POV: Ψiioniic

"Fuck…" I mumble in response to the little beeping noise of my texting device. I can feel the burning urge to slip a hand down into my pocket to check the message, but the burning sensation in my arms overpowers it and reminds me of my task.

I'm in the middle of my work shift, meaning that now is the worst possible time for checking messages. The corner of my eye sees past the flashes of red and blue psionic energy to detect the purplish hue of the sea dwelling Master who'd just passed by me. Everyone knows his watchful eye is every bit as sharp as his whip and harpoon. Yep, definitely not the right time for this.

I take my brief morning lunch break (which was more like a brunch break since we'd wake up each workday at the shit-spewing ass crack of dawn), to find a quiet place to sit. I pick the large tree which I usually sit under when I want to be alone. Neglecting the bit of food I'd been given, I use my scarce time to reach down and fish the device from my pocket, glancing at the screen and checking the sender's ID. There is none.

It takes me a moment to register who it might be, before I recall the nameless person I'd met last night, allowing the deeply welcomed realization to hit me. Must be Signless, I think to myself. This brings a smile to my face that only grows wider as I silently read his escape plan to myself, which entails my ability to be secretive and his ability to be quick. Looks like we're going to have to switch talents for this.

I quickly shove the device back down into my pocket and go back to work as I hear the crack of a whip in the distance. For once, my arms aren't the busiest part of me. My mind is working much harder. I think back to the previous night, the musty smell of that underground bar and the sweet breath of a certain troll who'd sat so close to me. I can't remember how close. My lips tingle and an image twitches a bit in the back of my mind, but I quickly shake it off, assuming fatigue was affecting my think pan. But there it is again, like the small ruffle of dry leaves, or the scutter of an insect. It's definitely there, but I can't place my finger on what it is.

Red. Something red. I remember warmth, skin, a kiss. Yes, there had been a kiss. Had he kissed me? I check around to see that I'm not being watched, before bringing a hand to my mouth, letting my fingertips brush lightly along my lips, and I resume my work. It's been reaffirmed. He kissed me, and I can't even remember the act itself. I am furious at myself for having been drunk. I could have drunk less, I could have ordered a less alcoholic drink, I could have turned down his offer to buy me anything at all. But I didn't. And I grit my teeth for it, accidentally sending a sharp psionic spark. Sharper than I should have. The highblood nearby glares at me as a warning for getting distracted. I glower right back.