Her Vodka, His Books: A Cautionary Tale

The girl was serious, or at least a good liar. John couldn't sense any of the usual emotions associated with lying, just a hint of nervousness. It made sense; metahumans were a controversial subject. There was something that bothered him about it, something he had to pick up on himself. Why would a stranger offer a college student so much? Either the lab would be a cardboard box and a store-bought chemistry set for children to make crystals, or she was absolutely insane. No one could be this confident in a stranger's ability.

"Well," he began. An alarm went off in his head, and he realized he had led her to an emptier street, a shortcut he took when traffic was heavy both in the streets and on the sidewalks. Lillian didn't bother him nearly as much now that he had read her a bit more, but there was something else. He felt the feeling of nervousness spike, not from her, and not nearly enough to be him.

"I'm not sure what to say. You're offering quite a lot." His voice trailed off as he glanced up and down the street, confirming they were alone. John's empathy told him otherwise. When he took his next step, he realized too late that the pair was passing an alley, as a hand shot out and yanked on his hood.

He tripped, the hand still latched firmly on his hood as another grabbed the front of his sweater to drag him to his feet. Pinned against a wall, all John could see was the black ski mask a few inches from his face, and the red hair of Lillian in the alley, at the edge of his vision.

"I don't want any trouble, just your wallet and anything else you might be carrying of some value. Same goes for the girl. Peter, get the hell over here, the girl shouldn't be any trouble for him."

As far as John could tell, there were three. The one pinning him against the wall, the second who apparently had Miss Carraway, and a third, who came into view moments later, barely visible behind the first.

He glanced at Lillian as best he could, barely picking up on her emotions in his distraction, trying to take out his wallet.

Lillian was just about to explain to John that her source of wealth was legitimate, and he had nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, before she could relay this information to him, her scalp was enveloped in agony as a large hand grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled backwards. Lillian screeched in pain, stumbling backwards as quickly as possible in an effort to relieve some of the pressure on her head.

Once the tears of pain had retreated, Lillian caught sight of John on the other end of the alley, pinned to the wall by some lout in a ski mask. The man who held her captive released her hair and snatched up her wrists instead, slamming her back against the cold brick of the wall behind her. Lillian could see nothing but a pair of pale blue eyes behind the ski mask, and she snarled with fury. They were being jumped.

Before Lillian had a chance to speak, she heard the muttered voice from across the alley as Asshole #2 demanded John and her turn over their wallets. Outraged, Lillian glanced at John. He might be taking out his wallet, but hell if she would. She didn't get wealthy by throwing away her money to some random try hard.

"Go fuck yourself," Lillian spat at her attacker. "You've messed with the wrong bitch."

The man looked surprised for a second, then started laughing incredulously. "Your wallet, slut. I wouldn't take your time, if I were you. I would hate to have to hurt you."

Lillian glanced downwards for a second, checking the man's belt for weapons. Knife, no gun. That was good. Knives were good.

She looked up at John again, thinking quickly. She could fight and escape from one guy due to her familiarity with martial arts, but she could hardly take on two men, let alone three.

Lillian soon realized she was taking too long, because the man's knife was suddenly gone from his belt and clutched in his scarred fist.

"Okay," Lillian relented, talking quickly. "Okay. I can't very well get my wallet if my hands are bound, can I?"

Anger. Anger and fear.

The man pinning John against the wall had no malice in his heart. Incomprehensible rage, yes, yet it was not towards John, but towards the money the college graduate held out, resting comfortably in his wallet. The thinner one hovering behind him reeked of fear, and John could almost smell the nervous bile building up inside his stomach. It was the one pinning Lillian that gave off the most disturbing vibes. He seemed to be taking pleasure in taking the girl hostage, brandishing a knife at her. The expression of his anger, the controlling of others... It fueled his enjoyment. He was dangerous.

Snatching John's wallet left the trio's leader with only one hand holding him back, but he wasn't quite ready to make his move.

"You have five dollars? Five dollars!?"

"I attend the university. I don't exactly have a liberal budget."

The man growled. "Phone? Watch?"

"If you want a cheap Nokia I guess you can--"

He shook his head furiously, snatching the five dollar note and stuffing it in his pocket.

"John, what does the girl have?"

Monty flinched. How does he know my name? When the third man grunted back, he realized their boss was talking the deviant among them. Glancing over, John watched the man release Lillian's wrists for a moment, knife held loosely as he held out his other hand to take her goods.

It only took an instant, however long it felt for the telekinetic. The knife slipped from other-John's grip, clattering on the pavement as he cursed. Their leader groaned in embarrassment as other-John crouched to pick up the knife.

Hoping Miss Carraway saw her chance to knee the bastard or at least try something, John turned his attention back to the two men in front of him.

Lillian watched incredulously as the knife fell from his fingers. No way, she thought to herself, hardly daring to believe her luck. The man who had threatened and pinned her (whatever his name was) crouched to pick up his blade.

It was the perfect opportunity. Lillian wasted no time in bringing her knee into the man's nose, splintering the cartilage. Blood sprayed from the man's broken nose, speckling dozens of tiny crimson dots on Lillian's knee. The man let out an involuntary yelp and his hands flew up to his face, knife clutched in one of them, as if to protect his nose from further damage.

Attempting to take advantage of his shock, Lillian planted a kick into the man's chest, knocking him onto his back. The man flailed for balance, but failed to keep himself upright as he was carried backwards and slammed onto the pavement. Lillian was quick to position the thin high heel of her right shoe directly over his neck.

"Move and I crush your throat," Lillian warned.

The man appeared not to have heard as he plunged his knife hilt-deep into her calf just above her ankle.

Lillian screamed in surprise and pain, instinctively pressing down with her heel. The man began to splutter and choke, and Lillian recoiled in fear and left him on the ground gasping for breath, suddenly realizing that she could have killed him. She stumbled backwards and reached down to tug the knife free from her leg, biting to keep from crying out.

"Hey!" It was John's cue to act, as the man released him and took half a step to Lillian. Thinking on his feet, John swung his fist in a wide arc to connect with the back of the man's head, causing him to stumble a moment before whirling around.

John was now facing six and a half feet of what appeared to be nearly pure muscle, radiating anger above all else. Stepping away from the wall put the nervous man to his right, but Monty ignored that possible threat to focus completely on the man-bear standing in front of him. Fists raised, the two stared at each other for just an instant longer before Mister Man-Bear charged forward, his small initial step giving way to the largest stride the college graduate had seen yet. In front of the two hundred and fifty or more pounds of flesh was a single, meaty fist.

It connected, but the telekinetic was able to slow it down and change its course just enough to take the hit. Still, it was not enough to slow the hulk behind it, and John had to focus on his movement as well as the man's to survive the encounter. Standing a step to the side of his previous position, Monty was looking at the bear's back, prepared to throw another wave of raw kinetic force at him.

Behind John, the nervous man stirred, running and putting a weak punch between John's shoulder blades. The action reminded John of a moment in middle school. They had track that day, and the instructor was running them through races. One particular individual found the need to brag about what position they got out of the seven to ten participants each race. This wouldn't have been a problem if he hadn't gotten fourth place, or sixth place, and then bragged about being in the "top 4" or "top 6". Later that day, John had called his fellow student an idiot for bragging about something like that, and when John turned his back, he heard the footsteps of the short, scrawny kid, and felt something impact softly with his back.

John pondered the similarities as he turned, about to return a punch of his own when the bear-man returned. By the time John's fist impacted with the thin man's face, it was too late for subtle manipulations. Throwing everything he had behind the attack, summoning a tsunami of kinetic force, John not only halted the man mid-stride, but threw him back. By the time he understood just how much power he had put into the motion, it was too late to stop the man from colliding with the wall.

Everything seemed to stop in that moment, as John and the thin man stared. The concern in both John and this Peter (as Monty soon recalled was his name) was alleviated as the man groaned and climbed to his feet. Once again, John prepared himself, this time considering Peter a threat as well.

"Let's get out of here. Peter, John, let's go!" Throwing the five dollar bill on the pavement, the man bolted, soon followed by the leaner Peter, and the deviant John who was still sputtering and stumbling from the shock.

Before the telekinetic physics student could even think to pick up the five, he glanced over to Lillian, rubbing his shoulder.

It was a few moments before Lillian realized her attacker was not going to try coming after her again, not for a while at least. The stabbing pain in her leg was preventing her from thinking clearly, preventing her from acting rationally. With a grimace, she focused all of her energy towards her hurt leg, mentally stitching together ripped muscles and torn skin until nothing remained but a trail of crusting blood from her calf to her ankle.

Once the searing pain faded away, Lilian remembered that there were two other men in the alleyway with her. Gripping her new blade, Lillian directed her attention across the alleyway once more, just in time to see the largest of the men flying backwards into the wall behind him with unnatural speed.

What?

Her brain immediately recognized that it wasn't possible for John to have physically pushed the man away from him with that much force. And yet, her eyes were telling her differently. The two grappled with each other for a second as the man lay on the ground, stunned from the impact. Lillian cast a sharp glance at John, but her attention was redirected towards the group of three as the thrown man picked himself up again.

Oh thank God, they're leaving. Lillian warily watched the group retreat and dropped the bloodied knife in distaste, ignoring the metallic clatter it made when it hit the ground. She looked back at John again, but this time in apprehension.

"I'm... glad you're... okay," Lillian said faintly when words found her again, giving John a once-over with her eyes to confirm that he was relatively uninjured.

John gave his shoulder a rub, grimacing as he pressed on the bruise that would no doubt be a nasty blue and black later. He bent to grab the five dollar bill, glancing over Lillian for any obvious wounds. The breeze penetrated the alleyway, causing the bill to flutter just outside the reach of John's fingertips a moment before he willed it to his hand.

I need to be careful. I shouldn't become dependent on it.

Somehow, dazed as he was, he could still feel the ocean around him, the forces acting upon the world. It was so clear to him at that moment, after such exertion, that he felt he could shift the atoms themselves. Of course, even then he knew that it would be impossible for him, at least at his current level, but the sensation was there, the empowering feeling that he could control the world.

He began to rise, pocketing the note and his wallet. Something caught his eye, drawing it to Lillian's leg. Not because it was bare, smooth, and shapely, but because a streak of drying but undoubtedly fresh blood ran from the middle of her calf to her ankle.

“Your blood?” He waved a hand towards her leg, walking over.

"What do you think?" Lillian answered vaguely, triple checking her bag to make sure all of the contents were still safely zipped away in it. She registered as she briefly looked up that John was treating his right shoulder gingerly, and tucked the information in the back of her mind. She would try and heal it later, but now was not the time.

"You picked an awfully funny way to get to the park, by the way," she added dryly, brushing flecks of dirt off her dress as she walked over to him. "Can we scratch that idea and just go get coffee somewhere? I don't really feel like being outside anymore for some reason."

With a frown, Lillian pulled a tissue out of her bag and mopped up the blood on her leg as best she could. Heaven forbid she walk into a public area with that caked on her calves.

"I think I didn't see him bleeding and you have no cuts." John dropped it, giving her a once-over before stepping back out onto the street.

"Sorry about all that. It's not usually that rough on a first date. I like to at least hold hands first." He had an amused grin on his face, almost giggling from his own joke. With a flourish, he extended a hand towards her and looked at her expectantly.

"Shall we? There's a coffee parlour not far from here, Lady Carraway."

"Well, I thought I saw a full grown man slam backwards into a wall without being physically contacted. But we both know that isn't possible," Lillian retorted tonelessly, throwing the wad of bloodied tissue into a nearby dumpster. Her leg still had a dull red tinge to it, but it looked better than that ghastly trail of blood.

At John's next statement, Lillian's eyes widened slightly. Such audacity from a near stranger. She gave his extended arm a cold glance and clasped her hands firmly behind her back. "This isn't the 19th century, Mr. Monty. Lead the way."

Unless I was a metahuman, John thought. He was less bothered than he should have been, perhaps because of the distraction of the mystery blood posed, perhaps because he was growing comfortable with his abilities. Lillian seemed awfully defensive regarding it, but she had been giving off a similar vibe the entire time the two had been together. If the man had, as Monty believed, not been bleeding, then the blood had to be hers.

Going back the way they came brought them into the marginally more safe folds of the public eye. For most of the way, the pair was silent. John was considering the woman's proposition, and Carraway... Well, Monty wasn't a mind reader, at least not yet. The ability to read the emotions of others was handy, and obviously incredibly insightful, but it had its drawbacks.

As they were crossing the street, about the enter the coffee shop, John came to his decision. Lillian's interest in metahumans sparked his own, filling him with more questions than the first instance of his powers being used.

"Sure, I'll help. Between the two of us, we should have enough experience and a large enough sample size to get started."

Large enough sample size..

Lillian wrapped her fingers around the handle to the coffee shop door, feeling somewhat cornered. Was it worth pretending she wasn't a metahuman? Probably not. She wasn't even sure herself why she wanted to hide the information. Nobody knew of her abilities besides Roland, and he only knew because of her remarkable lack of judgement while under the influence of alcohol.


"Well, I'm very happy to hear that," Lillian heard herself respond coolly. "You won't regret it." She slipped inside the coffee shop doors and grabbed a small table, ignoring the barista at the counter that was looking at her expectantly.

"So, we need to work out logistics. I live in New Zealand, and am only visiting here temporarily. You will need to come back with me to New Zealand," she said casually. "I'll give you two days to settle your business here, and then I'll arrange for your flight out to New Zealand. I haven't begun to build your lab yet, but I'll start working on that after we disperse."

Lillian paused for a second, then added, "Oh, and don't worry about your apartment. I'll have all your belongings transferred and I will arrange for your apartment to be rented out."

Her emotional flinch did not go unnoticed. Now he knew. Just as surprised as her, John tried to imagine the odds of such a coincidence, finding them astronomical. In the future, perhaps, he could find the real probability, find out just how many people are metahumans. Maybe the odds aren't so high after all.

For now, John listened to Lillian and nodded as she spoke. New Zealand was nice, at least as far as John knew from Wikipedia and media. And a lab! He hadn't had one of those before, not a real one, at least. His own workspace, his own equipment... Maybe even his own private office off to the side. When she told him he'd have to wrap up his business, he almost said right then and there that he was done, that they should leave now. John had little here, a computer, a few pieces of furniture, a few acquaintances he spoke to in class. But he kept himself quiet, told himself to spend the two days preparing for the move.

"Should I leave your guys a key, or is one of them a locksmith?" John asked it playfully, but he considered for a moment that she might take offense to his apparent attempt at mocking her resources. Carraway did give off that vibe, after all...

"Oh, they won't need a key, no need to worry," Lillian responded, seemingly oblivious to John's playful attitude. "You're welcome to keep it, or return it to your landlord, or whatever you'd like." She reached into her purse and withdrew an envelope, pulling from it a bundle of papers.

"Paperwork. This is a job, no matter how unorthodox. Please bring this home and fill it out, you can bring it to me before you fly out. You'll be paid a base wage of $25/hour and live on site. I'll have your quarters stationed close to the lab, to avoid a messy commute."

Lillian ran through all the details in her mind. Was she missing anything?

"Oh, yes. It may be a few days before the lab is fully constructed, so you may have to stay in my home for a few days, if that's alright. Then we can get to work. Oh, and the paperwork I've just given you also has a confidentiality contract. I would rather not have the work we're doing be very publicized, if you understand what I mean."

Lillian slid the papers across the table over to John.

"Any questions?"

John skimmed the form while Carraway talked. Standard information form, it seemed. Medical information, emergency contacts, and so on. Most of the weight of the packet came from the confidentiality contract she mentioned next. Cautious.

Monty only noticed her mention where he was going to be living (albeit temporarily) once she asked if there was anything else he wanted to know. He wondered, if only for a moment, why she would invite him to her own dwelling rather than arrange for lodgings in a hotel.

"Any questions?"

"I think I have it all... Oh, just one thing. I think I'll be needing your number."

*****

"Roland, for God's sake, are you ever not in the way?"

Lillian was storming about her spacious home in New Zealand, having flown in from Seattle not more than an hour ago. She'd wasted no time in preparing separate quarters for John, who would be flying in and driven down by taxi in a little less than ten minutes.

"Miss, there's no need to be flustered--"

"I'm not flustered!" she snarled, accidentally knocking a book from a table top as she swept past. "He's my employee, Roland, and as his boss I have to provide adequate living conditions! I refuse to force him to live like a goddamn animal!"

"... All we're missing are hand towels in the guest bathroom--" Roland began, distressed, but Lillian was quick to cut him off.

"Fucking primitive. Stop just standing around, fix the problem!" Not finding it worth it to fight with her, Roland disappeared back into the guest house that branched off from the main lounge. Lillian rolled her eyes in exasperation and picked the book up that she had knocked to the ground, setting it back down on the coffee table.

"I need a drink," she muttered, going over her mental checklist in her head. Monty's guest house was all set up, and the lab was bought and nearly ready to do. By tomorrow, the lab equipment she had ordered should have arrived and would be set up by tomorrow evening. If all went according to plan, that was...

Lillian kicked on a pair of flats and glanced at the huge clock on the wall. Any minute now, surely...