"You know I'm retired…." You let the words taper out but make a point of looking interested. Can't be seen as being too eager.
"I know. And I'm not asking you to get back in costume."
"What are you asking for then?" You get the impression he's got ideas, but would he be willing to share them?
"You were always better at blending into the seedy spots than I was. I might need your help with that eventually."
"As long as there are more details…eventually."
"I'll fill you in once it's time."
"Not a word to the others."
"This stays between the two of us." Ortega gives you a conspiratorial smile, and you can't help but return it.
It's the same thing every time.
You try to stay away. You try to keep your distance, try to remember why you need to take him down a peg, but it's hard work. Thankless work. It would be easier to just give in to his endless optimism, to accept that he'll be in your life one way or the other.
But it's too late for that. Right now he's in your way. Right now, getting closer would only mean risking yourself and your plans. You don't think he has any idea who it is behind Garrett Helton X's mask, and you don't intend for him to find out.
So you need to walk the tightrope. Close but not too close.
You've learned all you came for. The team is fractured; there's no greater plot here. You're safe. You can continue with your plans.
Good.
Your smile is wide and honest but for all the wrong reasons when you say goodbye.
At Least The Rain Stopped
Talking with Ortega has left you with a low-level headache threatening to grow in size. Trying to second-guess your own motives, trying to decide whether you have changed or whether you always were like this? Was it all pretend? Or are you just playing with new masks? Not that it matters, you've set your course now. For better or worse.
Putting on your shades, you walk out into the bright Los Diablos sunshine. Now that the rains have passed, the air smells almost clean, and the surrounding buildings cover the street in patchwork shadows. You head to the shady side for some relief from the rising temperatures. A walk will clear your head. Hopefully. You feel like you're on the edge of a thundercloud, your mood turning darker as the skies brighten. Stress? Most likely.
This is why you don't visit the Rangers often; it leaves you with a worse migraine than from multiple body hoppings. Perhaps it's the act of pretending that's starting to chafe.
But you can't stop now.
Getting lost in the city is easy. Almost relaxing. Keeping your eyes on the ground, you focus on your own flesh, walking quietly among the crowds. Strengthening your shields, you let your telepathic powers sink back to their lowest setting, barely a buzz at the back of your head in case someone might attack.
Not that they would. You're just another bland face in the crowd.
Just another nobody.
Crowds can be comforting as long as your shields hold. With enough thoughts, it becomes hard to focus on the details, and the inner voices mix together into a low mumble, like waves crashing ashore. Before you put on your mask and found more lucrative ways to make money, you often came to this particular stretch of road. It's a good spot to find people with money that they can share with you. Visitors. Tourists. Shoppers.
None of them are paying any attention to you.
"What's that?" People on the street stop and stare, and you get ready to run, but they are not looking at you. They are staring at the sky, fingers pointing, and as you look up, you can't stop yourself from groaning.
Herald. Didn't he mention rehab earlier? Did he ditch it just to see you off?
"Leaving without saying goodbye?" Herald says with a friendly smile, hovering overhead, looking disturbingly casual while floating in jeans and a T-shirt, ruffled hair glowing in the sun.
You are not in the mood for his cheerfulness.
You have no idea why Herald decided to follow, let alone what he wants from you. And quite frankly, you do not care. If you are going to interact, it will be on your terms. Certainly not on his. So you keep walking. Maybe he will get the hint and leave you alone.
No such luck. He follows along, still hovering above you.
"Do…" There's a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Do you have time to talk?"
You don't have to read his mind to feel that whatever he wants to discuss is something he didn't want to bring up back at the base. Oh no. This could be useful, you suppose, but is it worth the annoyance?
So Herald is not feeling too confident about this? Good, let's see if you can make him even more nervous.
"Business or pleasure?" Your smile is more of a smirk, but he doesn't seem to catch that particular nuance from his angle. Instead, he floats upward, clearly flustered.
"Business," he finally manages to get out, and you swear there's a hint of a flush to his face. Interesting.
"Well, unless you want to air your dirty laundry in the street, we'd better go somewhere more private."
"Oh, of course…" He looks like he only noticed the staring glances just now, deepening his embarrassment. "Right away."
If your telepathy weren't at its lowest setting because of the migraine building, you could have reacted in time; as it is, Herald's sudden move takes you by surprise, and before you have time to do more than gasp, you are airborne.
"Oh no!" You almost reach out and take control of Herald to make him land, but instead, you force yourself to keep your cool. This is not an attack, despite triggering all your worst instincts. This is just Herald picking you up and flying off, which is probably an ingrained reflex. You've been around fliers; they tend to be insufferably liberal with the use of their talents.
"Don't worry, I won't drop you." Herald has raised his voice to be heard over the wind, and you realize that you are clinging to him a little too tightly. He doesn't seem to have any issues with your weight, though you're taller than he is.