S.H.I.E.L.D Academy

Espen O'Donnelley's POV • High School

"Who is this guy Espen, anyway? Where's Espen from? We don't even know what this Espen is."

I clear my throat and take a step forward. "Actually, contrary to popular belief, Espen is a person. Espen is also right here, and Espen has good hearing. And the only thing wrong with Espen is that he actually thought you might not be a huge jerk."

Laerika looks at me with big, sad eyes. You blew it.

But I don't care. I haven't gone through years and years of stupid high school hierarchy, pop culture changes and the rising and falling of prom kings and drama queens to get shoved around by some pompous prick who can't even tell if I'm a person or not.

I turn swiftly and the next second I'm in the hallway, headed straight for one of the music rooms. Turns out, a lot of the students here are musically inclined--most of them, really--so there's more than one music class.

The deserted room seems to greet me like a consoling friend. I grab my violin from where I'd left it in the case in the corner. Subconsciously rosining the bow with angry fingers, I let muscle memory play my stress away. The rocking motions of the bow soothe my mind while the heel of the violin under my chin steadies me. Eventually I cool off enough to actually enjoy the music being produced, and I sway along methodically to a soft legato rendition of a haunting Irish rhapsody. I close my eyes, letting the strings take me.

I've never had a short temper; actually my temperament is pretty mild, but never interrupt me while I'm playing. So when I'm interrupted by a door creaking open with only two measures to go, I swing my head around violently and glare at the offending visitor.

"What?" I ease my instrument from my shoulder, the bow hanging lamely from my fist at my side.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt!"

Immediately I feel stupid. Terif slips in, careful not to let the door slam. It slams anyway and she jumps. Skittering over to the far wall, she snatches up her viola case and glances sheepishly at me.

"Again, so sorry," she says, her silky accent in full throttle. Her eyes widen. "By the way, you play amazingly!"

I smile apologetically, regretful of my snappish attitude. "Thanks," I say, glancing down at my bow.

"How did you learn to play so well?" She asks more confidently, hovering by the door.

I utilize the usual answer. "I've . . I've had lots of practice." Yeah, decades and decades.

"Sounds like it," Terif says with a nod. "You know, it's crazy . . but for some reason, as I was listening to you outside the door--" she gives another sheepish look and continues. "It felt like my energy was returning . . Like I'd just had a shot of crazy strong espresso." She laughs a bit, illustrating her uncertainty.

Now, I'm not an impulsive person. Far from it. But at this moment, I leap on a whim without hesitation. "You're not crazy," I say, my eyes widening, surprised at myself for what I'm about to tell her. How is it so easy to tell her? Don't tell her, idiot! . . But I've got to tell someone sometime. Oh, sod it.

"It's true, you were gaining vitality."

"Vitality?"

Somehow, without my noticing, Terif's found her way to a stool in the guitar corner as we've been speaking-- like she's been just waiting to know about me. . . Wait. I chuckle and shake my head. I fell for it.

"Look," I start. "I've noticed you and your friends watching me since my first day here. And I know it's not just because I'm Irish, or because my hair's pink." I smile slightly, letting her know I've caught on to her chicanery.

"Guilty as charged," the little goddess grins, her gold-flecked eyes glowing. "But we just want to know you, Espen. Honest."

"That remains to be seen," I return, laughing slightly. "But I admire your wheedling skills, so I guess we can do a "twenty questions" run."

"First fact," Terif says, looking upward as though making a mental note, pursing her glossy pink lips. "Espen actually uses words like wheedling."

I laugh genuinely. "Okay, okay. What do you want to know?"

"The top thing we're always curious about." Terif rolls her eyes. She sighs and takes on a bored, over-exaggerated voice. "What's your power?"

"Kind of tough to say," I confess. "Its not exactly just one thing, you know? I think powers are usually like that, not always easy to explain. But, if I were to put a label on it for a sort of "skeleton" understanding, I suppose it would be youth and healing."

"Fascinating," Terif says. Holding out an invisible microphone to herself, she booms dramatically, "If your power is youth, then tell us, Espen O'Donelley, how old are you?"

I laugh as she holds out her hand grasped around nothing in front of my face. I talk into her "microphone" with a mock serious tone. "Now, didn't your Mum ever tell you that it's rude to ask someone's age?"

"Isn't that just for women, though?" She says, her laugh bubbling from her lips.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Anyway, I'm actually not sure . . I sort of stopped celebrating birthdays back in sixty-five," I say, carefully tucking my violin back in its compartment and pulling up a piano bench. Seeing her pout, I laugh. "What? It got expensive! And it was hard to keep track of."

"But still," she says, grinning at my words. "Not celebrating birthdays! Rough life."

"Eh," I say flippantly. "It's no big deal. I know it's sometime in April, so sometime around mid-month I treat myself to something special."

"Well, that's something," she says, nodding. "Next question. Will your accent rub off on people of you hang around them a lot?" She grins mischievously.

"Is this a serious question?" I raise an eyebrow. She smirks and re-fastens a lock of hair back with two crossed bobby pins. "Who knows? Maybe. But I'd stick with your own, it's pretty."

She smiles brightly at me and looks down at her nails. "Well, thank you." Looking back up, she sits straighter and crosses her legs like an interviewer. "Okay, forget that last question then. Do you have any siblings?"