NO AFTERPARTY [sean!]

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

It was a red typewriter. That was it. Just . . . a plastic red typewriter. Romy Brannen, dressed in mid-calf boots, a flowing top that was belted around her waist, and plain black shorts, had stalked around it perhaps five times, feeling like a predator stalking its prey. She had nibbled her lip, furrowed her brow, tilted her head, leaned forward and back, left and returned, and still couldn't find a reasonable explanation.

Was this some reference to Warhol's idea that anything was art? It didn't seem poppy enough, she decided. She had seen a few people giving her skeptical looks, sizing up the model who didn't know the value of art. But that was fine; they could gawk all they wanted, just as she was staring down at this small typewriter. She wondered, as she crossed her arms over her stomach, if it even worked. She wondered, then, why she had even come out to the museum. Well, no, that wasn't exactly accurate; she had come because the energy in her limbs had left her buzzing with an anxious need to get out, to do something, to burn through the reserves. So she walked to the museum, and was determined now to make the trip through the whole thing. Her feet hurt, but she hadn't stopped. Until this damn typewriter.

What even was it? "I don't get it," she finally admitted, wishing she had chosen a night of dancing to some of the industrial the night clubs played. But it wasn't late enough for that. Not yet. So this would do in the meantime. "I don't . . . get it," she repeated.

[Sean Threatt]

Sean pulled the black hood off from his head once he got in to the museum. He didn't exactly want to be there in the first place anyway, but he needed to get that Art credit in order for him to get in to his Psychology major. If only he knew that before the summer started. Now he was stuck in a summer Art class doing summer Art homework when he could be having a summer Good Time. He sighed though, and smirked none-the-less. For once, the headphones to his MP3 player were not occupying his ears. They were instead comfortably tucked away in the pocket of his bleached black jeans. He though it'd be rude if he didn't open himself up to what some people consider "Art".

The teen wondered if he'd ever been here before. Maybe on a school trip when he was younger, or possibly some other occurrence that was too boring for his brain to record. Some of the exhibits did seem familiar, though. Of course, many Art museums hold similar things. Perhaps his memories were blending together. One thing happened to catch his eye though. Something red and shiny. He looked at it, but disappointment flashed across his ace when he realized what it was.

A typewriter. Just that... It looked like a toy you could buy from WalMart or something. It seemed insulting to put something so simple into a museum full of other whacky, crazy, but equally as confusing pieces of... "Art". The only reason why Sean continued to stare was to see if maybe he was missing something. Maybe it had a button that made it transform into a cellphone, or perhaps it was used by some Aztec wargod in the late whatever century. Far be it from him to leave any mental stone unturned.

"I don't get it," A feminine voice spoke out nearby. Sean cracked a smile, then looked out the corner of his hazel brown eye to see the girl who spoke out yet again. "I don't . . . get it,"

"What's not to get?" He started with a joking tone. "It's a typewriter: The most amazing piece of art known to man." Sarcasm always made him feel better when something annoyed him. He couldn't help himself; it was like a second language. While most people spoke Spanish or Chinese, Sean spoke sarcasm and smart-ass. It was just the way he was.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

The people drifting through Romy's peripheral vision didn't leave enough of an impact to distract her from the typewriter sitting neatly on a pedestal before her. Still, she wasn't thrown off when someone picked up on her vocal musing. "No, a good knöpfle and dark beer is the most amazing piece of art known to man. This is dyed plastic on a platform." Her voice didn't raise or lose its dry, raspy quality; she only kept staring, touched her left hand to her chin, and frowned. She sighed softly, then brightened up, her eyes widening and the corners of her mouth pulling up softly. "What do you think? You appear to be well-versed in the world of . . . typewriters."

She wouldn't mention her Opa back in Germany collecting truly beautiful World War-era typewriters that had been saved from the war, and supplementing the collection since then. It might have been those typewriters that had begun fueling her passion for the written word. So perhaps there was some truth to her new art companion's words, though it was clear he meant to be ironic. "What do you take from the red casing? Or the staging?" The smile came out through her voice clearly, the pitch raising just a little.

[Sean Threatt]

"No, a good knöpfle and dark beer is the most amazing piece of art known to man. This is dyed plastic on a platform." replied the girl, though not much emotion was delivered with her words. Sean smirked a bit, even though he didn't understand what a knöpfle was. The presence of beer in her statement tickled his funny bone a bit. "What do you think? You appear to be well-versed in the world of . . . typewriters." She replied with her own hint of sarcasm.

"Not a clue... I'm more of a music and literature kinda guy myself." He replied as he stared at the machine a bit longer. He didn't know how to take the typewriter seriously, but he couldn't stop looking at it. He sighed, then dropped his head and tried to think of something else to do.

"What do you take from the red casing? Or the staging?" the girl questioned,making Sean wonder if he was being too critical about the piece. Maybe there was a deeper meaning behind the typewriter that he was too busy laughing at to notice.

"I don't know..." He gave the machine another look-over and decided to think of it as if he were describing it in a research paper. "I'm sure red was used in order to catch the attention of anyone passing it by, but the pedestal..." He examined it and a million thoughts passed by. He just needed to pick one. "Maybe its like, trying to express an evolutionary milestone for writing, or something like that." His words resonated in his ears, and then he laughed a bit at himself. "I probably sound really retarded. Don't mind me."

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"Mmm," Romy replied, beginning to shift her position around the typewriter yet again. "I don't know much about music, but yes, I would think that knowing some things about literature would help figure this out." Her accent came out thick, harshing her consonants. "Maybe between the two of us, we can solve the mystery." A grin pulled at her glossy lips.

"Red always seems to be a captivating color," Romy agreed, her own reddish auburn hair falling into her impossibly pale eyes. "But I just can't help but think that it's arbitrary here. Sometimes the curtains are just blue." She began tapping her toes behind her on the floor, trying to spot if any of the keys had been rearranged, or if there was any sign of tampering which would leave it with some kind of hidden message. "It's just . . . sitting there. There's no motion to it. It just sits and shines on a boring, perfectly round pedestal. This is very silly," she concluded finally. "I could perhaps see it as a milestone if it weren't so modern. It's plastic and bright red--if it were supposed to be that, I would think it would be a three hundred pound black thing with some sort of . . . I don't know, wear on the keys, or a sheet of paper loaded in the roller."

She had to keep from reaching out and plucking it up to examine it from all sides and figure out just what the appeal of this as art could be. It wasn't even particularly pretty. She kept her hands obediently at her sides, but promised to write Opa when she got home about how absurd this particular piece of the exhibit was. "Oh, no, I don't think you sound silly," she said softly. "This is the kind of thing you're supposed to do at a museum, ja?" Romy looked rather pleased with the development of unexpected analysis. "Oh, yes, I'm Romy, by the way. I suppose if we are well enough acquainted to criticize modern art," she said, waving her hand dismissively, "Then we may as well know each other's names, yes?"

[Sean Threatt]

As the woman talked, Sean slowly started to pick up on a bit of an accent. He turned to get a better look at the woman only to find himself trapped in a gaze. The first thing he noticed were her shimmering glossed lips followed by the smooth skin that made up her body. He didn't want her to catch him staring so he looked away casually, but not before catching a glimpse of her eyes. He didn't get a good enough look at them to distinguish exactly what color they were. They looked gray, but he'd never seen a person with grey eyes before. Maybe he just looked away too quickly to get a good enough look.

He listened to her speak. Her voice was... very unique. It entertained his ears to the point where he spent less and less attention on her words and more attention on the sound of her voice. She paused for a moment, and then Sean looked in her direction again just when she began to introduce herself. "Oh, yes, I'm Romy, by the way. I suppose if we are well enough acquainted to criticize modern art, Then we may as well know each other's names, yes?"

He smirked at her, then took a more casual stance before introducing himself as well. "Name's Sean. It's nice to meet you Romy." He held his hand out for hers to shake. "Its not everyday you run into someone with such an interesting opinion of... typewriters." He was trying hard to force himself to feel as calm as possible. He'd always get that awkward feeling when in the presence of a beautiful woman, but he was surprised himself at how well he kept this hidden.

"By the way, I couldn't help but notice your accent." He started with a polite smile. "If you don't mind me asking, what kind of accent is it?"

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

If Romy noticed any particular amount of attention spent on her looks or her voice, she didn't let on. "It is very nice to meet you, Sean," Romy hummed. She took his hand in hers, hoping the heat of the day would disguise the overheated feel of her skin. It was always that way close to the full moon, but usually easy to explain away.

"Its not everyday you run into someone with such an interesting opinion of... typewriters." Romy laughed at that, pale gray eyes twinkling. "No, I can imagine that is something of a lost art. Though I must disclose, I am not a stranger to a good typewriter or two. Though, mine have never been bright red plastic. I have never been able to bear turning something as magnificent as a typewriter into a plastic thing like this. But mine have also never been in a museum, so I'm not sure how to conflate those things."

"Oh, I'm from Ulm, in Germany. I moved years ago, but I think sometimes it comes through more than normal." She shrugged softly. "But I suppose it's my European sensibilities that make it very difficult to understand this ridiculous art form. Would you accompany me to some exhibits that are less absurd? Van Gogh will be here in the winter, so they've loaded up on other Dutch artists. I hope you haven't been there already?" Her voice raised at the end, her head tilting just a little. "I hope the typewriter hasn't been your final stop, with how disappointing it is," she added hastily, seeming to puff up just a little, her shoulders rolling back subtly and her chin raising.

[Sean Threatt]

He smiled at her again as she shook his hand. Hers were noticeably smaller than his, and very warm. Perhaps it was the heat of the conversation raising her body temperature? Maybe she was actually more shy than she appeared to be. Sean was doing his best to cover up his shyness, so maybe she was as well. It was something to keep in the back of his mind, but he wouldn't actively dwell on it.

After Sean made his sly little remark about her interest in typewriters, she laughed a bit, allowing the teen to get a good glimpse of her eyes. They were pale grey; he knew it. He'd never seen a person with that eye color before and it enchanted him. Call him weird, but he was always attracted to women's eyes. The more unique, the better, and hers were definitely the most unique he'd ever witnessed.

After her little laugh she began to comment on what he'd said. "No, I can imagine that is something of a lost art. Though I must disclose, I am not a stranger to a good typewriter or two. Though, mine have never been bright red plastic. I have never been able to bear turning something as magnificent as a typewriter into a plastic thing like this. But mine have also never been in a museum, so I'm not sure how to conflate those things."

Sean smirked when she finished. He was being a bit sarcastic when he started the conversation, but it seemed she seriously did know a thing or two about typewriters. He wasn't that big into the old machines himself: he never really found an interest in old things, but it seemed Romy enjoyed them judging from her comments.

When he asked about her accent, she informed him of her German heritage. "I moved years ago, but I think sometimes it comes through more than normal. But I suppose it's my European sensibilities that make it very difficult to understand this ridiculous art form. Would you accompany me to some exhibits that are less absurd? Van Gogh will be here in the winter, so they've loaded up on other Dutch artists. I hope you haven't been there already?" When she requested he join her for the rest of her tour, his heart dropped. Of course he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with a beautiful woman, but would he be up to it? Could he maintain his cool, collected countenance? Or would he slip up, say something ridiculous and embarrass himself? "I hope the typewriter hasn't been your final stop, with how disappointing it is," Her accent and the way she talked drew him in: he couldn't say no. Especially not after looking into her eyes once more.

"Oh, no. I just got here awhile ago," He found himself talking without control. "I'd love to come with you. Maybe we'll find something else to try and analyze" He suppose his mouth made up its mind way before he did. He signed a verbal contract to put his nerves through a rigorous endurance test: how long could he accompany this extremely attractive beauty before he collapsed under the pressure. I don't think she'll judge me. She seems too nice for that. He reassured himself within his mind. Yeah... just keep your cool, and you'll be okay...

He took a subtle breath in order to wash away all the anxious feelings from within himself, then worked up the nerve to form a confident smirk before asking, "Shall we go?"

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"Oh, no. I just got here awhile ago."
"Oh, good! Me too."
"I'd love to come with you. Maybe we'll find something else to try and analyze."
"Oh, I am sure we will!" Romy said excitedly. Paintings she could work with; it was just the utterly meaningless by design modern art that she could never understand or even begin to grasp as legitimate. "Van Gogh is one of my favorites, so I would love to see what kinds of paintings other Dutch came up with." Her smile was easy and sincere, lighting up her lightly made up face.

"Shall we go?"
"Yes, of course." Eyes gleaming, Romy offered her elbow for Sean to take; their situations figured out, she began to lead him along through the spacious rooms. "I came here for a Khalo exhibit a few years ago, but I don't really come here nearly enough. Are you a student?" she asked, focus darting from Sean, to the people surrounding them, to the photos hanging in one nook of the building, to more strange modern samples. Smells of perfume and the spicy and bitter and sweet smells of the skin drifting by her assaulted her more sensitive nose, but she didn't let on to it, thirteen years of practice showing its usefulness.

[Sean Threatt]

Her eyes were gleaming when he responded, "Yes, of course." She was so beautiful. She offered an elbow for Sean to take and, with a slight smirk, he hooked arms with the girl before walking with her. Standing side by side it showed that Sean had a few inches advantage when it came to their height difference. Being six foot even, this was a regular observation and nothing too out of the ordinary.

As they walked through the exhibits, it seemed her excitement was slowly building. "I came here for a Khalo exhibit a few years ago, but I don't really come here nearly enough. Are you a student?"

"Yeah, I am." he replied as he looked around with her. "I'm taking summer classes at Temple, but I'm also taking online classes at Penn State when the fall comes." He sighed a little afterwards remembering that, if it weren't for his help being needed to support The System, he'd be able to actually go to Penn State physically. He eyed the many different stands and figurines, though most of his attention was on the girl. Romy seemed very intrigued by the museum, which made him feel more comfortable. So long as she was enjoying herself he could relax as well.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"Oh, Temple?" Romy chirped, some of the gravelly quality turning into a feminine squeak in her surprise. "I'm majoring in literature there," she continued. "What year are you? What are you majoring in?" She could only think of the massive pile of books waiting for her at home on her desk that she had set out to read for fun, on top of the ones that were required for class--The Illiad and Galileo's findings included--that had assisted in driving her from her home that day. "So I suppose you don't support the cherry and white if you are taking online classes elsewhere?" Her eyebrows raised as she met Sean's face full on. "That's alright; I am more interested in their writing groups than I am any of the sports." There was always a little sign of pride in Romy's eyes when she spoke about Temple.

Since her mother had died, Temple was the one thing keeping her sane, she always said. It was the thing that gave her purpose enough to move through life. So she owed a lot to the school and the programs that kept her too busy to contemplate the real implications of anything deeper than just the words 'mutti is dead.' Though her grandparents had come and helped her set up after the accident, Romy had never felt more like she was able to depend only on herself.

As they passed by a room with another collection of more modern art, Romy halted in her tracks very quickly; she couldn't tear those pale eyes of hers away from the giant felt ball sitting in the middle of the hardwood floor, innocently drawing in viewers. She wondered if any of the people staring at it would be feeling its effects in full in a few nights' time. She glanced up at Sean, brow knitted and lips parted just a little, and veered off from their course to approach the celestial body. The distinct crater, the one that plagued and entranced astronomers for centuries tipped her off to exactly what she was staring at even from a distance. "Lunacy," she read from the plaque, rubbing the back of her neck with a strained smile on her mouth. "It's very good," she continued, steadying the corners of her mouth.

[Sean Threatt]

When the teen mentioned Temple, the girl squeaked with excitement. "I'm majoring in literature there,"

"Oh really?" What a coincidence it was that both of them are studying at the same school.

"What year are you? What are you majoring in?" Her excitement was definitely bubbling, but the problem was, now Sean had her undivided attention. If he cracked under the gravity of her beauty, he'd be in trouble. All he had to do was answer her questions, right? Should't be too hard.

"I'm a Sophomore." He replied, choking down a bit of nervousness. "And I'm majoring in Psychology, which I just recently got interested in after taking my first Psych class last year." He was doing good. He kept calm and made himself clear. No signs of nervousness yet, though he could feel himself tensing up just a bit. He just had to hold on.

"So I suppose you don't support the cherry and white if you are taking online classes elsewhere?" She paused for a moment as she locked eyes with him. His nerves went into overdrive at the sight of those beautiful eyes, but he stayed strong and calm on the outside, smiling as his hazel brown eyes met with hers. "That's alright; I am more interested in their writing groups than I am any of the sports."

Romy definitely seemed to take pride in her school, and it made Sean smile. He could see it in her eyes that she loved where she was in life and that was a rare thing for him to see nowadays. It made him wonder how he felt about his own life. It was generally comfortable: he couldn't complain, so he supposed it was fine the way it is.

"Don't get me wrong. Temple's cool. Even though I'm only here 'cause of... circumstance, it's not that bad." he almost let his cynical attitude flair up, but luckily he caught himself. Just as he finished speaking, the girl halted in her tracks as if something interesting caught her eye. "Hmm?" He looked in the direction that she was looking, but he couldn't accurately depict what it was that stole her gaze. He noticed the girl glance up at him for a quick moment, and he flashed a kind smirk, and then he followed her lead as she made her way closer to the object.

Once in front of it, Sean was able to identify the object. It looked like a full moon from his point of view. He glanced over towards Romy to see her expression. "Lunacy" she read from the plaque quietly. Her voice was so... indescribably attractive, like that of a movie star's during a moment of revelation. Then, just like that, her tone changed into a manufactured compliment. "It's very good." She seemed to have to force the words out when normally she spoke with such exuberance.

The young man caught on to this, and tried to recover her mood with a sarcastic remark. "Careful. If you stare too hard you might transform into a Werewolf." He had to laugh at himself just a bit. He wondered if he should take such things as Werewolves and other fantasy beings more seriously since, of course, he knew their existence was more than just fantasy.

Still. He refused to be one of those work-worn stiffs who take supes and others of the like so seriously in conversation with regular people. He didn't want to come off as a weirdo, so he just acted as he naturally would. Hopefully the comment would bring back the happier Romy.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"Ah, a sophomore! I will be a full junior in the fall, though I'm taking summer courses to get some of the humanities the way. Maybe I'll see you around campus sometime, then?" her voice raised and head tilted to indicate it was more a question than a statement. Though it was becoming clearer to her that Sean was failing to meet her looks, shifting his weight, and tensing up as she paid attention, she was honestly endeared. Most boys who approached her were cocky players who would offer to buy her drinks in clubs, and then call her vulgar names when she declined. She didn't know if any of them recognized her from her modeling career, or just could picture her naked well enough to approach, but it was very annoying sometimes. This was a refreshing change.

"Hah, no, it's not that bad," she repeated, grinning. It was true that there was a change in the mood when she viewed the sculpture of the moon at first, but as she paced, she became more at east. Though she felt the wolf bubbling up inside of her, and she had to keep from panting through her mouth like a stalking animal, she contained her composure and the smile returned to her face.

"Careful. If you stare too hard you might transform into a werewolf."
"Don't be ridiculous," Romy started, the scolding tone softened by the raised eyebrows. "All Germans are given werewolf vaccines at birth." If only that were true, she thought but did not say. "But this is honestly very cool," she continued, pacing around the huge sphere. "The craters are very convincing." She spent a few moments in silence, taking in the hills and valleys teased out of the material of the inflatable piece. When she finally broke from it and returned to Sean, she felt like she needed a recovery shake from Mugshots. She wondered idly if Sean would call that learned behavior and lecture her on how that response was something like a mental muscle memory from having followed the same procedure every month for the last few years.

"So psychology?" she asked, perking right back up. "What do you want to do with that? I've always had a bit of an interest in it, but all of the different medications and the theories are just beyond me." She took Sean's elbow again, ready to lead him along to the Dutch paintings and away from the moon, which made her heart beat a little faster.

[Sean Threatt]

"Don't be ridiculous," Romy responded to his Werewolf comment almost as if she took it seriously. "All Germans are given werewolf vaccines at birth." He gave an owlish blink at this, then forged a casual smirk.

"True. True."

"But this is honestly very cool," she paced around the sphere admiring it for its craftsmanship, but Sean couldn't get her quick response out of his head. All Germans are given werewolf vaccines at birth. With the state of the world as it is involving werewolves, vampires, ghosts and other classes of supes, it was a daunting task to identify who were the believers, who were ignorant, and even more so, who were supes themselves.

Literally anybody in the entire room could have been some type of super human, possibly everyone, even Sean. His job required him to be able to contain these super humans whenever they got out of hand, or neutralize them before they could become a threat, but honestly, living with the knowledge that anyone and everyone around you could be a possible threat at any point in time was a heavy paranoia to bare on one's shoulders. Especially when in conversation, the suspicion of the one you're conversing with actually being one of these super humans...

"The craters are very convincing." She commented as she continued around the sphere. As her attention fell off him, his attention fell on to her. With the way she responded to her werewolf comment, could she possibly be a super? Who knows? She could have just seen it in a movie. It's not like this type of information is hidden. You could learn everything you need to know about vampires, werewolves, ghosts and everything else on the internet and still not even be sure if they exist. To those who are ignorant to their existence view them as jokes in everyday conversation, so it was impossible to tell exactly what anyone truly knew, which is why Sean's job was always so dangerous.

Finally, Romy's attention returned to Sean and, instantly, he returned to his subconscious weight-shifting and dodging direct eye contact, but then she spoke and her enchanting voice brought him back to a more comfortable mentality. "So psychology?" When she spoke, her voice was that normal perky tone that drew him in from the beginning. "What do you want to do with that? I've always had a bit of an interest in it, but all of the different medications and the theories are just beyond me."

He smiled at her, but it wasn't the usual forced smile that appears on his face in normal conversation. It was a general smile; one that was inspired when something truly interested him. "Psychiatry is what deals with medications, and don't worry, I couldn't see myself memorizing all that stuff either." The two linked elbows yet again and continued walking through the exhibits: Sean feeling slightly more comfortable now that he could focus his mind on something other than her beauty or her status as a super. "I enjoy learning about the things that make people do what they do and want to be able to read in to people, maybe like how you read into a book." His tone fell significantly as if pain weighed down his next sentence. "Maybe then I'd be able to make a difference."

Truth be told, when Sean first became a follower he had know idea what kind of a world he was throwing himself in to. In the few years that he's worked, he'd seen needless deaths and inhumane punishments befall countless individuals who, if only they had somebody who understood their plight better, might have been saved. That's who Sean wanted to be. He wanted to be the bridge to connect supes and civilians together. He wanted to be able to understand not only them, but everyone, and then be able to come up with a solution to bring both sides together.

He knew it would be difficult. Hell, he knew things like that could only be done in movies, but even though he was definitely no movie star, he would still do his best to try and make the smallest dent possible, if just that much.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

"True, true."
Romy didn't let on, but she wondered if Sean thought that she wasn't fibbing when she said so. Supe or not, she didn't think that could even be missed as a legitimate thing! Yes, werewolves were a very German phenomenon, but to have vaccines for all German citizens at birth? She could only wish that were true, given what had happened to her in Deutschland's own fertile grounds. Yes, if only. Maybe she was just overanalyzing; probably he was just joking, following along in that vein. "I know a few of my friends back home still have too much hair on their hands from the side-effects. One of my besties has a penchant for eating raw livers because of it." Her sagely nod didn't falter even as her poker face did. The smile cracked against her will, but she shrugged it off.

"I used to tell those stories to American children who had just gotten their hands on the Grimm brothers, or heard about the true versions of their Disney films for the first time." Her laughter was not unkind, but she could retrospectively see how it might have been a little mean to prey on their fears quite so well. First hand experience tended to have that effect.

Romy's eyebrows raised as Sean's demeanor changed. She might not have been a psychologist, but she knew body language fairly well. His face lit up and that new smile reached his eyes far more deeply. So that was the way to get him to open up. "Psychiatry is what deals with medications, and don't worry, I couldn't see myself memorizing all that stuff either."
She tilted her head. "In the few psych courses I took, I was always lead to believe that psychologists have to know about the different medications as well, just perhaps in less detail, so they weren't given out prescription pads or anything. I took abnormal psych out of interest, and we had to learn about basic types of medicines and big brand names. Of course I don't remember them now, but I was more interested in the theories of Freud and Jung, of course. They are featured very heavily in critical theories in my particular field, after all."

So they walked arm in arm. "I enjoy learning about the things that make people do what they do and want to be able to read in to people, maybe like how you read into a book." Romy nodded along.
"Yes, I think that's a part of why I'm interested in psychology a bit, too; a lot of writing comes from knowing body language, and facial expressions, and being able to pick out motives, so that you may connect with a reader without . . . speaking down to them. That's where the whole 'Show, don't tell' idea comes from, though it's like pulling teeth to get any understandable explanation from an English teacher before any bad habits form."

She had just paused her chattering when she heard Sean's low voice almost beneath his breath. "Maybe then I'd be able to make a difference."

She kept quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. Maybe he had lost someone to an undiagnosed mental illness, she supposed. Or was losing someone currently. Or, more unselfishly, just liked to help people--volunteers for things like that were bound to be fairly low, given the country's attitude towards mental illnesses still being fairly firmly stuck in the 1950s. "Well, um, yes, I'm sure you'd make a difference to many people!" she tried, hoping her voice was encouraging more than needlessly perky. "I'm sure you'd . . . make a lovely psychologist." Was he going into research? Therapy? Some other part of the field with which she wasn't familiar? She couldn't remember if he had said, and her eyes darted as she tried to remember. Up and to the right. Thinking eyes. "You've been very nice to me, listening to me babble on," she finally said, deciding to go the safest route, "So I'm confident that anyone you see in an office would be just as pleased to pay you for their services. . . . Not that I'm paying you," she amended quickly.

Helping people out of crestfallen states was not something she had much experience in--people were down around her frequently, but she made no effort, usually, to pick them back up. She preferred to care for herself in that regard, and assumed that everyone else did, as well. One more reason that she rubbed people exactly the wrong way on many occasions. She flashed him a smile instead, hoping that would help more than her scrambling words.