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The bass of the club lingers in Kira's headphones, still not enough to drown out the heart of the city. It's in the crowd at the platform, the echo of the train between tiled walls, the pitch and sway of everyone in their seats. It's late enough, going on early enough, that the cars empty before he's too close to home, but he stays with his back to a pole, leaned up against it and closing his eyes sometimes to let the night ride out ahead of him in a stream of music and momentum.
It's not like he has to leave Chelsea to find a club, but he does have to cross town sometimes if he wants to hook up. A lot of guys in his neighborhood think their twin from the UK is exotic, and are too intimidated to hit the almost historic scenes in Harlem, dance the night away with their sisters pressed close enough to feel the coke sweat on clammy skin and try to hold them close like you can hold them in the world a little longer.
The music's better too, and he's draining his phone to emergency calls only trying to keep enjoying it.
When the music cuts and his phone beeps its dying breaths, Kira opens his eyes. The car's shifted closer to empty, sparse riders in the curved seats. He keeps his gaze hooded and even, dragging over the occupied spaces, headphones left in to provide their own barrier against the world. Eye contact can break it, and careful as he tries to be, when he flicks his gaze sideways, the blond guy in the seat between him and the doors is looking back.
That's weird enough, Kira doesn't look away, brows just starting to lift and eyes open fully when he gives him another once-over. They're about the same age, and the attention doesn't feel aggressive, or a precursor to it. It feels like the guy needed a place to rest his eyes before he fell asleep in his seat, judging by the dark circles and hair tousled like a hand's gone back through it too many times today. There's an overstuffed bag in the seat next to him, the corner of a hard bound book pushing free under the flap, and the dark circles are in part smudges swiped onto the guy's cheeks.
Too tired for a last hookup before home, Kira figures, but probably a fun distraction for the ride. Pushing away from the pole, he walks across the moving train car with only the steadiness of already swaying on his feet. By the time he reaches him, he's pulled the earbuds from his ears and stowed them in another impossible pocket of his skinny jeans, phone already outlined on his ass and peeking up against the hem. His shirt is sleeveless and sheer, a black buttondown that goes most opaque at its hems and collar, thin pockets layered over his chest. It's already dried of the sweat from a night of dancing, and someone's highlighter has left glittering dust in his hair, small specks of it transferring to the bag when he drags it over one seat and slides into its place.
"You look at me like you know me," he greets, lifting the strap over his own shoulder and getting comfortable. "Maybe you should come back to mine and jog my memory."
It's not like he has to leave Chelsea to find a club, but he does have to cross town sometimes if he wants to hook up. A lot of guys in his neighborhood think their twin from the UK is exotic, and are too intimidated to hit the almost historic scenes in Harlem, dance the night away with their sisters pressed close enough to feel the coke sweat on clammy skin and try to hold them close like you can hold them in the world a little longer.
The music's better too, and he's draining his phone to emergency calls only trying to keep enjoying it.
When the music cuts and his phone beeps its dying breaths, Kira opens his eyes. The car's shifted closer to empty, sparse riders in the curved seats. He keeps his gaze hooded and even, dragging over the occupied spaces, headphones left in to provide their own barrier against the world. Eye contact can break it, and careful as he tries to be, when he flicks his gaze sideways, the blond guy in the seat between him and the doors is looking back.
That's weird enough, Kira doesn't look away, brows just starting to lift and eyes open fully when he gives him another once-over. They're about the same age, and the attention doesn't feel aggressive, or a precursor to it. It feels like the guy needed a place to rest his eyes before he fell asleep in his seat, judging by the dark circles and hair tousled like a hand's gone back through it too many times today. There's an overstuffed bag in the seat next to him, the corner of a hard bound book pushing free under the flap, and the dark circles are in part smudges swiped onto the guy's cheeks.
Too tired for a last hookup before home, Kira figures, but probably a fun distraction for the ride. Pushing away from the pole, he walks across the moving train car with only the steadiness of already swaying on his feet. By the time he reaches him, he's pulled the earbuds from his ears and stowed them in another impossible pocket of his skinny jeans, phone already outlined on his ass and peeking up against the hem. His shirt is sleeveless and sheer, a black buttondown that goes most opaque at its hems and collar, thin pockets layered over his chest. It's already dried of the sweat from a night of dancing, and someone's highlighter has left glittering dust in his hair, small specks of it transferring to the bag when he drags it over one seat and slides into its place.
"You look at me like you know me," he greets, lifting the strap over his own shoulder and getting comfortable. "Maybe you should come back to mine and jog my memory."
powers and abilities
Jan. 5th, 2017 12:14 pmKira is a psychic, a fortune teller, sensitive to spirits and signs, the fates and emotions of others. He uses cards and flashes of insight like an extra sense: this is about imagery, intuition. The effect can be heightened by physical contact. The effect can be muted by written charms, and his mother had drawn such a design on the backs of his original set of tarot cards, which helped him use the gift when he wanted to rather than suffer a constant input from a densely populated city.
What he can do: accurately predict the likeliest future based on the reading of cards, tarot especially. Dream or gain a sense of the future for himself and those with whom he concerns himself, independent of tools. Sense that a person is thinking, and use emotional cues to guess at what. Sense outright emotion if he is touching a person. Sense the presence of non-person entities, most easily explained as ghosts. If he is not touching someone, he can concentrate to glean intentions or flashes of insight, usually as mental images or physical sensations that he interprets. He can sense the powers of others, but his interpretations vary, and it's just another sense, not an overview.
What he cannot do: read minds, know the content of thoughts, know or read into the past; dream of large-scale future events, beyond their effect on people close to him; he cannot gain insight from objects or know the intent and emotions of animals, only people or spirits.
( Card Reading Resources )
What he can do: accurately predict the likeliest future based on the reading of cards, tarot especially. Dream or gain a sense of the future for himself and those with whom he concerns himself, independent of tools. Sense that a person is thinking, and use emotional cues to guess at what. Sense outright emotion if he is touching a person. Sense the presence of non-person entities, most easily explained as ghosts. If he is not touching someone, he can concentrate to glean intentions or flashes of insight, usually as mental images or physical sensations that he interprets. He can sense the powers of others, but his interpretations vary, and it's just another sense, not an overview.
What he cannot do: read minds, know the content of thoughts, know or read into the past; dream of large-scale future events, beyond their effect on people close to him; he cannot gain insight from objects or know the intent and emotions of animals, only people or spirits.
( Card Reading Resources )
