what_wings_dare | 🅧 Please explain to me the scientific nature of 'the whammy'

Her cheeks turn pink, but he doesn't say anything about it. He might not be much of a gentleman, but he can at least manage not to draw attention to the girl's embarrassment.

"Well, once she gets back, I'll be out of your hair." He ends up pulling out the book on developing psychic abilities, flipping directly to the index in search of useful keywords. "What's your name?"

The gentlemanly turn ought to clue her in that he's not a local. (That's unfair-- the issue isn't Craiger, it's the fact that she's a newcomer. The can smell it on her, the unfamiliarity.)

"I don't mind-- I just don't know how much I can really help," she admits. "I'm Dana."

"Fox," he answers, because the notion that he already goes by Mulder is, frankly, stupid and beneath acknowledgment. It occurs to him that it probably sounds like a fake name here, where people go by things like Carinda and Sunlight, but it's too late now. "Are you sure you aren't psychic? What am I thinking right now?"

He might be faintly gentlemanly, but he's still inclined to tease.

"I have no idea what you're thinking. Maybe that I'm going to ask if that's really your name."

That can't really be his name, can it? Maybe one he picked. She's pretty sure Sunlight wasn't always Sunlight, after all. Which is fine-- if he wants to be Fox, that's his business.

"It is," he answers, because he can't decide if that counts as psychic. A little sheepishly, he pulls out his wallet and flips it open so she can see his license. FOX WILLIAM MULDER, right there.

(Why does it matter if she knows he's telling the truth? Because the idea of falling into the same guy who calls himself Sunlight, on purpose, feels weird.)

That definitely doesn't count as being psychic. She does lean in to look at the ID, though, if only out of curiosity.

"You must get that all the time."

(Who calls their kid Fox, honestly?)

"Do you live here in Craiger...?"

He shakes his head, tucking his wallet back in his jeans. "Just visiting. You do, though - don't you?"

She comes here for yoga, often enough that it can be the 'mostly' reason for her presence. Craiger's a hike from civilization, as far as he's concerned; she has to be in the area.

Some part of her is dimly, practically aware that giving your life story to strangers isn't the wisest idea. But he's not much older than her and, well, Beyond Beyond already feels like such a safe space; and it's not like any of this is confidential. If he asked around the other kids they'd probably be happy to discuss Red and Redder and the rest of the Scully brood.

"We just moved here," she affirms. "From California. My dad's in the Navy so we move around a lot."

Score one for his mental profile - maybe. He didn't predict that she was new to the area, nor that she's Californian, nor that she's a military brat. Half credit at best, he decides, and makes an effort to listen for some hint of accent in her voice.

"Welcome to the East Coast," he says lightly, having abandoned his book in favor of another one promising to teach the basics of psychic activity. "Do you like it here?"

"I guess so," she says, tone light and optimistic, though the fact is that it's the most she can muster. "I mean-- it's fine, I just don't really know anyone yet and there's not that much to do."

Other than yoga, and the ju jitsu class she's trying to convince her mother would be good exercise.

"This place is nice though, at least."

"Plenty of open space," he agrees, because if there's one thing he misses in D.C., it's room to breathe. Even in the residential areas, you're still surrounded by brick and concrete. On some level, he'd never thought he'd regret putting the island in the rearview mirror - it's as much of a snoozeville as Craiger, more often than not - but after a year away, he's not sure he's built for big cities.

He falls quiet for a moment, looking down at the book in his hands. Compared with waiting, talking to someone is capturing his attention far more easily. "Where in California?"

"San Diego." She smiles, tinged with nostalgia that's just the right side of homesickness. Chances are she just hasn't been here long enough yet to really miss home-- who knows what the school year ahead will bring. For now she's trying to stay hopeful.

"How did you end up here, though? We're a long way from Massachusetts, there must be some place closer that has books about psychics."

It occurs to him then that he shouldn't have shown her the ID. Even if she doesn't recognize Chilmark, she has the state he's from, and she can look up the rest. He probably shouldn't have told her his real name at all - I'm Tony Blake.

(Why does it matter? It probably doesn't, really. She obviously doesn't recognize his name or face from the newspapers, and it's not like she has any connection to local child murderers; she won't pass his name off to the guy's brother to finish the job. But a momentary paranoia grips him, and he wonders just how bad an idea it was to come back to a place he nearly lost his life.)

He's quiet just a moment too long, and he knows it. A lie doesn't come to him half as quickly as the truth, so he doesn't bother with a cover story. "Last time I came here, I learned...way more than I expected. I thought they might be able to help me again."

Fortunately for him, Dana's blissfully unaware of local scandals-- it's not the kind of thing she'd think to seek out, and no one's mentioned it. (And when people start gossipping, Craiger will have its fill of its own tragedies. No reason to go outside their own town.)

"I think that's what they try to do here," she says, with a little smile that's somehow sympathetic, though she has no idea why the moment feels like it merits that. If anyone in this world is actually psychic it probably is Carinda; she's not surprised that he'd want to come back, if he ended up talking to her somehow.

"Do you--" You can't just ask someone if they think they're psychic, Dana.

"Did you have some kind of.... strange experience?"

Do you dream about the Devil, Fox Mulder?

Devil's not real, Dana. His dreams are worse than that.

"You could say that," he says, realizing in that moment that she really doesn't know. "You really don't know?"

Okay, it would be smarter to keep his mouth shut, but Fox Mulder would never. He only sees it a moment later and feels a vague sense of regret, from which he never actually learns. Nothing about that is likely to change this afternoon.

So instead of spending more than a moment regretting saying anything, he moves a step closer to her and drops his head towards her, voice quiet. "My friends and I used this place to track a serial killer."

Half of her wants to back up as he steps closer, but most of her is too curious to miss out on whatever he's alluding to. Her hand curls tight around a book she's barely looked at.

The way her eyebrows shoot up should make it obvious that she really, really doesn't.

"You're kidding," she says. If he's kidding, that's a terrible thing to joke about. But-- that can't possibly be true.

In Craiger? A killer here?

"On my honor as an Indian Guide," he answers, gaze steady on hers. Her eyes are so big and light, staring up at him in disbelief. "It's...kind of on a need-to-know basis. As in, I don't know if Carinda knows."

It's not like they asked when they stole contact information for a suspected ritualistic killer.

He seems earnest. Really, really earnest. But... it's crazy, right? Maybe he's crazy. Maybe she should have tried a little harder to find Carinda for him and stayed out of this.

But she squares her shoulders and fixes him with a skeptical look.

"You're barely older than I am, why would you be tracking serial killers?"

She probably shouldn't believe him without question. That's probably smart of her - but he's a little piqued at the way she looks like she's trying to decide if he's trying to brag about nonexistent brushes with danger. He didn't get put in a cage just to have some girl look at him like he's crazy.

(Maybe he is. How would he know?)

"Because the cops didn't know what to look for." Obviously. This isn't getting him anywhere nearer to Samantha, but the store's staff are nowhere to be found. "Somebody had to pick up the slack."

Being a teenager who willingly chases down serial killers sounds pretty crazy. Maybe more crazy than if it was all a delusion-- she's not sure, honestly.

But more than anything-- somewhat shamefully-- she's terribly curious.

"I don't even know what to ask," she admits. "Or if I believe you at all."

Fox can't help but smile. She looks so doubtful - but she sounds like she kind of wants to believe him, and that means something. No one ever listens to him on the first round. They only come around when there's no other choice.

"I could tell you the whole story -" and he's tempted, if only to see how wide her eyes can get - "but not here. I don't want to risk getting banned from the premises if it gets back to Carinda."

And that, he assumes, is the end of it: she won't go someplace with him, not when he's basically a stranger. The thought disappoints him, for reasons he can't really place.

Considering she's essentially accusing him of lying-- or of being delusional-- he's surprisingly non-defensive. She's not sure what to make of it, but it does nothing to sate her curiosity.

"How do I know you're not a serial killer?"

He laughs. This answer, he's certain, means I'm considering the offer, and that's nearly yes. If he can't learn anything useful today, at least he can do it with company. "I'm barely older than you are. I've been too busy taking the SAT."

The answer makes her cock her head to the side, one hand on her hip, her eyebrow arched in that way that will, someday, become a sort of trademark of her skeptic nature.

"But not so busy that you can't track down killers and end up here?" Either you're a Hardy Boy or you're not, Fox Mulder.

But she softens a little.

"There's a diner around the block," she says carefully, then prudently adds-- "I have an hour, and then my sister's coming by here to pick me up."

That last part is a lie, but it's plausible enough, and she wants him to think she'll be missed quickly if she disappears.

He's a Hardy Boy, not a Hardy Murderer. Important clarification.

There's a split second while he's thinking of what's in his wallet, what's in his gas tank, and how far it is from his father's house - but he'll be fine. And she'll be back here before her sister picks her up, and he'll be pestering Carinda for the information he can't find on his own.

"I'll buy you some coffee." And then, because he can't help it, giving her an easy smile - "You drink coffee, right? It stunts your growth."

[ n a m e ; ]	Dana Katherine Scully
[ c a n o n ; ]	The X-Files
[ g a m e ; ]	spicy times in noctiumrp

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