Scene, Part 2.

Ok, this continues what I posted here earlier this week. I hope it's good. (I know gamerguy is a fan of my dialogue, for instance.>

-Continue Scene-


Here, not looking, Jake could be…Jake. The one they sort-of liked, bouncing between quiet and loud, unassuming and showy, Jake and Poltergeist. Some of them wore masks, but the reasons were varied.

“Knew you’d look for me,” he said, still not turning around. “And I knew you’d start here, and keep going, and probably call everyone else to full alert if I wasn’t here.” Go away, Brandon. Please…

“I could still call. We should be talking-”

“No!”

“What?”

“This doesn’t concern them.”

“They’re your friends,” Brandon said, accompanied by the sound of boot against stone. Every step became a needle in Jake’s mind, one of a thousand since the Dawn. One of a million since he dropped his books after a chance collision in the dorm.

He felt his mind reach out, acting as an extra sense. It wasn’t as refined as sight, or sound, or touch, but he could ‘feel’ with his power: extend a psychokinetic field outward, and it would register the presence of solid objects in the area. It was a help in Queen Mab’s court, and ended up saving Tara from an invisible Unseelie assassin. Here, it was useful. Jake didn’t want him to come closer. A thought, and the field solidified.

“Don’t do this,” Brandon said, sound not affected by the kinetic field. In his mind, Jake could feel every ounce of pressure as the other young man tapped his finger against the shield.

“Don’t do what?”

“This.” Tap tap tap. More pressure. “You always do this, in some way. You keep people out.”

At this, Jake turned. He knew it would hurt him again to do it; that he would feel the cold steel of his own disappointment pierce his ribs again, slipping inside to rend his inside, his Self. Running and not running at the same time. He knew Brandon would come here. And he turned around anyway, even as he knew he would die inside.

Brandon had forgone his Paragon uniform, this time. But, even in the casual Jeans-and-sweatshirt combo he wore, it was clear enough that most people knew who he was. He wore no mask. A reporter asked Brandon that once, and he replied that he had never found a reason to. Lucky him, Jake thought, with just a little darkness behind it.

Again, Brandon tapped against the shield of pure mental force, invisible to most conventional senses. He stood just a hair over six feet, the shoulders broad with some muscle definition showing even under a loose sweatshirt. The lack of any direct light made his eyes seem black, as opposed to the inky blue they usually were. The only think darker than the eyes was his hair, black as a starless sky, and fashionably tousled. The look, combined with his outgoing, guileless demeanor and sparkling school record made Brandon Szember every suburban parent’s wet dream.

And Jake knew it. This was just the type of student he was always being compared to and coming up short. Always being compared to. Masks are worn for a reason.

“And maybe they’re happier that way,” Jake retorted, looking at Brandon but not letting down the shield. He didn’t entirely trust Szember right now. Or himself. “You guys never wanted me around in the first place. So there, now you have a reason.”

“Is that what this is about?” Brandon asked, one trimmed, photogenic eyebrow lifting upward. “No one’s going to kick you off the team for this.”

It wasn’t just that, Jake thought. And you know it. He tore his eyes away, his hand starting to fiddle with the zipper of his open coat. Old nervous habit.

“They never liked me.”

“You won’t let them know you,” Brandon replied, and Jake could almost hear the words not spoken. ‘Like you let me…’ Yeah, he thought. I let you. I’ll pay every day for it, too.

“They didn’t want to know,” Jake said. But you did. You always did, and that’s why we’re here right now. Happy now? “They didn’t want to know Jake, who used to call on your room and was all quiet and shit. Poltergeist, they liked. Him, they talked to.”

“And you’re the same person. They like you too.”

“Bullshit! Up til when the Mass tried to play ‘you will be assimilated’ with half the campus, you all thought I was David!”

“He didn’t help matters much. He’s very outspoken when it comes to the Dawn Children.” Brandon shrugged at this, since that wasn’t his doing. David was a reporter for the college paper, and a constant supporter of the Dawn Children. Others felt that such power left in the hands of teenagers and young adults, unchecked, would destroy everything around them. In some cases, but not all, they did have a point. “He’s helped keep the Feds off our back more than once, as well as those Chronos Project goons. They don’t all hate us.”

“I know, I know. But if I wasn’t unconscious at the time, I bet I would have seen at least one disappointed look when the lot of you tried to resuscitate me. Valerie especially, since she had /just/ a little crush on David.” Jake remembered those first looks she used to give him, back when they didn’t know who was under the mask.

“Well, she did,” Brandon said, not denying it. “And a lot of the signs did seem to point to David-”

“I was careful.”

“Damn straight you were,” Brandon said.

Oh, man, Jake thought. Paragon said a semi-naughty word. The Tabloids would make me rich beyond my wildest dreams if I had that on tape…

“You were wearing a mask,” Brandon added. “We had no idea who was under it.”

Dropping the kinetic barrier, Jake turned away, looking out over the edge of the roof, across the campus. “I had my reasons.”

“You have a lot of masks.”

“Well, I have a lot of reasons.”

-Break-

I'd have done more, but I had work. :P