It's taken so long to get where she's at. Which, to some, a random bed in some random motel in a backwater town in Washington isn't much. It would of been some inconsequential thing if not for the man she's sharing the room with. That makes it everything in that moment. The last time they had done this feels so long ago that it may has well been in another lifetime. And, some researchers in the Bureau might call it that with the various levels of altered reality they've all slipped through.
She's dimly aware of the arms around her as the gentle familiar tug comes to her mind. Jesse rolls more into the pair of arms holding her. Maybe it's a childish notion, but, she might also be owed something like that. She wants just this one thing without needing to jump to action as soon as some paranormal entity calls. Unfortunately, that paranormal entity happens to be the one she plays host of resonance to. Ignoring her is pretty impossible.
« ...what? Talk to Anderson? Why? I'm here, with Alan. Whatever it is can wait a few hours, can't it? How many ever hours we have until nightfall. Just let me have this time for myself. Please? »
Polaris shifts. Insistent. Time isn't on their side and the story is growing to its next story beat.
Jesse turns further into Alan's hold, as if he'd be able to keep everything out. Of course, he can't, but this one time she wishes she wasn't a hotline for paranormal voices that want attention.
« Fine. How am I supposed to talk to her? I'm not leaving... and you didn't like her inside my head the first time. Not that I enjoyed the idea either. You're sure the Board won't get upset? ...alright. Do whatever it is you need to. »
Polaris' resonance beats through the Sheriff's Station, amplified by the agents wearing the HRAs. Most people would never pick it up, but those that have unique abilities can. A gentle hum that beats like a steady heartbeat. One that can reach out to any needed. Those with unique abilities can sense words sometimes, otherwise it feels like an idea that has suddenly come to them. Maybe even to others it may come as a flash to an image.
That is how Polaris reaches out to the FBI Agent Saga Anderson. A gentle flash of an image of a woman with brilliant red hair, and the inclination to reach out to her again. Gently this time. No intentions of shoving her way in.
Jesse opens her eyes to find herself in the field office of the FBI in the Elderwood Lodge. She glances side to side, turning slightly to note the ordered papers on the wall.
« Huh. I have to admit, it's not quite what I expected. I thought it might be something like when someone uses the Hotline. »
She picks up on the shift in the room. Fair enough, given this isn't Jesse's own mind. Her gaze moves to across the table to find one Saga Anderson. She sets her jaw and lifts her chin slightly. Guarded. She can't help it, even in a mental projection. She hates being profiled, being examined.
« Maybe we can make this more like a conversation than anything else. »
Her hands at her sides raise slightly as if to say tah-dah! Her hair is down, and this time, dressed as the Director of the Federal Bureau of Control. That is who Saga tried to poke after all. ]
Anderson, right? [ Her tone suggests everything about this is very normal for her. It's a little unusual, even for Jesse, but psychic conversations aren't necessarily weird. ] You wanted to talk earlier. So, here I am.
— meeting.
It's taken so long to get where she's at. Which, to some, a random bed in some random motel in a backwater town in Washington isn't much. It would of been some inconsequential thing if not for the man she's sharing the room with. That makes it everything in that moment. The last time they had done this feels so long ago that it may has well been in another lifetime. And, some researchers in the Bureau might call it that with the various levels of altered reality they've all slipped through.
She's dimly aware of the arms around her as the gentle familiar tug comes to her mind. Jesse rolls more into the pair of arms holding her. Maybe it's a childish notion, but, she might also be owed something like that. She wants just this one thing without needing to jump to action as soon as some paranormal entity calls. Unfortunately, that paranormal entity happens to be the one she plays host of resonance to. Ignoring her is pretty impossible.
« ...what? Talk to Anderson? Why? I'm here, with Alan. Whatever it is can wait a few hours, can't it? How many ever hours we have until nightfall. Just let me have this time for myself. Please? »
Polaris shifts. Insistent. Time isn't on their side and the story is growing to its next story beat.
Jesse turns further into Alan's hold, as if he'd be able to keep everything out. Of course, he can't, but this one time she wishes she wasn't a hotline for paranormal voices that want attention.
« Fine. How am I supposed to talk to her? I'm not leaving... and you didn't like her inside my head the first time. Not that I enjoyed the idea either. You're sure the Board won't get upset? ...alright. Do whatever it is you need to. »
Polaris' resonance beats through the Sheriff's Station, amplified by the agents wearing the HRAs. Most people would never pick it up, but those that have unique abilities can. A gentle hum that beats like a steady heartbeat. One that can reach out to any needed. Those with unique abilities can sense words sometimes, otherwise it feels like an idea that has suddenly come to them. Maybe even to others it may come as a flash to an image.
That is how Polaris reaches out to the FBI Agent Saga Anderson. A gentle flash of an image of a woman with brilliant red hair, and the inclination to reach out to her again. Gently this time. No intentions of shoving her way in.
Jesse opens her eyes to find herself in the field office of the FBI in the Elderwood Lodge. She glances side to side, turning slightly to note the ordered papers on the wall.
« Huh. I have to admit, it's not quite what I expected. I thought it might be something like when someone uses the Hotline. »
She picks up on the shift in the room. Fair enough, given this isn't Jesse's own mind. Her gaze moves to across the table to find one Saga Anderson. She sets her jaw and lifts her chin slightly. Guarded. She can't help it, even in a mental projection. She hates being profiled, being examined.
« Maybe we can make this more like a conversation than anything else. »
Her hands at her sides raise slightly as if to say tah-dah! Her hair is down, and this time, dressed as the Director of the Federal Bureau of Control. That is who Saga tried to poke after all. ]
Anderson, right? [ Her tone suggests everything about this is very normal for her. It's a little unusual, even for Jesse, but psychic conversations aren't necessarily weird. ] You wanted to talk earlier. So, here I am.