8.6 Empath Error

@eva-castor

If you aren't made of code, don't talk to me. It won't go well for either of us, okay? Empath Uncontrolled Hacker Unwilling Computer Sciences Major

34 posts

Apartment Disturbance || Lincoln + Eva

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." He stated dryly, taking another drink before holding out the bottle for her. “Feel free to go back inside and finish eating at any time.” He was giving her an out. More for his own sake since he didn’t want to elaborate on anything and preferred to be alone when he was feeling too much.

The thought of drugs had crossed his mind. But that would be setting a terrible example. He couldn’t do that to Eva. She was on a good path now. He’d come to regret consuming more alcohol the next morning as he had started even before she showed up. After some time he stood again. “How’s about a fire?” The Brit asked though he wasn’t actually looking for an answer one way or the other. Building a fire was exactly what he was going to do.

He set out for the woodpile around the side of the house. Thankfully he’d already chopped a bunch of wood because he was likely a bit too inebriated to successfully wield an axe without removing one of his own limbs. He’d always kept a pile and continually added to it.

Upon returning with an armful of previously chopped pieces of log, he looked at Eva expectantly. “Well?” Linc raised both eyebrows at her. “You gonna get the door or what?”

Once inside, he got to work setting them in the fireplace along with some kindling and striking up a few carefully placed matches to get it going. He wound up sitting on the area rug with his back to the front of the couch just watching the flames grow. He was still upset but it was far less tumultuous than before. “This is better.” The older man murmured, regardless of whether or not Eva was even nearby listening. "I wasn’t bad to them, if that’s what you’re thinking." A small sigh escaped him, but he merely closed his eyes and just basked in the warmth of the fireplace.

Eva's almost certain her statement does more harm than good. Closing her eyes, the young woman tries her hardest not to consider just heading back to the dorms despite her better judgment. Of course she could go inside Lincoln's house and eat the delicious chicken. She could also grab the food and run. She could find an old acquaintance from the streets and she could give up entirely on the idea of being a functioning member of society. At least the demons of the streets are ones she's familiar with and know how to deal with. On the streets, fucking with her power didn't feel quite so bad if it benefited her. In the real world, an uncontrolled empath hacker with a drug habit will get her a ticket into the loony bin or jail before too long.

Eva doesn't realise Lincoln leaves her on the porch right away. What use could Lincoln have for a fire when it's decently warm evening for New Hampshire in June. She hears the shifting and feels the emotions that wave off him begin to come in slower before she finally opens her eyes and sees him rounding the house. His distance gives her a chance to breathe, that's one thing for certain. Instead she gazes out over the churning burnt colours of the sky as dusk falls. Sometimes people's emotions give her an impression of this colourful sunset. Right now, Lincoln feels like the deepest shades of violet at the darkest edges of the setting scene, where night is already creeping in on a mellowing day.

The girl trusts the man to return. It's his house after all and he certainly wouldn't want to leave her responsible for his place. And when he returns, the violet shades of his emotion have stopped moving at such a violent rate. Enough so that when he questions whether she's going to get the door, Eva doesn't feel as if she's going to be trampled by his mood if she moves.

With a roll of her eyes, Eva steps over and opens the door to let Lincoln in before following after him. "You pick a strange time to build a fire," she comments. For her, building a fire means surviving the coldest of the New England Region's frigid nights. A fire means protection against another threatening to muscle in because of her size. For Eva, a fire in a proper fireplace is foreign and she isn't certain what to do with it.

"To be honest, I'm wondering if she was bad to you," she finds herself saying as she settles onto the couch and pulls her feet up under herself. The food holds no real appeal to her now, with how easily her appetite comes and goes. At the moment she's comfortable staring into the fire and ignoring all academic responsibility. Knowing a bit more about the man who pulled out of her destitute life seems more important to Eva.

You can’t buy happiness but you can buy drugs

(via we-never-lose-the-head)

#tw:druguse #misc:quotes

Apartment Disturbance || Lincoln + Eva

Hearing Eva head back inside, Linc rubbed his temples then pinched the bridge of his nose and took deep breaths, knowing his turmoil was also felt freely by the younger mutant in his company. So much for his sage words. He was barely keeping above water himself at the moment. How could he expect Eva to take anything he said seriously when he could hardly heed his own words?

Upon her prompt return, he took the bottle without hesitation and tipped it back, downing a few large gulps as she spoke. Psychology was a funny thing. Having majored in it, he knew that various means of communicating information did help. Whether it was talking directly, drawing, music, or a physical activity. They were all ways of getting out feelings and all ways of showing or telling others one way or another. But he was only human. He was stubborn and didn’t like to invite others into his personal issues and pain. They were his burdens to bear.

"Time makes things easier. Unfortunately, there’s no set measurement for how much time is needed for each wound to heal. It differs for everyone and for every wound." He took another drink. Leave it to Linc to get all philosophical in order to avoid talking about specifics. He’d always been like that. It attested to his intelligence in secondary school despite his lack of effort and behavior.

"I’m sorry." He said, tone nothing but genuine. He hadn’t wanted to burden her further. He hadn’t wanted the burden for himself either. Chewing on his bottom lip, he moved to perch on one of the stairs of the porch. “I was almost married once.” Another drink. “Have a kid too.” He huffed a small laugh, slightly bitter and ironic.

At first Eva isn't even certain that Lincoln will listen to her and start talking. Which will make this trying to be present to a person who has helped her in some way. So when he does start talking, she's relieved. Eva's not overly concerned with what he has to say just that he's filling the air with his voice and it's like a life preserver she can hold onto in the middle of his personal hurricane she's subjecting herself to. She hates most of all that this is entirely her choice. She can walk away if she isn't comfortable.

She can attest to time making things easier. But drugs also make things easier. Ignoring reality makes things easier. Perhaps time is the only sure measure that will make things easier most consistently while attempted ignorance and substance abuse wear away after awhile.

The young woman tries to think of a response to that but before she can think through the haze of his, Lincoln is settling himself onto the porch stairs and saying something he wasn't anticipating him to. For a few seconds the abort signal blares loudly between her ears again. She didn't sign up to hear about marriage and a child that are so obviously not here. It only makes Eva think of the family she once had, the sister who should still be out there somewhere.

Yet she's already standing in the blast zone, she might as well weather the storm. And Lincoln's the one holding the whiskey bottle. So Eva steps over and stands leaning against the post supporting the overhanging roof. Rather than look at him, she stares out over the small front yard. "So almost married but you have a kid. But the kid isn't here with you and clearly your almost-wife isn't around either."

She's stating the obvious and she knows it does nothing to ease the man's current state. Eva isn't no good at this type of thing. She feels emotions to a heightened degree but she can't fix them without using force and she doesn't want to toy with Lincoln's, not when they're this swirling mess.

Apartment Disturbance || Lincoln + Eva

No amount of whiskey in the world could quell what he was feeling now. Alexis may have had years to move on and rebuild her life but his wounds were only six months old and he was still figuring out how to navigate it all. Even outside he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. But he brought it on himself. He just hadn’t wanted to go back. He didn’t want to walk those streets again and face the memories. He didn’t want to be stuck with more needles for bloodwork or have more scans taken of his brain. He didn’t want to be reassured of what he’d already known: he was fine.

He was fine. He just wanted to scream, that was all.

Linc hadn’t expected to be followed out, especially given Eva’s ability and his current emotional state. He hadn’t actually left the house for her benefit but it probably would have been better for her had she stayed inside and away from him. Hearing the creak of the door behind him, and the sound of her voice following after, he shook his head. “Don’t, Eva.” He warned, running a hand through his hair. “Just, don’t..” Though his voice had grown considerably weaker, and he refused to turn to face her. “Go back inside or go back to the dorms.” The older man couldn’t do this. Not now. Not with her.

He was fine. He’d been doing just fine. Hearing Alexis’s voice shattered any delusion of that though, try as he did to convince himself otherwise. And most days he did seem okay. More than her though, it was Jamie he was most upset about. He lived and missed Alexis still, but he was angry with her now. No amount of time or distance would make him ache less for the loss of his son in his life.

The only person who even knew about all of it was Darius. His best friend. And he even refused to talk much about it with him. Linc would rather say little or sidestep conversations involving his past altogether. It didn’t matter who was asking the questions. It had nothing to do with trust or loyalty. He just didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to feel it. "If you’re going to stay out here and tolerate me at all, I suggest you grab the whiskey." It was likely the only chance she’d be able to deal with all of his emotion, and the only way he was going to contain it. Numb as fast as he could at this point.

All of Eva's survival instincts scream at her to seek high ground, to be leading her feet in the opposite direction of the tumultuous storm brewing around Lincoln. She wants to be able to float, but with the miasma of emotional turmoil she is buffeted by as she steps nearer to Lincoln, there's know way she can just "do" anything.

Still, being here is far easier to cope with than being back on campus so she hears his mention of bringing the whiskey out and she turns to step back inside. At that moment, she wishes nothing more than to have a useful ability like telekinesis. Or no ability at all. But she does and she grips the neck of the whiskey bottle, bringing her own glass with her, and heads back out of the kitchen. Eva has to stop at the door, though. Even from this distance she can feel it licking at her arms, circling her ankles, and rattling her bones. Whatever the woman on that voice message said knocked Lincoln to the core.

Why did she have to call while she was here? Fucking poor timing.

Taking a deep breath, Eva takes the moment to uncap the whiskey and carefully pulls herself a full glass before maneuvering the bottle into her arm so she can open the door and step back outside onto the covered porch. It feels like being in the blast zone of a mortar that keeps sending off more shrapnel but Eva drinks from the glass as she holds the bottle out for Lincoln.

"I think talking about shit does nothing to help make it easier," Eva states as carefully as she can. It feels painful to talk around his mangled emotional cloud. "But talk about something so I focus on what you're saying and not on what you're feeling. Otherwise I might just go lock myself in your bedroom until this mellows out." When she says this, she waves in his direction and takes another drink. She needs to get tipsy faster if she's going to stay out here.

#p:linc #p:ad #the lonely on repeat and I can't process these feels

Visit Original Link

Christina Perri - The Lonely

Broken pieces of A barely breathing story Where there once was love Now there's only me and the lonely.

#misc:tracks #eva+linc feels #they are the lonely

Apartment Disturbance || Lincoln + Eva

Not having a place to call home was something that, while he did have a home growing up, he’d always thought about. What would have happened to him if the Tierney’s hadn’t adopted him? Where would he have ended up? It was something he thought about when he stumbled upon Eva and learned of her lifestyle. How they were each similar in some ways and yet so different. He saw his younger self in her. Perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to reach out and help. Why even now he didn’t and wouldn’t turn her away. Had it been him instead, deep down he would’ve wanted that chance. For someone to give him a break and believe in him. See good in him where he might not have seen it himself.

"Of course it’s good whiskey." He bought it after all. He drank it regularly. It had to be good. It had to do it’s job well on the nights he sought its company. “You don’t learn to float. You just do. The body and mind are more resilient than you think. You don’t need all of that shit to stay above water.” Said the man with the whiskey habit.

He fell into silence again as he continued cooking soon dishing out the meal and setting a plate down in front of Eva as well as one for himself. He’d also brought over another glass and the bottle to pour another for himself, leaving Eva to drink the one he previously had. Partway through, his phone rang. The place had come with a house phone, which he decided to utilize so there would be less calls to his cell, especially from those he’d rather not talk to. He ignored the call, letting the answering machine pickup instead.

"Lincoln, the doctor called from Harvard. They haven’t been able to get a hold of you. They said you missed your last follow-up appointment? You know how important that is. Don’t ignore it, I know how stubborn you can be. Also, they said I’m still listed as your emergency contact, please, take care of that. I can’t have them calling here looking for you anymore. Look, I know things must be hard for you given what happened and I am sorry for my part in that, but you have to take care of yourself-"

He’d gotten up and cut off the message, sighing heavily after the voice ceased to fill the place. He didn’t return to the kitchen to finish eating, instead going out the front door for some air.

The only way she knows how to float is with the help from any illegal substance that can draw her away from herself. Anything that can suppress her ability enough to make it seem like she's something close to normal. It doesn't always work. She found that MDMA tapped into her ability and heightened it along with all her other senses; something she never wants to experience again. But heroine and meth took it all away. Even acid was more enjoyable than her own misplaced power. Much more amusing to see an orangutan in an alley alcove than feeling her drug dealer's fear of getting caught or the homeless man down the street's despair and desperate need for an ending.

Eva stares into the whiskey glass as Lincoln finishes cooking and allows herself to admire the meal he's prepared when it's set before her. Dropping her feet to the floor, she takes another sip of the whiskey now that she sees it's hers to keep. The food smells and looks delicious. When she picks up her utensils and digs in, she finds it tastes just as great as she imagined it would.

She looks up at the sound of the phone ringing. Who has a landline these days, anyway? Eva arches and eyebrow as she looks across the small table at her host but when he doesn't look like he's keen on answering, she begins to tuck back into her food.

The shift in the air, in Lincoln's emotional disposition is startling when the woman's voice begins to echo out from the answering machine's speaker. Eva can't help but hear what she says and wondering what it all means. An estranged sister? An old girlfriend? Nothing in his little apartment suggests that he's close with his family or has one of his own. So Eva struggles to place this woman into what little she knows of Lincoln's life. Even worse is the prickling emotions that wash over her skin as Lincoln stands to shut the machine off and then leaves the apartment without a word.

"Fucking hell," she mutters to herself. What does she do now? His departure lessens the backlash of emotional discharge the man had been throwing around the place, which lets Eva breathe a bit easier, but she feels like to leave him alone does little to improve things. She sure as hell doesn't want to feel the emotions coming off him if she ignores him and still stays the night. It'll just feel ten times worse and more awkward for both of them.

Rolling her eyes, Eva stands to her feet and downs the rest of her whiskey. After a moment's hesitation she takes his newly filled glass and drains that as well before turning and going after Lincoln.

"Hey, what's the deal? Could you at least have said where you were going before leaving me in your apartment?" she questions as she finds and approaches him.

#p:linc #p:ad #the title has whole new meaning now #and lets not talk about the length i'm replying with #YOU STARTED THIS!

Apartment Disturbance || Lincoln + Eva

He couldn’t exactly argue with what she’d said. Choosing to let the subject of alcohol abuse go, Linc instead mulled over what to eat, trying to decide what he was in the mood for himself. He hadn’t really eaten much so he was certainly hungry. After a long moment, he stood back up and went to rummage through his fridge and pantry to see what he could whip up. With his unsteady eating habits, he always had things in the house and found it kind of comforting to cook, when he chose to actually do so.

He pulled out a number of ingredients, utensils, and cookware, opting to make something he hadn’t made in years. His whiskey had been abandoned, left on the table as his focus was on preparing chicken marsala. He’d grown used to doing most everything alone these days, and so did most things in silence - unless he chose to put music on. In this case though, quiet overtook him as he worked methodically chopping and mixing things before setting everything to cook in a pan on the stove.

Lincoln had nearly forgotten Eva’s presence, becoming engrossed in his task. Though he eventually turned to find her there. His mood had gone from self-pity and self-loathing to a kind of calm, still sad but in a more underlying sense. Sad had just become a regular part of him, always just beneath the surface but not always acknowledged. “You have so much potential, Eva… Don’t drown it out. You can dull things as necessary, but you don’t need to drown anymore.”

As soon as Lincoln gets up and begins cruising around his kitchen, Eva knows he's going to whip something up for her. For them. It's so strange, sitting at a proper kitchen table in a properly appointed apartment, with someone who is concerned for her well being, no matter how blasé he tries to make his concern seem. Sure, as a kid she knew what it was like to live in a house with a kitchen, but it didn't last long, and in the foster system, she rarely sat at a kitchen table to eat a meal. Especially when she was between families, which was often. And the streets didn't include the term "kitchen table" in her vocabulary.

The lonely single class of whiskey resting on the kitchen table looks incredibly tempting and she reaches over tug it a little bit closer to herself. It's when she realises that Lincoln is too focused on creating more of the delicious smells beginning to come from his side of the kitchen space that Eva takes the tumbler in hand and has a sip of the drink.

It's impossible to be around this man and not feel the sadness that curls around him begin to curl its way around her too. Eva finds it undeniably frustrating because a man with this nice apartment to himself and a cushy job at such a prestigious academy shouldn't be so immersed in sadness. Yet Lincoln defies Eva's concept of emotions matching lifestyles. It's not something she's tried to ask him about. His well of sadness is easy to ignore for the most part. It's like being rocked by slow waves made of molasses to Eva and she can function with that feeling well enough.

"Drowning is all I've known. Don't make it sound like it's easy to suddenly learn to float," she responds with a roll of her eyes. "This is good whiskey by the way."

Apartment Disturbance || Lincoln + Eva

"Well you did just barge in on what was supposed to be my 'me time.'” He reminded her, taking a drink of his freshly refilled glass. He was less than amused by her additional remarks, evident in the look he gave her. “Just give them a chance to actually help. That’s what you’re here for.” The Brit informed her, making no move to pour her a glass as she requested. “Trading one addiction for another won’t change things.”

He sighed, settling back in his chair. He remembered what it was like to stop using, although he didn’t consider himself an addict as much as merely a social user. He enjoyed indulging in drugs at parties mostly. He’d always been more of a drinker though. Either way, going through withdrawal wasn’t pleasant. He refused to even think about what detox would be like for him now. “I’ve got some left over chinese or I suppose I could make something.” He didn’t care either way.

Truth be told, Eva doesn't remember the last time someone offered to cook her something. It's just another reason Lincoln's begrudging hospitality and kindness takes Eva by surprise and makes her loathe to lose it. If anyone once offered to cook for her, it was an old can of beans heated up over a trash-made fire. Not exactly gourmet.

"At least drinking alcohol is legal," Eva mutters as she crosses her arms. She isn't even fully conscious of how her fingers move to the inside of her elbows, rubbing at the veins that sorely miss their fix. She'd just found someone who could get her a steady supply of meth when Lincoln found her hidden away trying to get the money to afford the purest crank on the New Hampshire market. It's nearly on the tip of her tongue to suggest the man cook up some meth but she holds that comment back.

Instead she shrugs. "Whatever you're in the mood for. You've gotta know I'm not picky." You don't get many choices when you live on the streets.

holly-chameleon

"Oh." And in a single instant, Holly shrunk down a few inches or so, in order to try to make herself somewhat smaller.I’t wasn’t an obvious shrink, but a slightly noticeable one. "I’m sorry. I got my name because I was born in December….Fun fact."

Eva feels the shift in Holly's mood more than sees it in her body language. She swears she didn't force the shift but apparently her horrible attitude did the trick just fine. "Very interesting fact." Eva sighs. "Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch about your 'slappy happy' attitude. I'm an Empath. Fancy name for the fact that your excited mood was literally beginning to suffocate me. Just--take it down a few notches." The girl shakes her head and takes to typing on her laptop in order to avoid eye contact.

#c:holly #c:sneeze

There was a pang of familiarity with Eva’s statement. Despite her not voicing it often, Myla loved to see new places. She had been in America for so long, that returning home to Germany every two months or so was like a much needed breathe of fresh air. But, now she was stuck at square one. Perhaps she to would have to grow accustomed to stationary life. “This is my second attempt at staying in college. Hopefully I stick with it, I had a passion for biology. Not so sure anymore.”

If it's disconcerting to feel another person's differing emotions, it's a very alien experience to feel someone's emotions reflect her own. Eva feels it now and it nearly drowns her. Instead she takes an extra long drag on the cigarette before replying. "My first and only attempt. If I don't make it, I'm not going to try again. It's madness enough as it is. If not biology then what? I've only ever had a passion for one thing so I can't imagine studying anything else myself."

#c:cigarette #c:myla

holly-chameleon

"Thats an awesome name! Did you know your name means Life?” Holly took a deep breath when she realized she had been talking way to fast. ” I”m sorry, I teach theatre mainly, but I also teach ballet. Oops, here I am asking for your name when I haven’t even said mine! I’m Holly, but from a teaching point of view, I’m Ms.Redford. But honestly, I hate it when kids call me it. It makes me feel old and stuffy.” Holly stopped again, this time when she noticed how much she had said. “I’m sorry for talking so much.”

Holly Redford's rapid speech only means that Eva's feeling of enthusiasm quickly goes from a touch enjoyable to feeling like she can't breathe. "I'm aware of what my name means," Eva snaps. "And I'm really not a fan of dancing or playing on stage. You'll have to recruit someone else. Now if you could just stop being so bubbly that would be great or I really will insist you leave."

#c:sneeze #c:holly #it took me a few days to start s2 just bc i still had to process the s1 finale

holly-chameleon

"Oh my god you should take one of my classes for the next term! You would love it…. Uhhh whats your name again?"

"Eva. And what class might that be?" She doesn't understand where this woman gets such enthusiasm but it makes her chest fill with an airy light sensation, as if she's going to float away, and it feels both fantastic and utterly uncomfortable because she feels none of the same enthusiasm for formal education.

#c:holly #c:sneeze #s1 season finale fuck i stopped breathing i swear #for like the last 5 minutes of the episode

holly-chameleon

"To be honest? I probably wouldn’t." Holly gave her biggest smile and started to play with her dreadlocks." So um are you a teacher here or are you a student? I can barely even tell recently"

The smile precedes the wash of pleased and amused emotions that ripple from the woman. Eva already gets the impression that this woman is insufferably optimistic. "Student, whether I like it or not."

#c:holly #c:sneeze #omg donnie #the big oaf #YOU WILL SEE THAT IS A PROMISE

holly-chameleon

"Fine. I’m sorry, ok?" Holly takes out purelell and puts it on her hands and rubs them. "Are we cool now or do still want me to leave?"

"A late apology is better than none at all, I suppose," Eva responds with a shrug before glancing up from her computer with an arching brow. "I don't suppose you'd leave even if I told you to."

#c:holly #c:sneeze #omg S2 is...asdlfkjsadfljasdlfjsdlfjd

holly-chameleon

Oh come off it I didn’t mean it. You want me to sanitize? I have some in my bag if you want? Or is it too late now?

A simple apology at my request would have sufficed. Don't worry about it now. She reaches into her laptop bag and pulls out a wet antibacterial wipe to sweep over her screen and keyboard. You can move along, though.

#c:holly #c:sneeze #[ ugh watch all the orphan black yessss ]#[ apologies for eva attitude ]

holly-chameleon

Yeah I did. I covered my mouth and nose an all my face bits so whats the big deal?

And yet all the directions you turn toward, it has to be toward me. And it's still on you. Incredibly gross.

#c:holly #c:sneeze #[ can I just say that tatiana is LOVE? ]

She exhaled the smoke as the other woman spoke. Her company is a little distant, but Myla has no complaints. She’s content, and her head turns to the the woman next to her as she fiddles with the smoke, tapping the ash off every moment or so. “No problem.” There’s a pause, and a piece of blonde hair is tucked behind her ear before she continues speaking. “Call me Myla. I’m guessing you’re another student?”

"Eva," the brunette replies as she takes another drag and flicks the ash away. With a shrug, she adds, "Student--hostage--something like that." It's not that she isn't grateful for the chance to earn a degree, or to be earning it on a full scholarship. She just feels like a caged animal after spending her life on the streets or bouncing around the system. Not to mention having her precious sanity ripped away thanks to rehab requirements. "And you?" she asks as she takes a drag of the smoke into her lungs once more.

#c:myla #c:cigarette

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