“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late!”

The gathering of students turned their heads to see Taz sprinting up, coming to a stop just short of crashing into Gerry.

“Hey Taz.” Gerry raised his eyebrows as he looked down at her, stepping away so she could catch her breath.

“Hey!” A few of her classmates also waved her way, and Taz straightened up with a groan.

“Tulpamancy went on a little longer than I expected! What’d I miss?” Taz asked, moving into the group and opening up her backpack, floating out a few writing materials as the group clustered around a few flower blossoms along one of the walking paths in the Memorial Park.

Somebody in their first year biokinesis class reached out to everyone about a group study for their homework over the weekend. It wasn’t meant to be a difficult task, but Taz was enthusiastic to join with her fellow psychics in some self-learning!

Christine held up her notebook to read. “We’ve been to three flower patches already and have their soil’s nitrogen content written down, and that’s it.”

“We’re gunna check out a few more and then hit the cafeteria.” Patriot said with an audible growl from his stomach. “Salisbury steak night!” He grinned.

“WHOO WHOO!” A few of the other boys hooted in excitement, and Taz joined Christine and Abby in smirking at their antics as she wrote down what they had on their papers.

“C’mon, have y’all ever had a real salisbury steak, or just the TV dinner/cafeteria reheated crap?” Gerry asked, the big black boy planting his hands on his hips and looking disappointed.

“What’s it to you?” Armando asked, standing up from the flower patch with his recordings.

“The real stuff’s the difference between LeBron and a college shooting guard!”

Armando perked up. “Oh, like the difference between Lozano and Ochoa?”

“Who?” Gerry gave Armando a quick look.

“C’mon, gringos, fútbol’s the sport of the entire rest of the world!”

Patriot snorted. “You’re in America, Manny, we play real football!”

“You play shitty Rugby!” Armando snapped, and the taller Patriot went chest to chest with the shorter Mexican boy, the two glaring at one another as Gerry’s eyes threatened to roll out of his head.

Meanwhile, Christine knelt down next to Taz, a smaller, mousier girl named Abigail Nguyen on Taz’s other side, the dark-haired girl wearing glasses thicker than Taz’s.

“—only for nitrogen content, not exact values. Mr. Baumbach said the daffodils have perfectly average nitrogen amounts in its soil, so we all think the daisies here are really high.” Abigail explained.

“Okay, okay, okay…” Taz wrote on her notepad as Abigail’s floated a little bit in front of her. “Alright, let’s see what I can feel.”

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Christine asked gently. “I heard burn-out can last for a while…”

Taz smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright! Mel helped me handle the worst of it. As long as I’m not trying to dig up the garden, I think I should be okay.”

“Is Mel here?” Cecil asked behind her, glancing around curiously. “She asked me to bring her a yamaka because she wanted to copy the design.”

“That’s news to me, but it seems like she’s doing a lot of stuff behind my back.” Taz mumbled to herself, but cleared her mind as she focused on the soil. “She’s not here right now. Dunno what she’s up to…”

Her mind reached out towards the flowers and the soil beneath them while ignoring her classmates’ confused looks.

Her psionic sense joined the others’, their collective resonance examining the flowers in a manner that would need a microscope for a regular human. Narrowing her focus required concentration, tuning it finer and finer still; the flowers, their individual parts, the plant fibers holding the stem together, and deeper until her mind was detecting billions of miniscule particles in transit from the soil, to the roots, and up the stem, all appearing more as a vast cloud with miniscule differences in various pockets.

They all felt and looked similar, too many moving pieces for her to concentrate on just one, but the broad picture in her head let her see how the molecules moved. She winced as an ache developed in her brow, but she did not pull back just yet.

“Okay… now try to remember: seven, seven, seven.” Abigail spoke very softly when she saw Taz wince.

“Seven protons, seven neutrons, seven electrons.” Taz recited.

The burn increased a little as Taz tried to tighten her focus, but then she raised her hands, and strummed a few notes on an imaginary guitar. The sound drew a few curious glances, but Taz wasn’t paying attention to them, she was relaxing as the music helped relieve the pain, and after a few moments of playing, her psi-sense filtered out molecules and atoms until she could see all of what she thought was nitrogen in the patch.

She opened her eyes, fluttering her lashes as she pulled her senses back, the massive number of teeny-tiny particles no longer taking the full breadth of her concentration, and she stared down at her notepad in thought.

“Well I’d have to compare it to the other patches first, but that seems like a lot of nitrogen…” She said.

“Does playing guitar help you?” Christine asked curiously.

“Yeah!” Taz smiled a little. “Apparently, when I’m playing music, it helps with burn-out and stuff. I guess it might help me concentrate, too, but music’s just sort of my special place.”

“That’s really interesting.” Abigail hummed. “Is it like a crutch? You need music to do psionics?”

“No, but it helped me calm down a buncha kids with Mustafi Syndrome a few months ago. I dunno what you’d call it.”

The group of students moved as a unit to the next batch of flowers, the sports boys squabbling about their respective preferences the whole time.

Biokinesis was still a relatively new field of psience. While it did have roots as far back as World War II, the understanding of it was still new.

While biokinesis was the psionic manipulation of life, it was also used to classify the psionic manipulation and sensory of chemistry and well, though there were already movements to try and split the two fields for clarity’s sake.

Cells and chemicals were the primary foci of biokineticists, but it was also used in the movement, development, and destruction of bacteria and germs, leading to excited medical experts theorizing on its potential to solve issues such as lactose intolerance and even parasite infestations without the use of medicines, in addition to potentially manipulating the body’s chemistry to, say, permanently increase the output of insulin in diabetics as a long-term solution to their health problems.

The theoretical benefits of biokinesis vastly outstrips the modern capabilities of the field; new as it was, biokinetics are in hot demand for research and development, with few being hired as permanent staff in medical fields due to the potential dangers of the field.

Long-form studies are already being conducted by researchers to determine biokinesis’ short-comings to prevent a public health crisis. To use diabetes as another example, it was in testing for whether or not reteaching the body how to produce and use insulin would affect other forms of inner-body chemical production.

However, many biokinetics found employment and benefits where plants are concerned. Their ability to encourage the growth of, and then draw nutrients within the soil to plants is giving them a place in farms and other growth outlets. They’ve even been found to be able to cause milk production in a virginal cow.

Though there have been talks of, and have even been studies of gene-therapy and gene manipulation, the discipline was still far too young to do so reliably, though there have been rumors of psychics using it to ‘build’ their children.

“Yo Taz.”

Taz glanced up from the soil around the sunflowers, watching as Gerry knelt down by her side with his own notepad.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“Just outta curiosity, who was that smokin’ girl you were hanging out with at lunch today?” He asked, trying to look as casual as he could as Taz’s face went blank.

“That who?”

“The, uh…” Gerry put on an embarrassed smile. “The black girl at your lunch table? Other than the cute white one. The cute white one that’s not you.”

“Oh!” Armando spoke up from behind them. “The one with the big titties, yeah? ‘Cuz, damn!”

“Yeah her!” Gerry laughed as Taz’s expression fell.

“You’re such perverts.” Christine groaned.

“And those shorts.” Patriot said in what failed to be a whisper. “Hate to see her go—”

“—but love to watch her leave!” He and Gerry finished together with a laugh and a high-five.

Taz kept her eyes on the soil and took a deep breath.

“I actually am kinda curious myself.” Christine piped up, trying to ignore the boys. “Your lunchmates were stupidly pretty. Are those girls your tutors?”

“What’re their rates?” Gerry asked immediately. “I’d pay for the big one all night long!”

“C’mon guys, think about it.” Armando snickered. “They’re hanging out with Taz, maybe they’re girlfriends!”

They boys immediately looked somewhere between dismayed and intrigued by the thought, while Taz felt a nasty shiver go through her.

Taz turned to affix Armando with a far too wide smile, and the laughter and chatter quieted down as an overwhelming desire for violence flooded the small group.

“The black one’s my sister.” Taz said in a chipper little tone, and she saw the three boys flinch; Cecil guffawed. “The other one is her best friend.”

“Oh, that’s super nice to have your sister here with you!” Christine’s wide-eyed smile was a little too plastic.

“C-can we focus? Guys?” Abigail asked, shuffling in place nervously.

Patriot then spoke up. “Well, hell, if she’s your sister, you ain’t gunnin’ for her, right?” He asked, and Taz’s nostrils flared. “You could be a bro and introduce us!” He beamed.

“Pat.” Taz said in a very calm voice. “I’m really not afraid to use any of you for target practice.”

She didn’t send out anything telepathic with the statement, but Pat’s expression flattened, and Gerry stood up with a cough.

“Y’know, I saw some, like, roses or some shit over here? Let’s go check those out next.”

The group nervously agreed and started to move along with deliberate movements, and Taz stood with a groan, rubbing her head as Abigail gave her a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

Taz whirled on her, handfuls of her hair still between her fingers. “Why do people want to fuck my family?!”

Abigail reared back, her shoulders hunched. “I don’t know! They’re hot?! I don’t!”

“Ugh!” Taz deflated in defeat, her lips pursed. “You can go catch up to the others, I didn’t actually get a good read on the sunflowers.”

After a moment of consideration, Abigail nodded. “Alright, just don’t do anything that’d put PA on the news.” She warned dryly, and set off after the rest of the group.

Taz just needed to take a few deep, calming breaths and focus. She still needed to put down her findings on the sunflowers, and she wasn’t getting anywhere getting mad.

Again, her mind focused deeply on the soil, peering through the layers until she was staring at the incalculable number of burgeoning particles in the soil, looking at the particles the plant fed on, trying to recall: seven, seven, and seven…

Before the ache could even begin, Taz’s fingers strummed a few practice chords, trying to keep the heat at bay…

“Wh-what are you doing?” She heard a small voice.

Taz opened her eyes, losing sight of the clouds of nutrients, and turned her head to look up at Theresa watching with a concerned stare.

“You’re not using your powers on those flowers, are you?” She asked, quickly reaching up to clutch her crucifix.

With a blink, Taz pulled herself up into a standing position. Theresa was still dressed like a pilgrim, minus the silly hat thing those women wore, but in her hand was a small bag. Not like her class carpet bag, but something smaller, older, and with a nice floral design on it.

“Hi Theresa.” Taz tried to give her a little smile. Theresa’s grip loosened on her necklace, taken aback by the friendliness in her tone. “Yeah, I’m using my powers to read the nitrogen content in the soil. You should have a similar assignment from your biokinesis class, right?”

“Oh…” Theresa wavered in place. “I… I haven’t been going. I’m hoping I can leave soon, but…” She glanced over at the sunflowers with a small quiver. “I was hoping to collect some petals before I left. I haven’t seen sunflowers in person before coming here.”

Taz frowned at Theresa as the girl stared at her with uncertainty, every inch of her face taut with nervousness and fear, but then Taz straightened up and glanced back at the flowers. Her eyes closed, and she felt Theresa watching her as she spread her mind out, feeling for the strongest sunflower, the one eating the most…

Finding it, she kept her hands by her side and let her thoughts embrace the flower, pulling it down from amongst its brethren into her waiting hands, then turned to Theresa with a bright smile. “This one’s pretty healthy! You can probably take whatever you want from this one.”

Theresa didn’t move for what felt like a long time, her eyes fixed on Taz, her expression sunken and her mind clearly turning. Taz shuffled her feet nervously, nearly jumping out of her skin when Theresa took a step towards her and reached into her bag.

From it, she withdrew a leather-covered book, and she opened it up. Flipping through the pages, Taz could see tightly-sealed plastic pockets with dried, pressed flowers, petals, and leaves carefully arranged inside them over pieces of painted paper.

Theresa flipped too quickly for Taz to get a good look at any of them, but the smell of old, floral scents and the sight of elaborate, colored images inspired a childlike curiosity.

“Whoa whoa, Theresa, what are those?” Taz asked, making Theresa look up at her in surprise.

“They’re, um,” Theresa tightened her lips nervously, “they’re just a little hobby of mine. It’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Well that’s not for you to decide!” Taz’s eyes were fixed to the open page in Theresa’s arms, the morose dark blue covered in colors and shapes. “Can I see?”

Theresa, once more, hesitated, but as the sunflower Taz had procured wobbled back into place with the others, she stepped closer and turned the book around.

“I-I call it ‘His Light at Night.’” Theresa whispered, more to herself than Taz.

The plastic pocket had a piece of dark blue construction paper inserted inside of it. In the upper right corner were dozens of tiny white flower petals filling a circle on top of a thin layer of still dark, but lighter blue paint that gave the impression the petals were giving off light. Small black seeds pock-marked the flower petals resembling craters, and tiny, individual grains of white sand speckled the upper half of the page.

Taz’s eyes slid downwards from the night sky arrangement to the cut and dried grasses in the bottom half of the page. They were arranged just so to imitate the rise of a grassy hill arcing towards the sky. Tiny petals were arranged to make tiny flowers dotting the hill, and behind the hill, stretching towards the artistic horizon, was a carefully painted dale, where leaves stood in for the distant trees and forests, and gentle lines gave the impression of a stone crossroad.

She leaned forwards to take a closer look, staring at the little bits of nature and paint blended together to create a piece of art. Taz shuffled closer to the book and held her hands up, wordlessly asking for permission.

Theresa was still hesitant, but set the book in Taz’s hands, and stared intently, as if Taz might make off with it the moment she could.

But, Taz flipped simple turned the page, staring at a paper covered in different pressed flower heads arranged over a multi-branching stalk, then another painting of the birth of Jesus Christ, but with the people replaced by flowers looming warmly over a tiny yellow flower in a painted crib, decorated with bits of straw, and a crystal in the sky representing the north star.

“It’s beautiful.” Taz said, flipping to the next page, then the next, staring at bits and pieces of art in a style she’d never really imagined before.

“It’s the one thing I can do right.” Theresa responded, looking over at the sunflowers fondly. “It’s why I’d like to get some sunflower petals for my current idea.” With that, Taz made it to the latest page. It was on such a light blue piece of paper it was almost white, and depicted an awe-inspiring, white-skinned man with a full head of hair and a beard made of cotton, raising one hand and peering at her with deep, dark eyes. The picture, however, looked incomplete, as aside from the cotton, there weren’t any bits of nature attached to the picture.

“Oh! It’s God?” Taz asked, and Theresa gave a quick nod, pointing to the empty space around his hand.

“I want him to be holding the sun, and I thought sunflower petals would be perfect for that.”

“What if you got some, like, pink tulip petals and white cloth scraps to make little angels?” Taz offered up, making Theresa blink. “Y’know, to fill up some of the space around him? Maybe even use like a metal paperclip to turn into a trumpet.”

Theresa stared at Taz, her posture showing more surprise than nervousness, and she leaned over the book to stare into God’s face thoughtfully, before glancing up at Taz with a cautious look. “Do… are you a believer?” She asked softly.

“Err…” Taz put on an apologetic smile. “No, not really, but I don’t mind Him.”

“I see.” Theresa murmured, looking disappointed as she took the book back.

“My aunt’s religious though.” Taz mentioned, tilting her head back at the memories. “I started learning piano in a church choir, and I still remember a few songs.”

She raised her hands in the air, and Theresa watched as her fingers moved through the empty space, but with each tap of a finger came the sound of a piano key, making her take a step back. But, as Amazing Grace filled the park walkway, Theresa stopped.

Gentle, warm, hopeful with a sense of longing, rising into higher tones. Subconsciously, Theresa waved her body to the music, her hand moving up to hold her crucifix, no longer in a death grip, but in an affectionate embrace. Her eyes closed, and Taz could see her mouthing the words to the song.

“~The Lord has promised good to me,~” Taz sang, and Theresa’s voice raised with hers.

“~His word my hope secures,~

~His will my shield and portion be~

~As long as life endures.~”

The two girls sang, and Taz played. In the faint tug of her lips, Taz saw the smallest smile on Theresa’s face, one hand on her crucifix, the other holding her book, the two losing themselves to the gentle grace of the song.

Until the book slipped.

The piano stopped as Taz reached her hand out to grab Theresa’s flower book, Theresa’s hand extended and face stricken with fright, but the book had already stopped mid-fall, suspended in the air, its pages hanging loosely towards the ground some feet away.

Taz blinked, and released the breath she’d been holding, and gave Theresa a little smile. “Good catch.”

Theresa’s expression went from relief, to worry, then fright as she reached down to grab the book out of the air, clutching it to her chest with one arm as she crushed the crucifix in her other hand, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Father, I have sinned against you,” Theresa whispered between ragged, red-faced breaths, “and am not worthy to be called your daughter. Be merciful to me a—”

Taz may have well stabbed Theresa with the way she reacted when Taz touched her shoulder, and Taz shrunk back a step in concern as Theresa stared at her with wet eyes and a regretful frown.

“Theresa, it’s okay…” Taz tried to reassure her, but Theresa shook her head violently.

“I have to go.” She gasped, then before Taz could say anything else, bolted off in the direction of the Puellamas and the P-Minor, hunched over her things like they were her lifeline.

Taz was too stunned to give chase, and simply stood, feeling impotent and frayed. She turned to look back at the sunflowers Theresa had been so interested in, and frowned.

“You shouldn’t bother with her.” Taz turned her head to face Fatima, who was watching her with a dour expression. She was wearing a white dress, with a red dupatta around her shoulders and hanging off her left arm. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her fishscale backpack hung off her right arm.

“Why not?” Taz asked, more surprised Fatima was even talking to her than anything.

Fatima’s face tightened up like she’d tasted something sour. “Even a mutant-spawn like you should have enough self-respect to not associate with a St. Claire.” Fatima grunted, striding over to the sunflowers purposefully and pulling a notebook out of her backpack. “I’ve overheard her talking about moving back to Purity. Good riddance, their people are a disgrace.”

“What are you talking about?” Taz asked with an aggravated frown. “Theresa’s… I mean she seems a bit weird, but—”

“She thinks psychic powers are the work of the Devil.” Fatima said flatly, glaring at Taz. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed, otherwise I’ve somehow overestimated you.” Taz let out a sigh, staring as Fatima examined the sunflowers’ soil, her shadow still falling over the girl’s face. “Do you need something?!”

Taz’s brow furrowed in thought, and with a harsh release of breath, she pursed her lips and mused on a question. “Can you tell me about her?”

“Her? St. Claire?” Fatima repeated in disbelief. “You seriously don’t know about the St. Claires?”

Taz shook her head.

“Ugh, why do I expect anything of you?!” Fatima almost demanded of herself. “Can’t fly a paper airplane, still talking to imaginary friends, you don’t—”

“If I wanted your goddamned opinion of me, I would have asked about it.” Taz cut in sharply, stopping Fatima mid-rant.

“Well maybe if you wanted to know about the St. Claires, you should stop bothering me and go study.” Fatima sneered, opening her notebook and putting her pencil to the paper.

“Or maybe you could just answer the question!” Taz threw her arms out. “Why do you have to make this so difficult?!”

Fatima’s notebook snapped shut, and she rose, carefully and controlled, giving Taz a lethal look. Taz met her glare, a gentle wind tousling their hair and the trees around them, the only noise for a single moment before Fatima held her hands up.

“Fine.” She said, looking utterly tired of the situation. “If it’ll get you out of my hair, I’ll tell you.”

Taz blinked as she felt Fatima’s mind knock against her own – though it was less of a knock and more of an annoyed kick at her imaginary door. Hesitantly, Taz accepted Fatima in, the bridge between them about as alien and sterilized as could be without instantly falling apart.

Fatima crossed her arms, and flared her nostrils as her mental presence pushed through the bridge, only to be blocked by Taz’s own. {Better guarded than I expected.}

{Color me shocked you even want to form a bridge with me.}

{It’s easier this way.} Fatima’s smugness almost bled through the tone. {Telepathy has always been a better tool for teaching an imbecile than words alone.}

Taz’s exhaustion with the girl’s attitude only seemed to stir Fatima’s own annoyance. {Just get to the point if you want me gone.}

In an instant, Taz’s head was filled with pictures; still ones, moving ones, dates, names, all as if she’d carefully read them herself and bothered to memorize them, filtered through Fatima.

{In 1956, a man calling himself Thomas St. Claire started a religious movement that hinged on the idea that psychics were the children of the Devil, and he and a bunch of Ohioans were God’s chosen people to survive a coming flood that would wipe out the rest of the world.}

A few images appeared in Taz’s head, pictures of a clean-cut, well-dressed man before an assembly of people speaking with righteous anger on his face, a finger in the air, and a rifle in his other hand; a picture of a small town with a prominent church in the center… that appeared to be attached to a large mansion dominating the center of the town.

{He gathered up all his followers and basically took over a little do-nothing town in the middle of nowhere and called it ‘Purity’ and called themselves ‘The Purified of St. Claire.’ Their entire movement is built on the idea that they are pure – free of sin, and psychic powers are the manifestation of humanity’s evils.}

Taz’s nose crinkled, and the bridge pulsed with a combination of annoyance and sadness. {That’s complete nonsense.}

{I’m glad you understand at least that much.} Fatima’s internal voice did honestly sound relieved, but that didn’t bring Taz much comfort. {They hate psychic powers, they hate psychics, and they generally hate everyone else who’s not them, all under the basis that anybody else could be a secret psychic.}

Taz mulled the information over in her mind for a moment, but then her thoughts switched to the person that inspired this whole conversation…

{Theresa’s an evolink.} Taz realized, and worry began to fill the bridge.

{Don’t be such a bleeding heart.} Fatima admonished, her anger pushing back against Taz’s concern. {Whether she’s the least lucky evolink in the entire world, or her mom was unfaithful, it doesn’t matter, Theresa St. Claire thinks everyone here is Satan. Hell, she’s probably going to get to her room and think you’re her personal devil trying to tempt her into using her powers.} After a moment of thought, Fatima then added: {And drag her into gay stuff as well.}

{Wow, seriously?} Taz raised an eyebrow at Fatima, who snorted.

{As if it’s a secret.} Any feelings towards Theresa were replaced by disgust towards Taz, and her heart wanted to sink into her chest. {I legitimately can’t believe your audacity to come onto this campus flaunting that ridiculous tulpa and trying to one-up me by telling that gorilla you’re gay just so he’ll telepathy with you.}

{I didn’t do that to one-up you, I was trying to connect with Pat! Bashing his face in with the facts isn’t going to change his mind!}

{Then he doesn’t deserve to BE HERE!} Fatima’s growl almost turned outwardly audible. {You’re lucky. You are so lucky that this place will take any psychic. Dean Davis is so worried about representation and helping the littlest psychic that the ones floating at the top get dragged down to the bottom!}

{So what?!} Taz’s head burned; not with pain, but with anger now. {Isn’t that what your father wanted in the first place? Somewhere where every psychic has a chance?}

{Not at the expense of the best!] Fatima napped back.

{Who cares about being the best?!}

{My father was the best! I’m expected to follow in his footsteps!}

{He couldn’t have been the best if the Brain Scythe killed him!}

Fatima’s enraged expression went flat, staring at Taz in horror. {You—how dare you—!}

{I read his biography.} Taz’s words rushed over Fatima’s. {He didn’t care about being the best. He fought to give everyone the chance to come to this school. He probably died because he gave us those chances, and here you are acting like you’re the only person who deserves to be here!}

Fatima took a deep breath, and let it out, slow and calming, and narrowed her eyes at Taz. The bridge fluctuated, and for a moment, Taz expected it to snap apart and for Fatima to call the conversation done.

But, the bridge suddenly firmed up, and became so much more personal that Fatima’s projected thoughts rang as clearly in Taz’s head as her emotions.

{You don’t know anything. About me, about Zhou Ping, about what the future is going to be for the psychics. You came in here expecting, what? Love and acceptance? Be honest with me, did you suffer growing up because of your powers?}

Taz hesitated, but shook her head. {No, not really…}

{Then what right do you have to talk like you knew him?} Fatima’s face turned dark. {My father died to make a better world for psychics, that’s true; he died so you could be standing on this campus. But he died to give psychics a future to practice psionics, for everyone’s future. What are you going to even do with your powers? Your education?}

{I’m—} Taz blinked. {I’m going to make music with it.}

{Then go to a music school.} The bridge had grown even angrier if that was possible. {I have to be the best because people expect that of Zhou Ping’s daughter. I’m going to be the best because music and art and getting the respect of homophobic idiots isn’t going to turn the rest of humanity around on liking psychics. I will be the best because I have to prove that humanity can’t go forward without psionics.}

Fatima lifted her chin, staring at Taz with so much loathing that Taz shrunk back a step, startled by the mixture of Fatima’s feelings and body language.

{And you, the little evolink, so incredibly special because you’re a mutant; a lucky, lucky mutant. Congratulations you aren’t dead whenever pollen blows in, congratulations you can eat ice cream, congratulations your muggle parents didn’t have to raise you in a bubble; your prize is free pats on the back because you lived long enough to make a mermaid. You can’t even fly a paper airplane and you’re trying to act like we stand on the same level, like I owe you an explanation for anything! You don’t deserve to know what I went through to make it this far!}

Taz remained quiet, staring as Fatima continually worked herself up into a greater and more boastful anger.

{You don’t care about furthering psionics. I do. You will never be better than Zhou Ping, you’re going to give up on the skills you don’t instantly ace because it wasn’t served to you on a silver platter. You’re going to finish maybe just above average and go on with your life as a mediocre psychic and a mediocre musician picked up by a flashy band because you’re all style and no substance like so many of these morons who are here because they think they’re cool.}

Fatima spat on the floor as Taz felt the heat well up in her breast to scream denials, but something in her head stopped her; she did come here because it was her dream, to train her psychic powers, but what did that even mean…?

Things her mother told her rang through her head… but this time, Taz saw them in a new light. She wasn’t going to give up on psionics she didn’t master right away… right? Music and psionics could do a lot together! She could even sorta-kinda heal people with music, but… how? It was a power…

… that she just had; not earned, just apparently born with or discovered by accdient.

{You’re not even denying it!} Fatima almost screamed it outloud. {You know I’m right!}

Taz stared at Fatima for a good, long well, soaking in the girl’s anger. Through the clouds of fury Taz could see more than Fatima’s rage towards Taz, she could feel it directed outwards and unfocused beyond where Taz stood, feeling anger at the world and everyone who had wronged her.

Taz could see herself, one face among hundreds that Fatima wanted to tell off, but Taz was her only audience member.

Slowly she approached Fatima, whose anger fading into heated passivity, then concern as Taz drew close enough to put a hand on Fatima’s shoulder.

“You are right, at least sorta.” Taz rubbed the back of her head. “I need to think a little harder on why I’m here. I’m not going to stop you from doing your best, but if you want to carry on Zhou Ping’s legacy, I think you have a long way to go, just in a different direction.” Taz said softly, making Fatima’s expression fall. “Thanks for the pep talk, Fatima, I need to go.”

She turned around and walked away, thinking about what she was going to do with the information on the St. Claires, but the bridge between her and Fatima sizzled, and rather than dissipate, she felt a glurge of confusion, anger, embarrassment, and a drop of sorrow vomit into her head.

But, Taz simply turned to give Fatima a curious stare, the outpouring of emotion pushed onto her doing little more than splashing uselessly across her mind’s filter.

Fatima looked confused, even shocked at the lack of reaction, and Taz turned back around and kept going, the bridge snapping quickly and suddenly as Taz headed off to her dorm.