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Where: Caldecott Home

When: May 23, 2012

What: Zan drops a we need to talk on Rylie with unexpected results.

"Can you come over? We need to talk."

No matter how innocently said, those words often become harbingers of doom. Even the greenest socialite knows that no good can come from a statement like that. And yet, that's what Zan used when he'd called to invite Rylie sometime in the late afternoon. It came with assurances that nothing was wrong.

In his defense, since he was calling from home, it seemed a reasonable choice. He wanted to see her and needed to talk. It wasn't exactly a thing for the phone, and being at home… Well, he was told to trust no one but her.

Zan is actually sitting in the kitchen while he wants, pretending to do homework since the day's chores are done. His sisters have gone out for the evening. His mom is off at her book club meeting. His dad could be working late, he hasn't bothered to find out.

Nothing good indeed. But all the worst case scenarios swimming through her head aren't enough to keep her from coming over to see what's wrong. Because with those words, something's always wrong.

She must have been in the middle of something when he called, because she's less made up than usual. No make up, in fact, but also a pair of worn jeans and a much faded t-shirt make an appearance. It's the drumsticks in her back pocket that really give it away, though.

She rings the doorbell after parking her car, straightening her ponytail as she turns to look back toward the street.

He must have seen her pull into the drive. As soon as the doorbell rings, the door opens to reveal Zan. He's dressed as he often is, a t-shirt and board shorts rather than jeans. And barefoot. Must have spent the day at home. Though his words asking her over might have implied Bad News, his smile shows nothing of the sort.

"Hey," Zan says, stepping aside to let Rylie in. A sliver of worry worms its way into his expression when he takes in her appearance. "…I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Rylie turns back when the door opens, blinking a little at the smile before she thinks to return it. "Hey, no no, nothing important." She may have forgotten about the drumsticks being on her person. But she doesn't seem upset about dropping it.

"You're okay?" Just to make sure and all. However, she doesn't wait for an answer, or for him to invite her in, before she ducks under his arm to slip inside.

"Better now," Zan answers as he pushes the door closed. Before Rylie gets too far away, he reaches out to catch her. "Honest," he continues, offering a gentle smile, though it's laced with earnest apology. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have worried you. I just… I have something I should tell you." Which shouldn't sound bad, though his tone lowers slightly.

He glances through the entry room toward the kitchen wherein lies his aborted homework and to the public, more formal rooms of the house. "Things that can't really be talked about with others." He glances back toward her, to see if she catches his meaning.

Looking back when he catches her, Rylie's smile widens a little, even if she does look a little confused. "Well, good. And don't worry, I like rushing to good news, too." Her eyebrows lift at the lower tones, and possibly the mystery, too.

She follows his glance toward the kitchen, but turns back to him at those words. "Oh, gotcha. Yeah, whatever you want to talk about," she says with a more understanding nod.

Taking hold of her hand, Zan leads her toward the stairway. There's not really an explanation. Except his previous words and the downstairs apparently won't do. He doesn't rush along, no haste. There's a chance to peek at the decor in the more private areas of the house. Pictures of the family lining the walls, doors leading to various rooms. A study, a guest room.

Almost at random he stops in front of one door and opens it to reveal his own bedroom. It's clean, bed made, some clutter around the computer and on the desk straight if slightly disorganized. A bookshelf dedicated to novels and filming supplies. The latter of which looks as though it's prepared to spill out onto the floor. "So, Paul and Isabelle were interesting," he begins, holding the door open for Rylie to go in first.

There's no argument from Rylie, just a hint of amusement as she follows him up the stairs. Rooms are peeked into, pictures glanced at; it's a strange opportunity, seeing inside your boss' home. But perhaps less so, since it's Zan's home, too.

When she steps into his room, taking a moment to look around and take in the way the other half lives, so to speak. "Are they? He seems a little… dry, to be honest. Although, she's a trip and a half." Maybe a little kookie. She meanders over to the bookshelf to peer at titles. Curious.

The books are a hodgepodge of fantasy and science fiction, trade paperbacks that show a lot of love. And there's an odd collection of graphic novels that fills about half a shelf on its own.

Zan grins and pushes the door closed, head turning to watch her. He crosses over to sit at the foot of his bed, content to let her examine the nuances of his life. "She's like us," he says without further preamble. "I don't know about him, when she showed what she can do, he didn't seem surprised. So he at least knows about… our kind."

"Is she? I guess that explains a few things," she says with a smirk. She has yet to meet someone like us who wasn't a little bonkers. Her fingers reach for one of the books, to pull it out and lip idly through it. "So, he's at least in the know. Do they know what you can do?"

Rylie looks up from the pages to him, her head tilting quizzically. "What is it she does, anyway?" Seems she doesn't mind her knowing about other people, as little as she likes to share about herself.

"Explains her flighty, fidgeting?" Zan chuckles and shrugs slightly. He found it all mildly amusing, reminder of the frantic girl who'd practically begged him not to go telling the world about her. Well, he's not telling the world, just Rylie. "All they know about me is… I got pulled along on one hell of a ride because of her. I hadn't… couldn't do anything when I met them before."

He stands again, crossing to the computer and compulsively sorting out discs and memory cards from the clutter. "She can move through things," he answers, lilting his response into a question. "We were on an elevator that… became possessed. She grabbed me and Paul and jumped. Dragged us off the elevator by… going through it?"

"Yeah, you know? We all go a little sideways after a while. Except me, of course," Rylie says with a smile sent his way. She turns to slide the book back into place, nodding to his answer.

"Oh, she's a phaser," she says as she comes over to lean against the desk his computer rests on. And thoroughly getting in the way. "That's another really awesome one. But don't ever let go of her when her power's going, that can get messy."

"Kick me if I start to go sideways," Zan says with a glance toward Rylie. He meets her smile with one of his own. "Unless I'm flying. Or doing something that requires going sideways." He sets a trio of memory cards aside and reaches for a reel of discs.

Only to find Rylie there. "I can imagine it wouldn't end well," he agrees. There's a tick of hesitation from him before he reaches for her hands instead of the discs. "She said she hadn't done it with people before, but at least she kept us from getting hurt. Despite making us guinea pigs."

"Ditto," Rylie says to his first words, chuckling gently. "Right, I'll remember to let you fly sideways sometimes. Or for dancing, I suppose. You go sideways there, too, sometimes."

She grins when he finds her there in his way, apparently a little amused. Amused enough not to get out of the way. Her hands squeeze his briefly before settling into a looser hold. "Well, worst thing would have been her smacking you guys into a wall, so it's not so bad. But she got you out of a possessed elevator, so that's an A-plus, I think."

Zan smiles a little, and though he doesn't relinquish his grasp on her hands, he angles himself to sit on his desk chair. With a little maneuvering so that he faces her still. "She wasn't the first one I met that could do things," he goes on once seated. "I should say, with an ability that I actually know I experienced."

"She wasn't?" Rylie helps that maneuvering by way of opting to sit on the desk. "Well, look at you, not even needing me to introduce you to the community," she says, a touch of irony on her voice. Not much of a community. "This is what you wanted to talk about?"

"No." Zan grins, touched with dark humor. "First one made me promise not to tell anyone, and she'd show me again what she can do in two weeks. Been longer than that, so I guess I'm free to tell." Though recounting still brings about some apprehension. If his dad found out…

So he stalls, taking the question for a change of topic. He glances toward their hands, a few seconds passing before he shrugs. "Amongst other things," he says quietly, another shrug following his answer.

"Ah, I can understand that," Rylie says. It is her general stance when people find out about her power, too. "You don't have to tell, if you're keeping someone's secrets. It's good practice," she says, letting him off that particular hook with a crooked smile.

When he hops along to the other topic, she smirks a little at his shrugs, but doesn't say anything. Apparently, she's letting him think about what other things."

"You want to go out," Zan asks. It comes out a little rushed, oddly nervous, and he doesn't look up at her right away. True, they've been spending time together, and his inflection doesn't mean out in the leaving the house sense. But now he's laying it out on the table. "I don't know where you're at," he continues quickly, rambling. Like it would make his question sound better somehow. "Or if you're interested. Or just looking to be friends. Which. I can do just friends. For a while. Or forever…"

Given that Rylie looks toward the door first, it might just be that she doesn't quite catch his actual meaning until the rambling actually starts. "Oh. Oh." She sits back a little, looking over at him, but not letting go of his hands. "How do you mean, going out. Like just seeing each other or… like an exclusive thing?" Which doesn't at all answer his question.

The shrug returns, almost like a nervous tick, save that it lingers for longer than a twitch. Zan still hasn't looked up at her again, gaze yet resting on his hands as they hang on to hers. "Like… an exclusive thing," he answers. Once spoken, he lifts his gaze finally, a little apprehensive. He starts to tack on again, going so far as to forming a syllable, though it remains unspoken and sealed behind closed lips.

"An exclusive thing," Rylie repeats before she presses her lips together, to think. "Okay, here's the thing. Actually, it's probably several things. A few things. One or two. Just— things. Um, I've never actually done the exclusive thing before and, ah… James knows— You dad, I mean, he knows that." And that could be awkward. "And my therapist says my interest is based on emotions created in an extreme situation and if I base a relationship on the frantic, then it won't survive the… the, ah, mundane. And I just…"

She trails off there, her brow furrowed and her expression concerned. She even lets go of his hands. But, as it turns out, she only lets go so she can reach over and pull his chair closer, for the sole purpose of pulling him in to a kiss. She leans on her hands, which stay clinging onto the arms of his chair.

For a moment, Zan looks at a loss, his own nervousness climbing. He tries a few times to get a word in, some worried attempts at assurances. "It's… Rylie, I…" Though nothing is really loud enough to interject into her explanations . He seems nearly ready to backpedal, brow creasing with his own concern that he'd ruined something, everything, when his chair is pulled in. There hesitation abandons him. He leans forward to meet her, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Rylie draws that kiss out, her hand moving to grab his again when he returns it. She only pulls back when she actually needs to breathe, and takes a moment before she opens her eyes to look over at him.

"Okay. We can give this a go," she says, her lips curving into soft smile. She straightens up, apparently leaving the ball over in his court this time. "You're lucky, though, because if that had been a bad kiss, I'd be so out that door," she adds, her tone playful.

Zan laces his fingers amongst hers, his other hand raising to rest on her upper arm. He sinks back slightly when she breaks away, watching her with a sort of fascinated trepidation.

A smile begins creeping in at her words, and he leans back a little more when she straightens. "Sorry, you're stuck now," he replies, matching her tone with a jokingly serious one of his own. He gently pulls on her hand, drawing her down to sit with him.

"Is that right?" Rylie replies, her smile tilting, "I suppose I can learn to live with that." When she moves to sit with him is when she finally notices her drumsticks in her back pocket, since they clunk against the arm rest. She stands back up to pull them out, looking at them as if she's surprised to see them.

But a moment later, she sits in his lap, legs hooked over the chair arm and her arms (and drumsticks by extension) draped over his shoulders. "The way I figure it, with our luck, we don't stand a chance for a dull moment anyway."

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