered to the wall for a few more moments before looking to Maggi, watching her, then looking away again, "Sorry. I'm a little fucked up..." His hand would squeeze hers. Even in her bra, Leon only briefly glances at her body, not unwelcome to the sight, but a little unsure what to even do about the night now. Another hard pull is taken from his glass, the crystal thunking hard on the coffee table as he haphazardly sets it aside.

One pale hand is put atop his, her fingers curling around it. Maggi pulls a bit, using this to edge closer. With her other she takes a small sip, still holding her own alcohol. “I’m not really tired enough to sleep.” The statement is presumptuous, her spending the night, but also an offer that just sleep is an option. “If you’re still hungry, I’m a shit cook.” Maggi has a knack for burning water. “But, if you want to watch TV or talk I can be okay company.” She giggles at the sentiment. Part of her thought she was crazy for not running, the other justifies this as purely academic, the amount he made her heart race disagreed with both.

“Oh, and Leon the Locksmith? You’re more than a little fucked up, but I think I’m into it.” She grins cocking her head playfully. Maggi watches to make sure the twitches have primarily stopped before closing the gap between them.

Thr tremors she searched for had stopped, the warmth of another being enough to remind him the world was still there, that maybe that sudden panic could be dialed back. Paranoia was hard to bury, the trauma that spawned it a loomimg mass of emotion, but he wanted to push it back, like the time in the bar had. He breathes, he leans slightly toward her with the pull, a show of his wish to close the gap between them as well. A weak chuckle finally escapes him, "Yeah, sleep isn't really something I wanna do either." That was where the nightmares came for him, especially after reminders like tonight.

Then he realizes what that could sound like, his breath catching as he opens his mouth, closes it, looks to Maggi a little cautiously, "I mean, uh..." Now he also seems to notice just the bra, his eyes trailing down her with nervous interest before returning to her eyes. He tries to find something smooth to append to that, and utterly fails, chuckling and dipping his head, scratching the back of it in a bit of an embarrassed affectation.

Carefully, Maggi rises up onto her knees, not letting go of him nor her drink. Her bra is now eye level, a concept she seems to ignore. Instead she leans forward to softly kiss the top of his forehead before sitting back on her calves. She would not admit the significance of this action for fear of judgement, but when she was small and had been afraid her mother had done the same for her. Maggi called them 'Glenda kisses' after the benevolent protection of the witch in 'The Wizard of Oz'.

Lightening the mood her tone returns with sarcasm, "If we were just going to sit on the floor we could have gone back to my POS apartment." She hope this triggered the gentlemanly sensibilities he seemed to display. She noted his interest, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to make him work for whatever he wanted. It wasn't that she didn't want the same things, just her teasing way. Giving him a goal to put his energy into did not hurt either. Some may describe this as a game, one in which it was Leon's move.

Leon was most certainly not ignorant of the concept of her pose when she leaned forward, and he enjoys a breath inward through his nose when she is near. A slow lightening of his expression happens, leaning toward a grin when she makes her comment, sprouting into a full grown smirk with an upward roll of his eyes.

"Alright, fine, fine." Squeezing her hand, he would move to rise from the floor. Given her state of dress, he decides the rest of his ruined shirt could go the way of the dodo. He grips it and finishes fully ripping the tattered fabric off with a mild tearing noise. He stares down at it briefly before tossing it onto the couch. Cheap Chinese manufacturing. At least it wasn't one of his favorites. He looks down to Maggi and offers his hand to help her up, upper body full to see. There was another Griffin vulture on the hip opposite his chest tat, wings artfully stretched around his ribs and stomach.

Maggi rises, if a bit wobbly. She had been keeping pace with him in drinks, her frame smaller and therefore her body more afflicted. She laughs off the unsteadiness, setting her drink on the coffee table. Her hand and his skin unencumbered, she begins to trace some of his ink with a tingle inducing touch.

She bites the side of her lower lip, the flirtation in her eyes almost tangible in potency. Remembering the outburst, she tries to consciously dial back, unsure of what would happen. Releasing the pinched lip she does what any sane woman who was on her sixth shot would do...ruin the moment. "You got any chips?" The juxtaposition of her shirtless and playing coy with the statement was almost laughable, yet she seemed entirely intent on both.

This would leave her other hand still in Leon's grasp, which, until now, he had not truly held, an escalation of that actual nervous contact of their touch from before. Her attention on his ink, he slowly slides his fingers between hers, intertwining their hands together, the grasp not too tight, but a firm enough handhold to cement the idea he wanted to keep her near. His breath comes a little stuttered as she runs her fingers along him, maybe indicating he was a bit weak to that spot.

He does utter a short chuckle to the asking of chips, though, grinning down at her, "Long as you like Sour Cream and Onion." He would slowly move toward the doorway by the hand, taking up the bottle and glass to take with them with the other. As he'd lead her into the kitchen area, he'd set both crystal items down again, tug her hand as he turns toward her. He reaches to take her by the hips, lifting her neatly and setting her on the cpunter, stepping back again in a very 'set you right here so I can look at you' way.

Coincidentally, as she ends up under one of the vertical lights from the ceiling, he pauses, looking up at the light, then cocking his head as he looks back to her body. Good light here. Hed have to remember that. He goes to retrieve chips with a bemused grin.

Maggi protests at the statement, but not at his lead. She seems offended by the concept he proposed. "There are people who don't!?!" Already a feisty being, the alcohol only intensified this. Maggi was genuinely offended by the idea that people could hate delicious snack foods, her brow furrowing.

She was cooperative to his shifting of her, likely leaning into his grip a bit more than she needed to. Having been placed on the counter she swings her feet slowly and freely. For someone so ornery, she had a toddler like wonder about her as she was lapping tipsy. Locking her arms she holds the counter behind her, leaning backward with a goofy smile. It was only then that she noticed him looking at her, reactions easily less alert.

"What do people do with this much kitchen?" She seemed oblivious to the obvious answer, a hazard to such a lovely space. She flips her hair taking in the space that was easily three times her own.

Opening a cabinet and reaching inside, it is not the crinkle of a bag that's heard. Instead a cylindrical tube is brought into view, and Leon pops it open. He steps back over to Maggi, maybe getting a bit more adventurous as he brings his body back nearer to her. He turns his hip just slightly and presses forward into her knees, a move meant to spread them so he can lean against the counter between her legs. He holds up a single chip near her mouth, intending to feed it to her, his look a little dangerous and intent, "Cooking..." He knows full well the expectations his tone would set, amd what he subverted there, but then he continues, "...But also other things." His eyes trail down her front. He was flirting, true, though there still seemed an edge to him, like this were a thing he was using to pull himself out of distraction, choosing by will what to focus his attentions on.

At first Maggi seems skeptical of the lack of crinkling sounds, squinting at him. The concept of junk food that looked bougie was obviously distrusted. Her legs cease movement, allowing space for him without protest. He did have chips after all...

Ill focused on the nuance of his words, she snatches the chip with her teeth, dangerously close to him loosing a finger. He should have known the risks. At least one of the two of them was able to be enticing in their actions, hopefully her looks made up for it. Should he look any form of surprised she would giggle. Quickly becoming oblivious to subtext, she cocks her head in confusion her tone a bit frustrated. "Like what?" Leon was withholding valuable information about spacial purposing in her eyes. Was it weird craft projects? Did it double as extra office space? What were the kitchens secrets? The skeptical squint returns, a look of 'speak plainly boy' coming from her diminutive frame.

And in fact, Leon does make a little amused sound of surprise as his finger is nearly nipped off. He chuckles as he snags a chip for himself, popping it into his mouth quickly and crunching on it as he's digging another one out of the canister, knowing the ravenous little vixen had caught required placation. Much more carefully this time, he holds the chip from the very edges, but also a little higher, a tease that meant Maggi might have to work a little harder on this one. He remains silent for now, a devilish grin curling his features, far more intent on how she might move to capture the prize he was dangling. The hand holding the canister moves to rest beside her thigh, fingers slowly running along the outside of the leathery material of her pants.

Maggi sits up, freeing her arms. With both hands, she wraps them around the arm taunting a chip before her, using her weight to try to lower his hand to her mouth. She liked him having her hands on her, that would be clear. But, she also really wanted the fancy chip. Her success in this endeavor would determine her current mood. She would either smugly crunch her chip, reveling in it's flavor, or continue struggling to bring his arm down in frustration.

Regardless, she had not forgotten her unanswered question, increasingly absurd scenarios taking place for her mentally on the kitchen counters. She was now on to tiny mouse circus practice.

He would probably find the image of her struggling something to admire. Were she paying attention she'd see the entirety of his bare upper body flex taut as she pulls, being as firm as a jungle gym for her to climb on. His eyes dance along her body for just a few moments before he slowly, lowers the chip into her mouth, returning the smug grin she would give him. He'd only wanted to see her straighten up, but having her whole body working for it just made it that more enjoyable to watch. Fingers snatched away to safety this time, letting her munch, he drops his other hand now to her thigh, lightly stroking along the interesting material and the pliable flesh beneath, his eyes and attention drawn there. He wasn't quite sure he remembered what question he was supposed to answer at the moment, attention rapt as it was on her body. Likely she'd be able to steal the whole can and he wouldn't notice.

Maggi's brain was only processing things in a one at a time order, top of the list was still chips. She would have been glad to know that he was enjoying the way she moved for him, though unintentional. Picking up the plastic container, she wraps an arm around it in a hug, squishing her breasts against it. Noshing happily she removes one chip at a time with the other. "I am a terrible cook" she states, mouth full of dehydrated potato. "Couple years ago, when no one cared it was my birthday, I made a cupcake and forgot the eggs. It was horrible." It may be be difficult to distinguish if if were the situation or the cupcake that was horrible,the tale of neither seeming to dampen her euphoria at having chips.

"How much older are you than me anyway?" A serious question that might be taken as rude if Maggi were not as inebriated as she was. The flow from chips to mouth unceasing. Her ankles had playfully wrapped around the backs of his legs in a possessive 'this is mine now' fashion. She seemed entirely unaware that the container was acting as a magnifying glass for lace clad breasts.

Well, if there was any way for Maggi to get Leon to care about the can of chips again, she'd definitely found it. Hell, just the thought of such a shaped object where it was was enough to stoke a hunger wholly different from the one Maggi was experiencing. Both his hands free to roam, they begin sliding up the tops of her thighs slowly, now fully distracted by the creature sat before him, voice distant as he comments, "Yeah, cooking is hard..." Bad use of words? His thumbs press into the front of her hips while his fingers continue around, taking a firm hold, pulling her until she had slid to the edge of the counter and her had her lower body fully against him, his own form of possessive action.

He glances up at the question, reminded humans had conversations, and weren't just all animal instinct, "Huh?... Uh... I dunno, I'm 31." He squints at her, eyebrow raised, a look of mild concern clouding the hungry look, wondering if the question should spark some sort of reluctance on his part. She was damn attractive, he was sure she was at least in her 20's.

She was getting used to being moved about by Leon, and she didn't really mind it to begin with. Maggi looks down at the dwindling chips, feeling a tad guilty that he had less of them. Frowning, she releases the container and places it beside her on the counter. Looking down at her dust covered hand, she is almost confused as to what to do. His hands are on her...Releasing one calf, she bends her knee so that her left foot touches the counter, wiping her hand off on the bottom of the pants fabric. Feeling quite accomplished, she holds the hand out to him. "Drink please!" she really was a child after she had had a bit, but she also remembered the last time she had just given in to the excitement. She didn't want to accidentally upset him again, instead enjoying this.

Waiting, she flips her head so her hair falls behind her. "17 Mister." She is unable to keep a straight face for more than a couple seconds, giggling madly at a terrible joke and hopefully a fleeting look of panic. "Nah, just turned 27." She returns her leg behind him.

Smirking at the request, he leans forward, mouth quickly closing on one still slightly oily and salty finger, licking it clean. He then moves his body in, coming even closer to hers, his face tucking in to place a soft kiss on the crux of her neck and shoulder as he reaches past her. He takes up her glass with a finger and the bottle with his hand. Remaining close, one hand still clutching her hip firmly, he sets the glass down and pours her a drink, then sets the bottle down and retrieves the drink to hand to her. It was all very complicated, but meant he got to keep his warm skin close to hers and his other hand quite occupied, the thumb starting to slowly stroke upward to find skin.

The face he makes as he hears the age is just slightly fallen, a half-exasperated face, probably knowing she was lying. He holds her drink in a fashion that almost looked like he wouldn't give it to her, before she even cracks to correct herself, he makes a lip-flat expression, shoulders shrugging, as if weighing the pros and cons. 17 gets you 20. Might be worth it where Maggi was concerned, at least that was the jest he was making. He smiles as she goes on, "I may not have grad-i-ated from GHS, but I think that's 4." The word was clearly over-southernized to seem stupid.

Her eyes grow wide in shock as he licks her finger, this only causing her another fit of giggles. The giggles turn to a hum of enjoyment at his kiss, goosebumps rising on her skin. Once officially being given her glass free and clear, she knocks back half. She is clearly nervous and trying to hide it.

His silly commentary on overly drawn out math makes her titter, almost cough after the swig she had taken. "God your southern is terrible." She says continuing to laugh. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than his closeness to her, the chips having been replaced in priority. Now she was anxious that she may accidentally set his house on fire or something though...the risk sounding more worth it. He smelled as amazing as his arms looked. She wanted to tell him her concerns, though she was somewhat unable to figure a clever way to piece them at the moment. The rogue thumb was making her heart to beat faster.

Leon's laughter echos Maggi, speaking slightly defensively toned, "Hey, c'mon, I'm a Left Coast boy, born and raised. It's not my fault I can't lower my IQ on command!" That rogue thumb had none of the sneak skill it was supposed to apparently as it finds the skin it had been seeking, slides along it, then curls under the band there, stroking. That slight anxiety she was feeling was evident to him, and somehow, though he probably had no idea what exactly it stemmed from correctly, it kind of excited him all the same. Her thoughts on his smell only enhance how he was thinking of her smells, wanting to bury his face in her skin. Now she had her beverage, his other hand could return to exploration, set on her hip and gently sliding upward along the skin of her side, his large, rough hands easily encompassing her small waist as they rise. He liked being the hunter of this one, and she was slowly coming round to the danger.

She downs the remainder of the tumbler, eyeing him with frustration. Maggi pushes it away aggressively to the point of almost knocking it from the counter. She places a hand beneath his chin, trying to get Leon to look up at her, her eyes serious. Her body would go rigid until she knew he was hearing her. Once she had his attention, she almost doesn't know what to do with it. "Leon...I don't think...I don't know how I did that stuff. I don't think I can control it." Maggi has no way to stop her heart like she had the rest of her body. "I don't want to like accidentally cause problems." She was trying so hard to not have to talk about this. She was scared to ruin this, but also afraid of what she would ruin in a literal sense.

Confusion was her biggest enemy here, her body screaming for him, angry that she had stopped him. Icy eyes wander over his tattoos, over his tanned skin. She was reliving the moment of him pressed against her earlier on the couch...the inside of her lip being bitten almost hard enough to bleed. She almost did not notice given drink and her own thoughts.

Oh. Leon had that mental moment where the signals he had been getting were clearly revealed to be wrong. His hand stops ascending, the falls to her waist, more a steadying grip there instead of a sensual one. "Yeah... Hm..." He was struggling to bring his mind out of the haze of adrenaline, testosterone, and oxytocin. He looks into her eyes, and the the thought actually crossed his mind that, fuck it, he'd risk it. No. He pushes that back. This was real hard to do with both of them shirtless, eyes wanting to slide down her body with every thought. Slowly, carefully, his hands move from her hips, around to the small of her back, and lace themselves together, a physical indication he was trying to control himself as he considers. "So uh... fear..." he loses eye contact with her again. This was hard for him, clearly, but something Leon felt stronger than self-preservation was preservation of others, "Fear... is the first time I can remember..." He opens his mouth, false-starting, breathing, closing, opening, "It's tough to... control that." His hand breaks contact, lifting from her back as his brows knit in concern. He places a thumb on her lip, pulling gently outward, not wishing her to hurt herself. "Fear... controls." is as best he can state it. He had no advice for her, his power never worked like hers, and he wasn't the best at holding his own mind together. How could he give her anything to work with?

Well... There was one way... He visibly shakes his head to banish that thought. His face is downturned, he leans his face in, wanting to lean his forehead against hers.

His reaction was making her angry. Getting too worked up something she was trying to avoid. He didn't want to talk about fear? Fine she wouldn't be afraid, that could have to be on him. Here was someone who had all the answers she needed and he couldn't even touch her when confronted with questions. "Fuck it" Is her out loud statement, the aggression obvious. She finds the hands that had been pulling away from her and attempts to force them to resume their hold. She didn't want his concern, or his pity. What she wanted was for him to say that he didn't care if she burned his house down.

What Maggi wanted more than anything was to feel understood and be accepted for exactly that. "You could just say you know it's not my fault." Even when she had apologized he hadn't done that for her. "You could say that you want to do this anyway...or that if I accidentally explode your microwave having an orgasm we will deal with it." She was growing a little louder, almost but not quite yelling. "You could fucking tell me that's it's okay that I have no idea what I am fucking capable of and that you don't hate me for that. I almost became burnt toast earlier and didn't run away." She wanted to cry or punch things. She hated that she had made him upset earlier. She had never been afraid of herself before, and now she was only afraid of what she would evoke in him.

Realizing how heated she was getting, she decides to stop trying to force him to touch her, she couldn't force any of this. She slides her legs to the side of the counter, away from him and hops down. Taking a few slow breaths she stomps to the living room for her jacket, from it she withdraws a pack of cigarettes. She isn't looking at him as she goes to the sliding glass door, the rain a drizzle. "I need a cig, If you want to talk after, we can talk. If you want to bang me, that's what I have wanted this whole time. But I will not be afraid of who I am and what that may do to someone, or when they are going to pull away from me like I'm disgusting."

She disappears out the back for a few minutes leaving him to decide.

It was like a gut-punch, her feelings were a spike driven through the thin armor of his psyche and directly into his trauma. And in that pain, he saw. He shook. He closed his eyes. He poured himself a drink, downed it. Poured himself another. This is set to the side. He retrieves her glass, checks the ice, refills hers. This, he sets beside his glass. Two glasses, a shot's worth of liquor in them, side by side. This was allegory. He knew her pain and fear now was the pain and fear he faced deployed. He breathes, both hands placed on the counter. He hadn't had a ton of time at the VA once he'd gotten back. They didn't really treat what was wrong with him. Coping. It was hard... But... He didn't own the market on pain and fear... They might not be the same people, but this was an experience he knew literally no one else to talk to about.

She wouldn't be alone in it.

So when she comes back in, he is leaning against the kitchen counter, both hands to either side of his shirtless body. He would look at her, he would smile. "Words aren't going to cut it." He would step to her wordlessly, eyes locked with her, and he would strip her jacket off of her, then take her by the hand. His hand would come up and stroke back any stray locks behind her ears. In that moment, she would feel his affection for her, his lust for her, the strength of it enough to know had she not stopped him, he'd already have her on the counter, a thought also of alien origin to her, something he was able to impress to her. He wanted her, and the whole house could burn down, and his van was two blocks away safe. Everything would be fine. He severs the connection willfully, not wanting to overstay his welcome in her mind.

He was right, words would in fact not cut it. What he made her experience was simultaneously the weirdest and the sexiest things she had ever experienced. What at first she had almost tried to resist, she was grateful she hadn’t. Her bra is damp with drizzle she pays no mind of, raising the set of connected hands to push a strap downward. Porcelain skin prickling around the touch. She wanted to be on him now, and even though it was only heartbeats until she was on him again, forcefully, it almost felt like they still weren't moving quickly enough for her.

They spent quite a long time in the kitchen that night, enough that Leon would be wondering the next morning if the very barren decor of the kitchen maybe needed to add blinds to the sliding glass door. When it was over, and in a smooth motion as he could feel her exhaustion, he sweeps an arm beneath her knees, his other taking one of her arms and dragging it around his neck. She would be aloft in his grasp a moment later, her weight doll-like to him, and thankfully she had seemed to like when he treated her this way. He makes his way through the living room, toward the stairs.

Climbing the carpeted steps easily, he uses a foot to push the door open to the master bedroom, letting her take in the fact the lack of decoration from his recent move was congruent here as well. He steps over and sets her down gently on the side of the very sturdy looking, pipe-framed bed.

Maggi had fallen asleep just moments after Leon had placed her in his arms. Subconsciously, she had wrapped her arms around his neck, her face resting against his chest. The evening had been tumultuous in many ways, too much for Maggi's small frame to take. Maybe it was in part the use of her abilities as well? There was no clear answer on the effects of using super powers on ones body.

Half asleep she pulls at him, as he sets her down, wanting him to stay near her. With eyes closed she looks almost angelic, incapable of destruction. She snuggles lazily into the closest pillow on his bed. Surely embarrassed by this come morning.

Biting his lip as he looks at her and how beautiful she appears to him. After a brief check she was comfortably tucked in, he disappears for a few minutes, returning downstairs to do a brief cleanup and shutting the lights off. He finishes off the drinks he had not touched, forgotten when she had come back in, puts the glasses in the dishwasher and tosses her wet clothes in the washer. He considers and hangs the leather jacket up on a chair in the path of one of the vents to dry it out, fishing her phone out of the pocket and grabbing his as well.

Obsessive military cleaning done, he would sneak back into the room after making sure both their devices were set to vibrate. Quietly sliding into the bed behind her, he presses his body into her back, wrapping her up in a strong embrace. He breathes a contented sigh before letting the alcohol finally bring on the warm darkness.