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 The idea of memories sticking to things was a fascinating one, to be sure. For a moment, she was tempted to ask to see an example, so she could see how it interacted with her own ability to recall and suppress memories but decided against it. "I do not suppose anyone has been complaining about gaps in their memories, have they? I suppose it is possible, though unlikely, that the portion of my power that interacts with memories has been acting up?" This got a hard blink from the man. "Oh?" Arthur's face had gone back to careful neutrality. "Memories?" His stunned look was quickly swept under the rug in lieu of professionalism. "That does sound like it would be hard to notice. I can't say I have heard anything in particular." He looked down for his notepad again, but started. It was across the table. He leaned forward to fetch it, flipping to a calendar. Back to business. "Have you or your sisters been out of the mansion for more than a day in the last three months?" Celeste's eyes flickered towards the notepad for just a moment, before back up to Arthur's face. "A few," she admitted easily. "Shopping to do, and we get so stir-crazy if we're kept inside for extended periods," she said with a small smile. Translation: She hadn't gotten to amuse herself by confusing random people on the street. "You know how it is." His expression remained neutral, if not a little cold. Or, at least as cold as Arthur Centino might ever get. "I've felt that way before. Like an itch, but in your soul. So, to summarize: you and your sisters are broad range telepaths and have not noticed anything off with your abilities." A twist of confusion, again, and Arthur squinted. "Did you change your hair, Celeste?" Celeste actually smiled at that. "I have, in truth. I am surprised you noticed, to be quite honest." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I like the ponytail," Arthur said. "Good to change things up. Sporty, even, although that's Phoebe's thing." His voice had a distracted quality, like there was a puzzle he couldn't quite work out. The blond smiled. "I suppose that's all then, unless you can think of anything else that might help us figure out what's happening." Celeste thought for a moment. "I have nothing more that comes to mind." She gave a delicate shrug, placing her clasped hands on the table. "I do hope you have found this helpful?" "Of course," was his automatic response. "I'm very happy that you all aren't suffering from this. No news is good news and all that." Arthur stood and stretched, gathering up his belongings. His usual warmth was back — everything before neatly swept away to disassemble later. "Please give my best to your sisters." With that, he made his exit. There was a long, long pause as the door clicked close. Phoebe leaned heavily on her palm from her chair, elbow planted on the table, staring where Arthur was sitting. Then Celeste, standing behind where Arthur had been sitting, pulled out the chair and sat down. "Absolutely fascinating . . .," said three voices simultaneously: Phoebe, in the chair Celeste had started in; Celeste, in Arthur's; and Irma, who had spent most of the chat just leaning against the side of the door. This deserved . . . experimentation. |
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