Viewing life through the eye of the Maize

[She’s sweet. Well-spoken and clear, confident with words perhaps in a way that she isn’t in other areas. A bit early to tell, but she has a gentleness to her, one that might be interpreted as a bit shy, or reluctant. 

At the question he flashes her an easy smile, and a bit of a breathy chuckle.] We haven’t met, no, but it’s my job to know who you are. I’m Wes. Dr. Callum Wesley, technically, but Wes is fine. And what I know is only what I can see in your file—I’d prefer to learn the rest from you. 

My file? Well doesn’t that sound ominous [releasing the overly secure hold on her notebook in favor of extending one of her hands for a proper shake. Her slight wrist and long fingers are quickly enveloped by his strong yet elegant ones. Maisie can’t help but smile at their warmth - the cliche of doctor’s hands always being cold easily proven false.]

Dr. Callum Wesley, Wes [she stated his full name and preferred nickname so as to assist in committing it to memory and to clarify she had heard him correctly. Misremembering a name is often times worse than not remembering it at all.]

So Wes, anything you would like to know in particular? The Question Game has always been one of my favorites [flashing a genuine smile, the awkward girl attempted to make herself as casually comfortable as the man before her].

isaac-abadi:

[She’s a conundrum, this one: all sharp, square jaw with feather soft brown hair and these eyes that could swallow a small moon, maybe– or maybe a dwarf planet or two if she were curious enough. Maisie’s all bounce and bubble, like some soap suds blown through a hollow wand on one of those summer afternoons, running barefoot in the back yard, giggled and grass-stained. But she’s anxious, too. Nervous. Fragmented in some ways, guarded in others.

The other Calyset ushers him over to a nearby table, and Isaac suddenly remembers that he’s still hooded like the Grim fucking Reaper. Like some goddamn Unabomber. He looks, without a sliver of a doubt, like a creepy asshole, which is partly what he’s going for, but within the pit of him, isn’t what he is. Hastily, he shoves the hood off, combing through his hair with a fidgety hand. Isaac takes a seat, and Maisie’s gone off– rambling through her work, flipping through her pages. She’s passionate, and maybe she’s embarrassed by it, because before long, her excited explanation rumbles to a low and muted silence, stopping herself before she gets too far. Commits blindly to a practical stranger; divulges without defenses.

But Isaac’s listening. And he wants to know. His eyes, just as wide. Just as curious.]

That’s cool. [He says, wishing he were a better linguist, or at the very least more expressive. But the thing is, he means it. He’s monotone, and stinted sometimes, edging on dulled and dry, but he’s true.] I don’t know anyone- [he corrects himself,] I didn’t know anyone into filmography. From before. Everyone’s into movies, but not everyone’s into making them. That’s-[he struggles for a word for a moment, before settling lamely on repetition] cool. [… Idiot.]

[Isaac’s attention flick down to the page Maisie’s stopped at, and a name he thinks he may recognize jumps out at him. He nods down to the writing.] What’s that about? [He asks, before giving in again to cautiousness, shaking his head a little.] But only if you want to– share, I mean.

[His movements are jerky and self conscious as he shoves his head out of the overhanging hood, but he joins her at the table readily. Isaac’s looking at Maisie and actually appears to be interested, those big eye flicking from almost meeting her own to being focused on her fidgety hands, but she can tell he is listening. Maisie smiles to herself, and takes a deep breath to steady her scattered thoughts.]

Couldn’t have said it better myself, I too think it’s cool [flashing him a reassuring smile she continues]. Well that’s because most people are interested in the end result. Where as I am more of a “journey” person if you will, I get excited by the building of the story - the final product is just an added bonus in my book. [The word book prompts her to glance down at her literal book and laughs] metaphorically that is, this book is nowhere near the final product, yet.

[The wide eyed boy is just as tentative as she feels, he’s a kindred anxious spirit. It is semi freeing to lay it all out there for another person, she’s on a roll now and doubt she could stop is she wanted too.]

[At his nod Maisie once again focuses on her notebook, the page she has paused on is an observation of her dorm-mates shuffling around preparing for the day]

Oh do you know Elsa? She’s also a Calyset and one of my dorm-mates [quickly scanning the familiar scribbles Maisie decides the recorded scrutiny is innocuous enough to share]. She’s impressive to watch navigate our room, especially in the morning when she is still a little sleepy. Elsa is never distracted though, her movements are always sure and precise. 

[Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. Kip hadn’t really thought she was going to fall, right up to the moment the chair wobbled dangerously and Maisie was grabbing on to his proffered hand. For a second his cool-guy persona falters, mouth falling open as his other hand comes up to grasp hers between both of his.]

Fuck. [He laughs, breathless and amused. His heart beat furiously at his ribs as he recovers from the momentary shock. It was that feeling of missing a step when you go down the stairs in the dark.] Well I did a terrible job of it, you’re still standing. Are you alright? You didn’t twist your ankle? [He’s not really the caring, mother-bear sort that wants to look after people, but he feels a little responsible for this near miss. He’s not sure why.]

[A breathy laugh escapes between her lips, which are still in the jaw drop shocked formation. She can suddenly feel every part of her body all at once - as if her scattered mind is taking stock. Her feet are solidly balanced on the wooden chair, her knees slightly bent, one clammy hand clutched between two of Kip’s dry warm ones, the other is hovering out to her side, hair has fallen into her face obscuring her view. But she feels fine, slightly better than fine actually, thanks to the adrenaline still pumping out to her extremities. Maisie laughs again, this time more solidly, straightening her knees, she quickly shoves some of the errant hair behind an ear with her free hand.]

I-I am good [clearing her throat, they make eye contact, Maisie’s are wide and shock filled and they see their mirror image in Kip’s; she surprised to see Mr. Cool show such a feeling.]

[She gives him a long, challenging look as she raises one foot from the surface of the chair, as if daring him. Which absolutely spoils Kip’s shtick, because they both know he’d never actually pull her down. He liked to tease, but he didn’t want to cause any harm. Not that he’s above it in the right situation - but this isn’t it.

So she’s really got him here - outfoxed. If he pulls her down then he’s the asshole that broke this girl’s nose. If he lets go, he’ll be revealed as a coward.] 

Alright, Cher, maybe it’s time to get down before you trip and have to find out whether there’s love after life. Besides, you don’t want me to crack out the ‘swept you off your feet’ jokes, because you’re not ready for them. Come on, don’t make me come up there and get you. [He releases her slender ankle in favour of offering his hand out, as if to say ‘I’ll help you down’. He has to hope she’ll take it, because he’s not certain what ‘coming up there and getting you’ might entail.]

[She couldn’t help but snort at his ability to work two Cher references into one sentence, the kid was witty she’d give him that. Her ankle is suddenly cold, as he has removed his threatening grasp in favor of offering a helpful one.]

Sir, yes sir. And where were you last night to get me off the Catch’s ba— [before Maisie can finish her teasing retort, the chair begins to tilt as all the girl’s weight was focused on one outside edge. Simultaneously her hand makes contact with his and her raised foot slams down on the other side of the chair, settling it back on the floor with a bang. Maisie’s eyes have gone wide and she’s standing stock still, waiting to make sure there isn’t going to be any more unexpected movement. Slightly stunned she is probably clutching poor Kip’s hand too tightly, but she can’t seem to get her brain to send a signal to her hand to release.]

What was that about sweeping me off my feet? [The astonished girl breathes out].

[Yeah, she’s guilty of wandering, too – mostly out of boredom. With no chores, it makes all the free time become dull, and there’s only so much fucking around she can do before she gives up and takes a nap. Walking helps ease her mind, keeps her some kind of busy, and, in the end, is just another good excuse to take one of those naps.

Shrugging, she figures there’s a way to kill time without doing it alone, for once. She’s always in favor of company.] Well, if you have any desire, I’m just going to be writing up lessons plans. I’m teaching one of my friends some basic robotics and I haven’t figured out what we’re doing yet this week. You’re more than welcome to join me.

I’d like that [she gives the girl a genuine smile and then glances back to the window seal to double check she hasn’t left anything; she steps into the middle of the hall nodding to the blonde to lead].

I’m Maisie, pleasure to meet you [she extends her hand for a quick shake before spewing a few questions].

Are you a teacher, or were you one? What constitutes “basic robotics”? [Walking side-by-side down the hallway the curious girl tries to reign herself in, stopping herself from blurting out the four other questions on the tip of her tongue. To gather information you can’t just ask the questions you must also absorb the answers she reprimands herself. She clears her throat].

Uh s-sorry, got ahead of myself there [a nervous smile graces her face and she starts fiddling with the buttons of her jacket to distract herself from the feelings of minor embarrassment].

COL22 POETRY SERIES; part i of  ∞

MAISIE PACE, I’m Nobody! Who are you? by Emily Dickinson.

I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there’s a pair of us – don’t tell! They’d advertise – you know!

[She took a while to respond, but Zach was patient, and hopeful, she seemed like the responsible sort of person who carried her own pencils, and wasn’t reliable on others. Finally she responded, holding out her pencil in front of him, close enough for him to grasp, before she pulled it away. Making a realization that was so truthfully Zach that he felt like he should say no to the pencil because now it would haunt him if he forgot to give it back. She tapped the pencil to her chin, and he still had his hand out. He probably looked like he was caught in the act of finger painting all over someone’s face.]

Okay good, because I was almost afraid you had me all figured out. [He tried to joke back, hoping he wasn’t too vague, as he took the pencil. He looked back at the dead stationary item and sighed.] Used to be you could buy them twenty at a time at the store and not worry about using too much ink. [He used the pencil on the paper, finding it worked perfectly. Then turned back to the girl who had led it to him.] What are you writing? [He asked, moving the paper up so he could show her his dumb dinosaur drawings. Not that he did it to show he was proud of them - truly some of them were horrifying - but he believed in the act of openness.] I am drawing these extinct bad boys.

[Shrugging good-naturedly and leaning back onto her side of the worn couch].

To be fair, I have most people figured out [she kept her eyes pointed at her notes to be sure the boy wouldn’t be able to tell if she was serious or not.] But the pencil theory, is a holdover from primary school; I always had the pencils with best erasers so I had to be very stern with the other kids or I would have lost my stash completely.

[His art was crude but you could definitely make out the shape of the long gone animals]. I like the one with the spiky tail. Mine aren’t as exciting [she tilted her journal so he could glance at the cramped page] I just record what I see. Someone needs to document us, [nodding her head towards his art] so maybe in the future, they won’t have to piece our stories together just from our bones, like your scaly friends there. [She wasn’t purposefully being negative or callus, just honest and straight forward.]

I am Maisie by the way, nice to meet you [she smiled over at him from across the threadbare cushions].