Charisma Check

Mystril's final decision came from the notion that if she was pulled over by a police officer, she wasn't sure how she would explain it. Everything was too much of a mess right now, and she felt rather paranoid. Even if this was a kidnapper, it didn't seem like he was an immediate threat. That was especially given the fact he left her in the car unattended with his keys. Mystril pushed the door open, and was rudely reminded by the gravel that her ensemble did not include shoes. She stepped out, careful not to bare down too hard on the gravel, and shut the car door behind her. The crickets were out, and the sound of the Truckee river running passed gave the cool night air an unexpected serenity.

The man had just finished his business with the treeline, and quickly turned to face her. He looked to be about twenty eight, his hair was cut short, and receding slightly. He wore a pair of square glasses, and sported the trimmed beard of someone who might actually hold a job. Mystril eyed him wearily. He froze like a deer caught in headlights, almost like he hadn't planned on her ever waking up. She decided to be assertive, given the fact the man looked at her like she was somehow a threat to him, "Who are you, and where are we?"

Her voice caught her off guard. That wasn't hers either. The small roughness that came from her nicotine habits was gone, and she was locked a note or two higher than she normally sung. She knew the sound though, it almost sounded like she hadn't gone through puberty. The man took her pause, and answered the questions she had preemptively, "I know this is all probably pretty confusing, and I have answers. Up front, not a serial killer or anything. You are in trouble, and you need help."

Mystril's gut told her that he wasn't being wholly honest, and she nodded slowly. The situation was too strange to really apply normal logic to. The man didn't seem like a good Samaritan necessarily, but Mystril didn't have many people offering to give her explanations. "I'm listening." was her reply of choice. It was non-committal, and implacably aloft. Threatening of what, she didn't know. Something told her she somehow had leverage here. That seemed to work out in her favor. "Yeah, yeah yeah yeah," the man agreed nodding vigorously, seeming as if he was excited some unsaid bargain had been accepted or as though he had been vindicated of any strangeness, "I'm not sure if you signed up for human experimentation, but I have never seen anyone go through more surgeries than you did." He started. Mystril tilted her head to the side, imploring him to continue, and he did, breathlessly.

"You've been in a coma for sixth months, and from what I read your body was worked on in every single way a body can be." He took a step forward, holding his hands up still like he was trying to persuade a dog that he wasn't a threat. He got lower too, trying to seem small. Mystril asked him, pointedly, "So you threw me in a car?" The man nodded, "You looked like you weren’t doing so well when I found you. You also weren’t in a normal part of the hospital. Seemed like something out of a twilight zone episode." He scratched his beard, looking to the treeline, and then to the road. Mystril still wasn’t impressed. She stood squared to him, standoffish as if she stood anything resembling a chance if they came to blows. She wouldn’t be able to run either. Actually that was entirely dependent on how much adrenaline her body decided to work up.

She asked, “Why did you take me then?” The man eyed her carefully, and then answered, “I live a boring life. Figured this was interesting, or at least had a chance at being interesting.” Mystril could tell that wasn’t the whole truth, but what he had said did shed some light on the situation. What the fuck happened to her during that tonsilectomy? Before she could ask, the man cut her off as soon as her mouth opened to pose the question, “Listen, I know I have a lot of explaining to do. Can I tell you when we get moving?” The genuine discomfort in her captor’s voice resonated with her, and gave her the vague impression that his concerns might be genuine. Moreover, it seemed like he had as much to lose as she did, even if Mystril didn’t know what exactly he had to gain. Crisis was a good avenue to strange bedfellows.