T'Ain't What You Do

22nd Precinct
Central Park
Friday, May 19

This whole situation would probably be going a heck of a lot more smoothly if Queenie could quit staring.

The desk officer keeps flicking glances her way, his bushy eyebrows pulling together as she watches the bustle of the room with wide, disbelieving eyes. He thought at first she was on drugs, some girl from the Upper East Side who took too much of something with a complicated name. Now, though, he's all puzzlement, trying to figure her out and failing while he pretends he doesn't like looking at her just for the sake of it.

To be fair to the officers who brought her in, when she'd first come through the fountain -- Because that's the only way she can think of it, as having come through, despite how shallow this one was -- she hadn't exactly been at her most charming self. She'd gone such a long time without magic, without hearing hardly anybody's thoughts, that the bright and sudden cacophony of voices had sent her reeling. Everything after was a bit of a blur, strong hands pulling her from the water, grasping her face to stare into her eyes. Everything has been so abruptly overwhelming that she barely registered that she'd ended up in another fountain, yet again.

They hadn't known what to do with her, so they brought her here.

She reaches a hand to skim against the ends of her still-damp hair. It's mid-May but cool inside the building, and they gave her a shirt to pull on over her dress, long-sleeved and well-worn but clean, with the word "Yankees" in faded letters on the front. They said it was to keep her from getting a chill. It was really because her dress is white.

It had taken her a little time to even think of Sonny as a possibility, and she feels a bit guilty about that. Plucking "special victims unit" from the head of one of the officers had been easy enough with a little coaxing and a bat of her eyelashes, but in truth, she has no idea if he'll be there. She told them he was her cousin.

It's 2017 and gosh she wishes she had a wand.

While only at 20% capacity, Queenie nevertheless started out as a massively powerful legilimens. That means she could read minds at or possibly even beyond the capabilities of Voldemort, according to JKR.

She does this without thinking about it. If she is explicitly asked to not do it, she will often stop herself, but not always. It's habit, and she's got some dubious ethical justifications for it regardless.

At this level, Queenie can primarily read thoughts that are very clear and/or purposely sent, although they may be somewhat garbled. She can read emotion, intent and underlying motivation more clearly, especially if the person is upset. It's worth mentioning that she seldom purposely does more than catch surfacemost thoughts, even at full ability.

If you do not want Queenie reading your character's mind, please leave me a note? This will prevent me from accidentally tagging you.

Thanks!

Queenie Goldstein loves her sister more than anyone in the whole, wide world; she really, really does. There's nobody who knows her better, nobody who can read her so well without actually poking into her thoughts, no one she'd rather share an apartment or piece of pie or fully-belly laugh with. She's an absolute peach. The best.

It's just that, well, sometimes Queenie really wishes Tina was a tiny, wee bit less uptight.

Take today. It's Valentine's Day -- Hearts and flowers, romance and candy, and they've been fighting about it for an entire week. That's not an exaggeration; Queenie remembers the exact moment it started, because it was the very same day she told Percival she wanted to cook him dinner.

Percival, of course, being Tina's old boss, meaning the boss who demoted her, meaning it's kind of understandable that Tina's a little miffed that he's taken a shine to Queenie. Tina feels betrayed -- It's practically written up in lights in her mind, and Queenie can't help but see it even when she's tried not to because Tina's snapped at her. And she'd feel worse about it if she couldn't also see, just clear as day, that Tina knows it's not really Percival's fault, that Tina'd broken the actual, bona fide law, a really big one, and that there was a whole council of people who gave her the ax because, well, she'd done magic in front of a No-Maj, actually on a No-Maj, and they couldn't exactly let that slide.

But gosh, Queenie's been getting an earful for a week, Tina suddenly a fierce guardian of her sister's chastity, which is pretty silly since Queenie lost track of it at sixteen. Do you know what it'll look like, you alone at his house? she'd insisted, her face going all sour and puckered up when Queenie had replied, That I'm making him dinner?

So now Percival is coming to their place. It doesn't make a lick of sense to Queenie, but she knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if it means he's got to sneak past the landlady. She even bought Tina a ticket to a variety show, with an extra so she could take a friend if she wanted, the show with the Cackling Choir and Lady Mim and some acts that are a real gas, and it oughta take at least four hours.

Gosh, she really hopes it takes at least four hours.