[img]http://i1062.photobucket.com/albums/t486/isthistaken1/Hannah-Bond.png[/img] and [img]http://i1062.photobucket.com/albums/t486/isthistaken1/Jamie-M.png[/img] The moment the plane touched down and the pilot switched off the fasten-seatbelt light Hannah was out of her seat, down the gangway and sprinting for the nearest restroom. She bobbed and weaved, careful not to bump into people as she darted for the little pink symbol that marked the women’s bathroom. As soon as she had the stall door firmly locked behind her, Hannah collapsed and proceeded to violently retch into the porcelain throne. [i]Stupid[/i], she thought as spasms wracked her tiny frame, [i]Stupid, stupid, stupid![/i] It hadn’t been a long flight, only six hours or so, but somehow she had managed to doze off somewhere between the inflight beverage service and trash collection. When the plane landed, Hannah had awoken to find herself drowning in a toddler’s fear, the flight attendant’s resulting annoyance, the spike of lust from the man next to her as the attendant bent over and the sadness of his neglected wife in the row behind them. She could still feel them, as clearly as if they were her own, and heaved again into the toilet. Long ago Hannah had researched her condition online. The closest thing she came across were cases of people claiming psychic powers and the ability to read human emotions through the color of the aura. Though a shimmering halo of light seemed a tad silly, she often wondered if even that wouldn’t be better than the constant hell she lived in. It wasn’t that she saw the emotions necessarily, simply that she was acutely aware of their presence, like she was of her own breathing or limbs. They stretched out from people in complicated masses, like amorphous clouds that brushed against (or more accurately pummeled) her body. They had textures, smells, tastes, and worst of all the weight that made Hannah feel like she was constantly being beaten into the ground. People had no idea how heavy their emotional baggage really was, and Hannah was stuck carrying all of it. If she wasn’t careful the clouds could leak into her body, sweeping her off in a wave of the other. Out of necessity she had built up powerful mental walls over the course of her adolescence, the fortifications keeping the onslaught at bay most of the time. Of course those defenses didn’t work when she wasn’t conscious, hence her current predicament. Emotions were always there, wherever there were people, and try as she might it was impossible to be a total hermit. Hannah was constantly under siege. Wiping colorless bile from her lips, Hannah leaned back against the stall door and closed her eyes. She started to focus on the rhythm of her breathing, listening as air shuttled in and out of her chest and purposefully slowing it down. In her mind the pictured herself in her apartment, willed herself to that place. There she was alone with nothing but the plants lining her windowsill and her library for company. She could smell the delicate mix of basil, mint and the musk of old paper, feel the slickness of her hardwood floors and the dry cracked spines of her old leather-bound books. When she opened her eyes her heartbeat had slowed to normal, her stomach had settled and all of the emotions pulsing through her body were her own. [i]Good, let’s keep it that way.[/i] Standing, Hannah flushed the toilet and left the stall. At the sink she wet a paper towel, running the damp material over her face and neck. She stared at her reflection with a critical eye; she was still looking a little gray, but her color was starting to return to normal, which was a good sign. When Hannah got back to her gate she found a puzzled flight attendant waiting with her bags. “Are you alright, Ma’am?” he asked, the concerned smile on his face clashing with the metallic tang of annoyance that sat on her tongue. She nodded tersely, slinging her laptop case over her shoulder. The action drew his attention to her cleavage and the cloud about him grew thick and warm, his arousal running over her like molasses. Hannah had the sudden intense desire to take a shower. As she reached for the handle of her suitcase her intuition flashed; he was going to touch her. Hannah recoiled when he leaned forward, fixing him with a glare sure to strip paint off of a car. “I was just trying to help with your bag!” he protested, hands raised in a peaceable gesture, his tone affronted. Hannah’s nose wrinkled. She didn’t detect the distinctive musk of guilt, which meant the man was telling the truth. [i]Just an accident, then[/i]. Hannah pursed her lips and grabbed her bag. Though meant to be covert, his muttered “Bitch!” pinched her ears as she strode off towards the exit. [i]Well, maybe the “Smiths” won’t brand me an ass and I can finally have a shot at pleasant social interaction[/i], she thought darkly, though in truth she was far too jaded to even hope. ------------------------------- The flight wasn't long. Not by Jamie's standards. Probably four hours or so. It was nothing in comparison to flights to Milan - travelling to Italy, including the journey to the airport in the morning, could last what seemed like an entire day. In fact, the flight passed very quickly. Time always had a very strange way of passing. Jamie knew that more than most. It seemed as if time barely moved when there was nothing of importance occurring, but when time was most valuable, it passed by the fastest. Of course, Jamie could slow things down. Give himself more time to think. But whatever amount of time he had, it wasn't enough to deal with the turmoil going on in his head. By the time the plane had landed, however, Jamie had settled himself down enough to appear to the outside world that he was fine. He was good at that. Acting okay when he was far from it. He still looked out of place in the Port-au-Prince airport - it wasn't the number one holiday destination, considering the recent history of the place, and it was rare to see someone of his age alone, abroad. Nobody stared at him though. Airports were one of the few places where anyone could blend in, regardless of their colour or age. Jamie retrieved his luggage and slowly made his way to the area where he would wait for the guy with the 'Smith family' sign, if he even existed. Jamie was still very sceptical. He realised that there was a very good chance that this could be a trap. Someone cornering him to exploit his abilities, or perhaps a bluff by the government - maybe they were just luring him here so that they could kill him without evoking suspicion. He took a seat in the arrivals waiting area. Whatever was coming, he'd try and deal with it. He knew that if the government were truly after him, or these Haitian people had hostile intentions, it was too late for him to escape. He was a man now, yes, but he couldn't protect himself from people with this kind of power. Power to track him down like that. If this was a trick, Jamie would be dead either way. He just hoped that it was real. Hoped there was hope. The airport's bustling noise put Jamie on edge. He slowed the world around him down. The sounds slowed. The movements of the people slowed. It calmed him in a way. He did feel anxious. Tense.... Scared. He didn't show it. Not one bit. He looked confident - as he needed to if he wanted to make a good first impression with these people. No matter how well he veiled it externally, however, the fear remained. But he would take it head on. He was no coward. He waited. ---------- Hannah strode into the waiting area, heels clipping crisply against the polished concrete, eyes narrowed in search of the man supposedly waiting to collect her. After a moment of scanning and finding no one, she frowned. It was possible this W.V. fellow had lied to her, she couldn’t tell that from a letter after all, but it was equally clear to her that she was in no immediate danger. Perhaps he was simply late? As she turned to find a place to sit, the sharp tang of fear danced across her tongue. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid scent that accompanied it; someone was genuinely afraid. Hannah blinked, considering this a moment. W.V. did say there were others, and who had more to fear than a wanted man? Curious now Hannah let down her defenses a bit and shuffled along, following the stream of tension across the waiting room floor, letting the icy sensation pinch her sensitive skin. As she got closer the pinches intensified to shocks of pain that crawled over her arms and legs. Hannah raised her mental barricade when her gaze fell upon a pair of shoes and lifted her head, staring directly into the face of her target. He was a young man, handsome, swarthy, with curly brown hair and dark brown eyes. [i]Italian[/i], she guessed, [i]Or maybe Spanish?[/i] She didn’t waste anytime debating, instead reaching into her laptop case and pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. Hastily she scribbled out a message, flipping it around so that he could see. “[b]Smith family?[/b]” it read it neat, almost perfect script. Jamie's eyes had been scanning the room for quite a while before he spotted a girl holding a sign that read “[b]Smith family?[/b]” Jamie peered at her for a few moments. She was probably a similar age to him, but was very small in comparison to him - probably a foot smaller. She was by no means the intimidating, dark, suited man he had expected to see holding the sign. He noted that she could just be a trick to lure him out and catch him off guard. But he took his chances, waiting to catch her eye and raising a hand of greeting before approaching her. As he walked over he realised that due to the question mark on the sign she held, there was a good chance that she was just arriving here, like him. [color=CornflowerBlue]"Hey,"[/color] Jamie greeted once he was within speaking distance with the girl. He was still a little on edge but he made an effort to seem like he had his feet on the ground. [color=CornflowerBlue]"I'm Jamie,"[/color] he said, the words sounding much less awkward than he thought they would. He hated 'forced' meetings. He preferred to meet people on his own terms. But, alas, beggars cannot be choosers. [color=CornflowerBlue]"Did you just get here too?"[/color] [i]Dammit. I forgot about this part,[/i] thought Hannah bitterly as her skin flushed bright crimson. Gritting her teeth, she shoved her embarassment to the side and scribbled another note. “[b]Hannah, and yeah. Just got in from Boston.[/b]” She showed it to him and then bit her lip, debating. After another moment she added, “[b]I’m a mute[/b]” to the end. He was going to figure it out eventually, but she might as well be upfront. It would make things less awkward in the long run. Jamie watched as she wrote out a sentence. Initially, he found he behaviour a bit strange, but after her second note, he could understand why she wasn’t speaking. He’d never met a mute before, and until now he hadn’t really realised how much of a difference it would have to day to day life. He considered how difficult it must be to put across your thoughts if you had no way to converse without pen and paper. He nodded reassuringly, trying to show Hannah that it wasn’t a problem of any kind. [color=CornflowerBlue]"So,"[/color] he began. [color=CornflowerBlue]”I guess you have…"[/color] He hesitated. He didn’t want to use the word ‘power’, it sounded so cheezy. [color=CornflowerBlue]"Abilities?"[/color] He said semi-awkwardly. Hannah chuckled, or rather mimicked what would have been a chuckle, her silent expression of mirth a little odd even for her. He was kind, a rare virtue. She could feel his desire to reassure her and pick the right words pressing against her stomach in a light wave of stress. It masked, but didn’t entirely hide the thick storm of fear that still swirled about his gut. [b]You mean beyond the gift of silence?[/b] she joked, adding a smile to her message. Her face felt strange, the gesture using muscles she hadn’t used in a long time. She flipped to a new page and proceeded to write again. [b]”You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing is going to happen to us. Not in the near future anyway.”[/b] He grinned at her joke. The humour cut through his anxiety a little. It was good to have met someone friendly. At least now if anything went wrong, there were others he could stick with. [color=CornflowerBlue]"Oh, and I’m supposed to trust you? For all I know, you could kick my ass."[/color] He smiled. Although he was joking, it was actually possible. Nevertheless, he decided to trust Hannah. He had fretted enough today, and took the opportunity to have a normal conversation gladly. [color=CornflowerBlue]“But you’re right. I am nervous. You’re perceptive. I didn’t think it showed.”[/color] He said, forgetting the irregularity of having a conversation with a mute. Hannah looked down at herself at the mention of ass-kicking. She weighed all of eighty pounds and didn’t clear five feet, not exactly an intimidating figure. “[b]You’re too kind[/b],” she wrote quickly, “[b]And it doesn’t show. You’ve got a good poker face. I am what you could call-[/b]” Hannah paused, searching for the right word, “[b]Intuitive.[/b]” The hair on the back of her neck started to raise as the pair began to draw the interest of a few onlookers. [b]”Want to grab a seat away from them?”[/b] she asked, gesturing towards a group of young airport security guards who were looking their way curiously. Jamie glanced the way Hannah was looking and nodded seriously. [color=CornflowerBlue]"Yeah, let’s,"[/color] He responded, having no intention on getting into a conversation with security. He peered over at the corner of the room where there was a small cafe, as was standard in airports. [color=CornflowerBlue]"I don’t know where we’re going after this, but it might be a while before we can get anything to eat or drink. Want to go for a coffee or something, while we wait?"[/color] He gestured towards the cafe. Hannah blinked. Nobody had ever asked her to grab a coffee before. Nodding she followed in Jamie’s footsteps, a quiet smile on her lips.