[bowtiestm]

"we aren’t talking about this, are we? did i hit my head?" / @giftedtm

He's only a little confused by Hannah's words, but he pushes through. He's good at being a tutor, despite the fact that he doesn't really think Hannah needs it. (Her teachers expressed concern with her lack of focus, but her brain was plenty smart. Maybe the school just sucked at being attentive. Oh, well.)

"I know geometry can be confusing," he starts, tone kind, "but it's not the end of the world. It's just shapes, after all. Once you master the three big ones, everything else just kinda," he waves a hand in the air, "falls into place, y'know?" Pausing, he looks down at the workbook, pencil tapping against the table as he reads. "And you're not doing bad, by the way -- your answers are right."

[giftedtm]

The answers being right doesn't surprise her, it isn't the finding the answer that eludes Hannah usually, it's the part where she has to show her work. Being asked why the equation results in the answer is far more difficult than simply providing the answer. When she was young, it meant she was smart if not a little odd. Now they don't accept it just is as an answer anymore. Not without stressing the implied rule that you have to show your work not simply end with the right answer.

"If I get the answer right why do I have to show my work?" It feels like a stupid rule, and it isn't written down most of the time when she loses points. Even when she passes tests it doesn't feel like they believe she's actually doing it. Tutoring was the compromise to stop them from calling Lex into the school for a conference about her 'lack of concentration'. It isn't that she isn't paying attention, it's that she's bored by it, between that and Webby's interference, it isn't hard to piece together why she chose this, even if she finds it almost as frustrating as the unwritten expectations of geometry homework.

[mistletoestm]

no. it's definitely too late.

Chris would never pressure someone or push them to do something they don't want to and by the look in her wide eyed stare, he knows pushing isn't the answer here. He chuckles a little and settles into the cushioned seat, hands folded against his stomach as he slumps slightly in the chair, "Okay, okay. It's too late, roger that." He smiles as he looks back to the stage, eyes on the rendition of you can't stop the beat and the voice cracking making him wince slightly. He doesn't comment on it though. Speak poorly about someone trying their best? That wasn't in his nature. Maybe that made people think he was a fake and a fraud to some degree, but the truth was... Chris really just had good in his heart.

"So you're here for..." Chris starts despite backing off on the push to get Hannah to try out. He lets it trail off to hear what she's going to fill in the blank with. He assumes it's for crew, but he doesn't want to ask and be wrong. Especially, too, if she had specific crew pieces in mind. Set. Costuming. Lights. Stage Manager. Hey, she could be pretty good at that, he thought.

[giftedtm]

"Sets." Hannah shifts uncomfortably, trying not to think about how many times she's been told to try to be more social. Elaborate, people don't like short answers. It comes off as rude. The bluntness comes far more naturally than the artificial extension. "...I like wood shop. Sets is kind of like Mr. Houston's class."

Is that the right amount of information? Too much? She doesn't know, but at least she tried. That matters, because it has to. She's not as good at hiding her winces at voice cracks and missed notes, but they're far enough back in the auditorium it's unlikely that anyone on stage can see it unless they're looking for it. "I don't sing." She admits. "Lex is the actor."

[coloneltm]

He was in Hatchetfield for this very reason, meeting and learning about Hannah Foster. He knew her sister was also powerful, but she wasn't nearly as knowing about what laid in her mind. Hannah though? Hannah knew she was special... strange perhaps, but special. She had a power like none other in Hatchetfield and there were plenty of kids her age that held similar abilities. They weren't exactly like hers, but they were special too and they were hidden away deep within the bowels of this town. All of them paid to be quiet on the upside and fighters on the inside-- money that came from Charles Coven and his little fighting ring. It was cute, truly... the disgusting dogs of Hatchetfield watching as powerful teens fought to prove themselves better than the others. They were all betting pools of wealth, but Wilbur? He was there to understand and analyze... he had to know which of these children would be problems in the future. Spitfire. Sophia. She was someone to look out for and he'd had a long conversation with Charles about being mindful of how powerful she was. Charles had first tried to dismiss him, but... Wilbur pulling the very gun from inside the man's jacket without moving across the room had him listening. He made it clear to Charles that this playground of his was just that and eventually something else would come along, something far more powerful looking to take control of these children and their abilities. He told the CEO to watch himself and let popularity run wild amongst the teens, money and power... they'd behave until they were being swallowed by something otherworldly. It had sparked questions, but Wilbur just tossed the gun towards Charles and wished him a good day before taking his leave.

But again, those teens with their showmanship powers were nothing compared to the likes of the Foster girl. There was something about her that made his God angry and ready to fight. But they couldn't fight until they knew what they were up against... so here he was to bring Hannah to the very ring he found amusement in. Putting her in with those others would give him and Wiggog the ability to know what she was capable of. He just had to figure out his approach... but he knew the best way to. He knew how to get into her head with ease because there was already someone there... a White Goddess with a power to annoy and frustrate her brothers. He just had to be louder than Webby. So he approached the girl late in the evening as she waited at the bus stop, denim clad figure coming around to where he could take a seat on the opposite end of the bench. He watched quietly as she opened her eyes, glancing his way then past him at the schedule beside his head. He chuckles a low sound and shifts to lean back against the back of the bench. He kicks his legs out and crosses them at the ankle, hand sliding into his jean pocket and other reach into the interior of his jacket. There's a pause but then he's drawing out an apple, crisp and green.

"You're going to be waiting a while for that bus," Wilbur says calmly, eyeing the apple then brushing it against his abdomen to clean it slightly with his shirt. He brings it back up and sighs, "So why not tell me, Hannah, when the last time you spoke to her?" He flicks his eyes towards her, frown touching his lips.

[giftedtm]

"I don't talk to strangers." She says it with the flat affect of a girl unbothered, as if she doesn't have to remind herself even now not to phrase it as Lex told me not to talk to strangers. In all honesty, Lex had much stronger advice for what to do when strange men talked to Hannah, and it didn't end with "don't talk to them" if they didn't stop at the first prompting. He is a stranger, but he is also wrong.

It's too cold to be out without a jacket, and even without looking directly at the apple the shade of green is so saturated it makes her head hurt. Maybe if he was only strange she would have left it at that, an anomaly. Hatchetfield is strange, and it would not be the first incident of strangeness that the girl turned her head away from whether at Webby's behest or her own. But he knows her name, and he knows Webby.

Something in her gut twists violently as she forces herself to look at him directly. Never in the eye, but taking him in more directly in spite of his wrongness. Even as she knows better than to engage, she can't help it, tugged by the invisible string of curiosity. "...how do you know my name?"

She wants to ask about Webby, but holds her tongue. At least for now. He's a stranger, and she can't forget that. The denim clad man might say Webby's name like she's familiar to him, but that doesn't mean that he is. As subtly as she can, she grasps her phone in her pocket, just in case. If she calls, Ethan will come. If she calls, Lex will answer. The curiosity pulls her, but there is still a tether to the here and now. A lifeline beyond a bus that might take a small eternity to come.

[giftedtm]

Sometimes she can feel her presence, the pluck of a single string in the web that ensnares the world. The streetlights hum casting a bright glow across the small piles of snow that litter the edges of sidewalks, and when Hannah breathes, it seems to her that her breath hangs in the air for a second too long. The bus stop is safe. She decided that when she convinced Lex and Ethan she could ride it alone when it got late but never too late. The plexiglass shelter blocks the wind as the brunette glances around as unassumingly as she can manage, like she's looking for the bus that won't come for another 12 minutes. (The number 4 line is always five minutes late). There's no sign of her, and so she holds out her outstretched palm staring into the fabric as if by sheer force of will a small white spider will appear. "...Webby?"

She asks the air quietly, as if afraid of being overheard by an audience she doesn't think is watching. Again, she feels the pluck of a distant string, and she closes her eyes trying to isolate the feeling until it fits in the palm of her hand, recoiling when the sensation becomes unfamiliar. "Not Webby." The shelter is no longer empty, she knows it before she opens her eyes but she doesn't know how long she's had them closed. If the number 4 has already barreled past in a rush to make it to its next belated stop, and she turns her head away from the stranger as she adjusts her backpack on her shoulder until the hard edge of the binder filled with the preliminary notes for Grease is no longer digging into her shoulder blade. In the dull acryllic, she cannot make out a face, only a smudged reflection of a blue clad man standing far taller than her. A stranger, and her stomach turns in the typical knots of anxious energy. She turns her head to see @coloneltm out of corner of her eye, pretending not to study him as she places her gaze on the bus schedule. Five minutes late, or thirty minutes to the next one. If she's lucky, he won't try to fill the silence that hangs like clouds of breath in the air.

[mistletoestm]

closed: @giftedtm where: high school auditorium

Miss Mulberry is stood on the stage introducing what will be the beginning of auditions noting how many students have shown up. She speaks highly and excitedly about it and it makes Chris grin. He doesn't know necessarily what part he's going to get, if any, but he's eager to audition and to see others shine on the stage. Chris is an enigma at times because he's aware of his talent, aware he's a triple threat on the stage, but he doesn't like to talk about it or make note of it. He'd much rather be praised for other pieces of his life such as being kind, understanding, and caring. Talents were ever changing amongst him and even his peers-- and though it was good to praise those talents... it was important to him to be known for more than those.

He watches as someone takes the stage, a junior he doesn't know. He listens momentarily as Miss Mulberry asks them a few leading questions before they break into song. Chris looks away though, eyes peeling to the side in order to catch Hannah Foster falling into a seat a little down the row he's in. He smiles gently and moves, lifting himself from where he's sitting and grabbing his bag so he can find himself in the seat beside the freshman. He sits down and sets his bag against his leg, shifting to sink a bit into the seat and lean over to speak quietly to Hannah, "You know, you could still get up there and actually audition for it..."

[giftedtm]

If it was up to Hannah, she wouldn't be here. It isn't that she doesn't enjoy theatre, she does, just not the performing aspect. Or the part where she watches over a dozen people sing the same few songs just for the chance to be on stage. Miss Mulberry required everyone to show up to auditions, including anyone signing up for stage crew. She slumps in her seat, leg bouncing as she remains dimly aware of someone making a decent enough attempt at a song from Hairspray. She doesn't remember the name, only that she's heard it a half dozen times now.

When Chris sits beside her, she spares a brief glance and her shoulders relax a fraction of an inch. It's not a question of if Chris is going to get the lead (and rightfully so), his auditions feel to Hannah more like a consolation to others to show why he's getting it at this point. Still, he's nice. Humble, even for his talents. When he mentions auditioning, she looks at him with what can only be described as faint horror at the thought. It isn't that she hasn't tried acting, only that she learned her lesson last semester. Performing is Lex's dream, not hers. The lights are too bright, the eyes are too much, and the costumes never fit the way they're meant to, and she shakes her head. "No, it's definitely too late."