St. Peter's Asylum discussion

"Well fuck." The eyebrows lowered, in something like sympathy, and Jason pursed his lips. "Sorry, I guess? My Mom was a pretty big bitch too, if it makes you feel any better." He could recall a time when he attacked a girl in the graveyard for acting like his mother--four words, four words and one moment was all it had taken. The memories that the blonde sadist had for Mrs. Turner were obviously not good ones.

((I'm so tempted to suggest a fade.))

Rebecca shook her head, a dark laugh that held a cold twinkle to it, and severely lacked in humor escaped her. "No, no it does not make me feel better, Mr. Jason, though I appreciate the gesture of comfort." She opened the book then, and began to cross out the words on the first page, the title page, with a slightly shaking hand. She didn't like thinking about her mother, it did this to her. She remained looking at the blonde sadist. Her eyes looked bright and rather stormy. "It helps knowing I'm not completely alone. It makes me feel more sane." Ever so bitter, the blonde girl returned to her Bible with her furious hand crossing out words.

[Fade.]

Lately, Calix had been trying to do new things to get his mind off of the loss of his friend, Bennett, whom had died in the fire, sleeping away, probably looking like an angel. The nurses had suggested he take up reading, exercising, socializing with others, anything to better take up his time than wallowing in sadness. So, the young man lost in times of Renaissance began to wander through the aisles, looking for a book that interested him. He finally settled upon a book that he thought would interest him, and it was one the librarian had suggested when he had first come here days before. He pulled out Hamlet, and after flipping through some pages, decided that it was a satisfactory read. He went to a table by a brightly lit widow of glass that let in light but concealed the view of the world outside due to its textured appearance. He barely noticed the girl that was sitting across from him at the table as he was already engrossed with the tale, which was in the exact language he used that confused many people. His lips moved along with the words.

Act I, Scene i: A guard platform of the castle. Enter Barnardo and Francisco, two sentinels.

Harper didn't hear the footsteps of the "blind" boy as he approached her, nor did she hear the chair scrape back as he sat down--but she did catch a glimpse of some bright gleam out of the corner of her eye, as if something metallic had just been thrown through the air. She glanced up, slightly surprised, and saw that indeed what had flashed was something metal: a paperclip. And the boy who now sat across from her was wearing it as an earring. How odd--but then again, this was an insane asylum. The deaf volunteer offered a smile of greeting and raised one hand in a wave, for politeness's sake, though she wouldn't have been surprised if Calix did not see her.

Calix glanced up from his reading, a slight movement catching his eye. He looked up from the pages of the book with curiosity in his expression, which then lit up with realization that someone was acknowledging his presence. "Oh! My apologies, madame." He set the book down on the table with the spine against the table, pages facing up towards him. As one to never forget his chivalrous manners, extended a hand to the young woman. "I am Calix. What is the name of thou?"

Harper raised one finger and mouthed Give me a moment. The phone was retrieved from her back pocket and set on the table between them, and the deaf volunteer typed: My name is Harper. How're you? Her thin brows knitted slightly in confusion as she did so: she'd recognized 'what is the name of' but not the last word that Calix had said. It looked unfamiliar. Still, she thought, probably just her memory having a moment. She didn't recognize Calix's name or his person, so she had no reason to figure otherwise.

In Calix's mind, though, and through his eyes, he didn't see a phone with a screen. He saw a piece of paper, parchment, written in ink. When she typed, he saw her leaning with quill in hand writing on the piece of parchment. He read the words, and his eyebrows knit together. Why did the girl just not talk to him, instead of having to write everything down? Didn't that tire her? It didn't yet occur to the "blind" boy that the girl before him couldn't speak. "Madame, if I may ask, wherefore doth thou not speak?"

Harper was trying very hard for Calix's sake not to look openly confused, but even so, a little frown came over her features and a crease developed in between her brows. What was he trying to say? Something about her not speaking, she'd been able to make that much out. Today, the deaf volunteer thought, was probably going to end up being a long day. She gave no sign of this as she typed: Did you just ask why I can't talk? I'm sorry, I can't read your lips very well. It's because I'm deaf. I can't hear.

Calix almost ignored the slight frown and look of confusion that had crossed over the deaf girl's face. He was almost used to it and although he had no idea why people were so confused by him, but he tried to be polite and ignore it. He read the parchment that was really a text and then nodded. That was indeed what he had meant. Something was troubling him, though. Why would someone not be able to speak? The only thing that he could think of was witchcraft, as it was the only logical thing that came to mind. "What witch hath curs-ed thee?" Calix asked, obviously worried for the girl.

Amusement flashed across Harper's face. She still couldn't understand parts of the green-eyed boy's speech, but she could read enough to at least make a response possible. Witch? she typed, and then shook her head quickly with a little smile. She gave Calix a moment to read the word, then erased it and went on: It has nothing to do with witches. I got in a car accident when I was six. Brain damage. She tapped the side of her head with one finger for clarification. How strange, for someone here to believe in witchcraft. Perhaps it had something to do with Calix's peculiar way of talking--she resolved to ask for the key to the file room to read up on him later. He was certainly proving to be an odd young man.

Car? The young girl must have been mistaken. He had no idea what a car was, and he was almost completely positive that a car did not exist and was only in the girl's head. He wasn't aware that the problem was really in his head. "Car? Oh, madame, thou must be mistaken! Thou means to speaketh about a steed? My apologies that thou hast had a tragic accident." How anyone could have a tragic accident with a horse that would force then to loose their hearing? Calix had a suspicion that the girl really had been induced to witchcraft but couldn't or wouldn't admit it. Regardless, he honestly felt bad for the girl before him.

There was a pause, and after a moment Harper only nodded. She didn't know what else to do. A car was a sort of steed, she supposed, but wasn't the boy taking it a little too far by saying that cars didn't exist at all? There was a little frown as the deaf volunteer tried to think of a way to ask what was going on without being rude or setting the boy off. Finally, she decided on something simple: Mistaken? No, I'm not. Dad and I were driving down a crowded road. Some idiot rammed into the back of us, that's all. I flew out the windshield--hit my head.

Windshield? Calix decided it was some way of saying that she had fallen off her horse. "My most sincere apologies, Madame. I hope whomever ramethed in thy horse was beheaded." He gave the girl a satisfied nod and leaned back in his chair slightly.

Harper's eyes widened slightly at that little quip. Once again, she didn't catch all of the words--but she understood enough to realize that Calix had just said he wished the man that caused the accident had died. It was a startling change from his concerned kindness a moment before, and the deaf volunteer couldn't help but wonder if Calix was more dangerous than he looked. She tried with mixed success to blink the surprise out of her gaze, and then her fingers flew: What a horrible thing to say! Shock made her type the words. It wasn't his fault, Calix. He didn't see us, that's all. He didn't have to be killed for it. It was an accident, like I said. She glanced back up at him again, and this time, her gaze was not so friendly. It was more scrutinizing. She didn't know if this was something she ought to report, but she was certainly going to keep an eye on the green-eyed boy should his attitude take another sudden turn. Perhaps he was one of the psychotic ones? Harper didn't think so--he certainly didn't look like he was--but then, looks could be deceiving. You could never know which sorts of people would prove to be the craziest.

Calix read over her words carefully, and when he realized what the girl was beginning to think of him and his poor choice of words, a natural rogue began to creep up his neck and onto his face. "My apologies once again, fair maiden. I merely implied me thinks the gentleman whom gaveth thee pain twas punished." He looked to meet her gaze but dropped it again nervously when he saw the suspicion in her eyes. He didn't want the girl to think any less of him. What Harper didn't realize was that it wasn't that the young boy was dangerous, but that in his ways of thinking, beheading was a form of punishment suited for people who would have caused a fair maiden trouble and pain.

And Harper caught nearly nothing of what had been said. So she simple nodded once, slowly, and stood. For all she knew, the green-eyed boy had just threatened her. Judging by the way he was blushing (and the way he'd apologized) this wasn't true, but in her own opinion it was still better to be safe than sorry. She offered a cautious smile, and a wave goodbye, and then without further ado scooped up her phone, slid it back into her jean pocket, and walked away. Perhaps she would be getting to the file room earlier than expected.

((Fade.))

[Fade.]

The library was a place the young Hispanic girl was finding herself more and more often. She didn't particularly like reading, at least, she didn't love it and find herself hiding out, immersed in a book all day every day. She had to admit, it had helped improve her English tremendously, and the library here didn't have a bad collection of books, from what she could tell. She had returned the book she had been trying to read when she met Raven, only now because she hadn't had much time to read it after that. But today, her thoughts weren't on picking another book, although she was wandering through the aisles. Her thoughts were on her friend, Carlos, about the last time she'd seen him at the pool. There had been fun times and a lot of laughs, but he had also spilled his heart out to her, told her his dark past, and her heart went out to him for telling him when he knew she hardly trusted him. It was a wonderful thing for him to do.

The boy of Juana's thoughts was also sitting in the library, seated on one of the comfortable couches around the coffee table. And he, unlike her, had nothing in particular on his mind; he was in too good of a mood for that. Rosemarie and Raven had made up. It was all over the asylum and there was no way that it couldn't be true. And that, in turn, meant that the young Hispanic had one less thing to worry about. It was a realization that left him feeling better than he had in several weeks. It was good to hear about friends doing so well. And speaking of friends...he craned his neck to one side so that he could look at a busy Juana from around the arm of the couch. "Hola, mi amiga!" he called out (not too loudly, of course, since they were in a library.) He waved her over with one brown hand, a wide smile in place. "¿Está ocupado? ¿Quieres sentarte conmigo?"

Her head was turned, golden-eyes flicking in the direction of the quiet voice. Her hand fell away from a shelf above her head, where she had been about to grab a book with an interesting title. "Hola, amigo!" She said just as quietly, enthused to see a smiling face, and so familiar as well. She took his invitation, moving from the shelf next to him on the couch. A fair distance, still, but it was close enough to have the friendly feel to it. She could feel herself start to trust him a little bit more, but there was still a part that held back, as the slight distance showed. "Claro que si!" She said with a wide smile. Of course she would sit with him! He was a friend, wasn't he? A good friend, as he was becoming to be.

"Maravilloso," Carlos said cheerfully. He didn't bother trying to wave her closer to him--spectacularly good moods meant that he was perfectly ready and willing to let things slide, even when they pertained to people like Juana and things like trust. Today was too good of a day to start worrying about how his new friend was acting; he could give her some credit. She would come closer if she felt like it because that was how she operated. "I was hoping you'd say yes," he went on with a chuckle. "I was getting bored over here all by my lonesome. Dime, ¿cómo estás?"

Her golden eyes became half-lidded and she gazed up at her friend with a view partially blocked out by long eyelashes. It was a look of sadness, as if her heart had broken at Carlos's comment. "Ay! Pobre bebe, Carlos!" She said through her pouted lips. The word 'baby' being used not as a pet name as couples did, but referring to Carlos's younger age. He wasn't much younger than herself, no, but she had at least a year on him, and it was enough to comment on, she decided. "I'm glad I came when I did, then. It would be so terrible for you to be bored all by your lonesome." A moment later, she smiled at him and after a moment of hesitation, gently patted the knee closest to her. "In all seriousness, amigo, I'm glad to see a friend today. I'm good, though. It's been a pleasant day," she said to answer his question. "Y tu?"

Carlos gave a little grin at her pout. Juana was usually so stoic, so serious; it was amusing to see her being dramatic. It worked, too. She had the facial features to make that sort of emphasis believable. "I, mi amiga, am doing wonderfully. I feel like someone's taken a load off my shoulders now that I can stop worrying about Rosemarie." He tilted his head then, remembering that Juana may not have known the redheaded ex-Hunter. He felt the need to explain. "She's Raven's girlfriend, and the two of them just had the most awful fight. I'm sure you heard about it. I was trying to help her out afterwards because she was such a wreck." He didn't feel the need to tack on a defensive we're friends because he got the feeling that Juana could imply that herself and wouldn't judge him for it besides. She wasn't that kind of girl.

The golden-eyes girl nodded. Everyone had heard about what happened between the two, though she hadn't known the two had been in a pretty brutal fight, but Juana had only thought that the girl had been a traumatized victim of the sadist's. Now, though, she was beginning to better understand the situation. She decided that was nice of Carlos, to help her, friend or not, though Juana was more leaning towards the thought that they were friends. Carlos seemed to have befriended nearly every person in the asylum, bad or no. "That was a good thing for you to do, amigo. Is she feeling better because of you? Are did they make up?" She figured if they didn't make up, it wouldn't be good for this Rosemarie. She wouldn't want to make such an enemy of the Indian she had met in the basement.

((Sorry, I had to go eat.))

Carlos nodded. "Lo hicieron, sí. I don't think it was because of me, though." He didn't know when he'd suddenly applied for the position of child psychologist or started playing the part, but he had--and it seemed to be doing at least a bit of good in the asylum. After all look at Juana. She was opening up beautifully. Rosemarie, though, he didn't think he could take all that much credit for. He hadn't done anything except for offer his assistance and give her a little pep talk. "I mean, I went in and visited her in the infirmary a few times and we talked, but that's about it. But she was so nervous I doubt I could have done much good." The young Hispanic gave a little shrug. What could he do? Just be himself. And that was what he'd done.

[That's all right.]

Juana was beginning to put more faith into the younger Hispanic, and she decided to comment on it. "I'm sure you had some part in it, Carlos. You're very good with people. I'm sure you soothed her nerves more than you think." If the girl was anything like Juana was (she really didn't think she was too much alike. She wouldn't have any attraction towards Raven at all) then she probably didn't want to let on about how nervous she really had been or how much he had calmed her nerves when he had gone to talk to her. Carlos had probably helped her out a lot more than he thought and more than the girl would admit.

Carlos smiled, genuinely touched by this remark. It was rare that anyone--much less a patient--complimented him on anything other than his good behavior, so these words were especially heartwarming. And they came from Juana, no less! Had he not had so much control over his thoughts, the former slave might have gone red in the face. As it was, he only allowed his smile to widen. "Aw, well thank you. That means a lot, Juana." A little chuckle. "It's nice to hear someone say something good about me that doesn't have to do with my behavior every once and a while." He really didn't know what the big deal was there, anyhow. Everyone knew he harbored the beast, and he could get downright so terrifying when it took over. Sure, it had been a while since he'd had an attack, but that didn't mean that they had been done away with. Something the staff seemed to have forgotten.

There it was again. That comment about his behavior. What was so bad about it? Every time she had been with him Carlos had been sweet, docile, a real gentleman. Whenever she heard of him from others, she hardly ever heard anything bad about him and if she did, it was very vague, talking about when he had 'episodes' or his behavior was well. But Carlos had never acted terribly, and if he had, she had never witnessed it. Maybe she didn't want to see it, it was that bad, that terrifying. "I don't understand what the problem with your behavior is," she told him, clearly confused as she voiced her thoughts. "Your behavior is always stellar."

Carlos chuckled, and there was both darkness and a touch of uneasiness in the sound. "Not always," he replied with a little shake of his head. "Thanks for the thought, though." The beast, the unnamed. Hadn't Juana spoken of those very parts of him, in the classroom all those months ago? He'd gotten so close to snapping on her the day of the fire. How on earth could she have forgotten? An episode--even a small one--was usually an event that stayed with the recipients for a long, long time. Surely Juana hadn't come to terms with it so soon? Surely...surely it wasn't curiosity that was tempting her to say those things? If she was trying to force the beast to the front of his mind, just to see what it was like...the Hispanic quickly shook his head against the thoughts. He refused to go there; not today. Not now, not here. Later, even, if the beast wanted to be persistent. But not now. Lord, not now. It might have simply been his imagination, maybe a bit of paranoid thinking, but the boy thought he heard a distant humming in the back of his mind.

The night if the fire was in Juana's mind, but it was very distant, too far away for her to actually think about now. Even if she had, she wouldn't have thought of that as his behavioral problems. Looking back on it now, what he had done to her--said to her was much more accurate--couldn't have been too terrible, especially with the grave way people spoke of his episodes. If he had truly had an episode, she wouldn't have just been emotionally hurt by his words, but he probably would have physically harmed her. The thought scared her a little bit, but it was probably very true. As curious as she was about this beast, she was by no means eager to meet it. "Don't you Americans have a saying?" She asked, tipping her head up at him. "It's the thought that counts? Is that not appropriate here?" On some sayings, Juana was sometimes still lost. It was still confusing to sometimes figure out.

"It is, Juana. That's why I said what I said." Carlos's attempt at a smile was mediocre at best; no longer could he muster up the cheerfulness to pull off such an expression. The golden-eyed girl had him worried now, he had to admit. Once someone introduced the thought of an episode to his mind, it became very, very hard to shake it. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't try. "But it's not something we need to dwell on, is it?" The former slave tried his best to keep desperation from seeping into the words. He did a fairly good job of it. "Can we talk about something else, Juana? I really don't feel like shattering our friendship today." A short, uneasy laugh. It was meant to be a joke--of course, the young Hispanic would never feel like shattering their friendship--but the undertone to his words made it seem more like a plea. Hopefully, the older girl wouldn't mind too much. This was significantly better than the alternative, after all.

The older Hispanic was just as good at reading people as she was at masking her own emotions. Her friend's unease was obvious--at least to her--in his posture and in his tone. She heard the plea in his voice and realized she was making him feel bad in some way or another. She knew that talking about his episodes made him uncomfortable or upset in the least. She nodded slowly, eyes wandering around the library for a moment, thinking of something else to talk about. As much as she wanted to thank him for telling her his story, she knew now certainly wasn't the time. Maybe later when he started to feel more like himself. "Let's find out things about each other, amigo." Small things, of course. The golden-eyed girl couldn't reveal too much about herself just yet, and not the big thing. But small things, that was doable. "Que estas su favorito comida?" She asked him once her eyes fell on his tan face again.

This brought on a grin. It was small, but it was there, and that was something. "Anything and everything sweet," Carlos replied. He thought for a moment of Domonic and the cookies the young nurse had brought him, and decided to add: "Especially gingerbread cookies. They're amazing. But you won't catch me turning my nose up at chocolate or fried plantains, either." There was a pause as the young Hispanic took a second to make sure the topic they were straying to was safe. He couldn't see anything in it that would lead to a breakdown anyway, but he still always found it better to be safe than sorry. Paranoid? Perhaps. But that was how he was, especially when he heard the hum. It wasn't all too quiet right now, either, which made him extra cautious. "What about you?"

"Plantains are very good. As a dessert, they are one of my favorites." Did he still look nervous? Juana thought so, but she didn't want to say anything about it, but she wondered if Carlos trusted her all that much right now. He was very nervous at the moment, and they were simply talking. The conversation earlier had taken a bad turn, yes, but they were veering away from it now, there was nothing for her to worry about. She pushed her thoughts of doubt away to answer his question. To answer it honestly? The thought made her blush slightly, and she allowed it for once. "Conejillo de indias," she said with a little chuckle. She expected Carlos to make a face, and recoil away from her in disgust. "In my country, it's a delicacy." Was it a defense? Possibly, with the thoughts of his reaction on her mind. She knew it was a strange meal, but she loved it, and why shouldn't she answer his question honestly?

"Oh, you've got to be kidding. Poor guinea pigs!" The chuckle that this brought on wasn't an entirely nice sound--Carlos was much more fond of dark humor the louder the hum got, and right now, the volume was steadily increasing--but it wasn't the frightening, maniacal sound that spoke of a completely inevitable episode. By the way he grinned, though, it was clear that he wasn't as disgusted as he would usually be upon hearing such news. "I've heard about that. Can't say I understand much, though. Guinea pigs are so...small. Not much meat on them, you know." Though he certainly could say he sympathized; had it been offered, he would have eaten one of the rodents without sparing a thought to it on the plantation. Meat was meat, after all. Even on a good day, he wouldn't get as up-in-arms as many would over Juana's favorite meal. Guinea pigs just weren't very high up on the list of things he wouldn't want anybody ever harming ever.

A small smile came over Juana's full lips, slightly sheepish and slightly amused by Carlos's reaction. At least he hadn't been too disgusted with her about it. "Well, in my country, it's eaten only on special occasions such as Navidad. It's simply in my traditions, so it's not that gross for me." She shrugged as if in an uncaring matter, her smile widening as she tried to explain her traditions. "And they aren't as small as they are in America. We have farms specifically for guinea pigs, and those one are raised to be a little bit bigger to eat. So, more meat." In Ecuador, their economy was mostly due to farming, especially animals like guinea pigs and llamas. There was hardly a person around in Cuenca who wasn't a farmer or at least raised animals.

Carlos couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. "Guinea pigs for Navidad! Oh, eso es oro!" It was the rather sheepish, mundane way that Juana admitted this that set him off--he was, after all, used to things like turkey or ham or pie being served during Christmas dinner, not a bunch of squeaky little rodents. When he finally recovered himself (it took about thirty seconds, with the laughter growing more shrill and maniacal with each passing one) the former slave was simply left grinning almost dangerously, head tilted, eyeing Juana with something like interest. He completely ignored the anxious look the librarian threw his way. "What do they taste like, then? Cualquier cosa como pollo?"

Her smile stayed in place, bright and beaming, but she felt like frowning. She didn't miss the uneasy laugh that was becoming so shrill, it made her ears ring a little at the maniacal sound. His grin, she noticed, was for some reason giving her some slight unease. It had changed slightly, but she couldn't see anything in it that should have made her gut churn uneasily. She tried to focus away from those feelings, and enjoy the bonding time they were having. It helped a lot for the trust. "Eh, un poco," she said, holding up a hand with her index finger and thumb close together with a small distance between them. "Your turn. You ask me a question now." That could give her some time to ease her rising nerves and think of a more interesting question.

Carlos thought about this for a moment. What did he want to know about Juana that wasn't too revealing, but was still interesting enough to have a conversation about? (He was still enough in his right mind to realize the kind of disastrous effects asking the wrong question could have.) "¿Cuál es tu color favorito, Juana?" Colors could be plenty interesting, especially when you got down into exactly why you liked them: what they made you think about, or what particular shade looked the best to you. The former slave figured that it was a safe enough question.

He was catching on to her trend of questions. It made her smile widely, showing the tips of her teeth. Any earlier thoughts of worry she shot away. Carlos was just as much himself as she was, and he was even being considerate enough to ask the right kinds of questions. Her face turned thoughtful, looking up at the ceiling as she leaned back comfortably against the back of the couch. Her body language told Carlos just how comfortable she was starting to become with him. "Verde," she decided in a short amount of time. Since she was little, it had been one of her reoccurring favorite colors, switching between green to purple to blue, and that one streak when she had been five when she would have claimed the best color was pink. Now that she thought about it, green was a very soothing, calming color. If colors could manipulate a person's mood, as she had heard it was said, she would say that green was the most soothing of colors.

And Carlos tilted his head, going on with the next obligatory question: "¿Por qué es eso?"

Juana shrugged. "Estuve mi color favorito cuando estuvo un chica pequeño." It still was, but that was where the liking had started. She switched back to English, now, deciding it was always good to practice speaking. "It's really calming, don't you think so, Carlos?" She asked him, turning he head against the leather cushion, looking at the olive-skinned former slave again. For once, she wasn't thinking--worrying was the better word--about Carlos's face or his emotions, what he was thinking of doing or saying. She wasn't worried about a trigger, or having to worry about having to clam up because he had asked her the wrong question. She was simply sitting, enjoying a light conversation between friends. "Que esta su favorito color?" She asked him, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"Rojo. Definitivamente rojo." Carlos answered in Spanish, as Juana had done, and then went on to explain in English: "It's so...it's so vibrant. You know? It's not a submissive color. It jumps out at you and it yells 'look at me, look at me!' I can really appreciate that." Having been where I was and all, the boy thought but did not say. The hum was beginning to die down now; there was no reason to start it back up again, now was there? "Plus, it represents so many different things. Love and passion and anger and blood and just plain life. It's got the whole spectrum covered. Kind of like I do. Red and I are pretty similar." Was it odd of him, to have thought so much about a color? Was it odd of him to make similarities between the color and himself? Perhaps. But then, the young Hispanic liked to think that he was a very odd boy. Why not let the whole world know?

"I've never thought of a color in such depth." It wasn't an insult, but a compliment in a way Juana best could. She was beginning to notice that her friend thought of a lot of things in a different light, ways that she could never think to look at things until Carlos said something about it. Perhaps it because of where he had been. Juana had heard that several people's perspective about things changed when they had had a traumatic experience or been in a traumatic place. Juana thought that Carlos had experienced both. "It's an interesting way of looking at things. I like it." Maybe she would have to indulge in her answes as much as Carlos was. She knew she couldn't accomplish as much in his way of thinking, but she could indulge in her answers in her own style. She thought her friend would appreciate it. "Next question. ¿Que esta su favorito animal?" The older Hispanic was definitely interested to hear what her friend would say next.

Carlos shrugged a little, and grinned. "I think about a lot of things like that. What goes on up here"--he tapped his right temple--"confuses the minds and expectations of many mere mortals, mi amiga." He gave a low chuckle, not a menacing sound like the last had been, but a rather amused one. It was true: he was quite strange, and it was frequently commented on. Why not take people's opinions and run with them for humor's sake? It made life so much more interesting. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm this failed government experiment where the scientists all said 'Let's make the strangest boy we can think of, throw him out into normal society, break him over and over and over again, bring him back to normal society, and then see how he does with all the regular people.' It would certainly account for a lot of things." He paused, to think over her next question. His favorite animal... "La hiena," he decided. "The hyena. In a female-dominated society, male hyenas are pretty much reduced to murderous but slightly-comical creatures, especially when you compare them to the females, who are out-and-out savage. Still, I think they represent man's basic instinct pretty well: they're brutal and animalistic, with no regards to class. If you strip man bare and show him a forest, he'll act the same way." His voice had gone thoughtful. "I can respect the hyenas for showing us that."

Brunette curls shook around Juana's head as she shook it. Where Carlos found humor, she found slight sadness. Juana hardly ever seemed to find humor in a lot of things, except for some of the things Carlos told her about. He was able to bring her to a hearty laugh, but not now. As he had, she ignored her question to what she felt was an issue at hand. "No, no, mi amigo! You're not strange or odd. I don't think so, anyways, and I'm sure others think the same thing. You're individualized, you're Carlos, not anyone else. It's a wonderful thing, too wonderful for any government to conjure up." A reassuring hand was placed to his arm, the same air around her when she had hugged him in the pool. "Embrace yourself, amigo, remember; soy quien soy." She paused, then translated for emphasis. "I am who I am. It's a great thing to be." Enough of the seriousness for now, though. Now, they were going to act like the teenagers they were and try to learn more about the other. Juana wondered how Carlos could know so much about so many different things. His vast knowledge and his thought process was incredibly impressive to the girl with the golden eyes. "I didn't know that. That's very interesting and now that I think about it, incredibly accurate." She smiled a little at the comment, chuckling slightly. As far as her favorite animal, much like everything else she thought of, was close to home. St. Peter's aside, she had only been in her city of a home and hadn't ever gone much of anywhere else. "I like alpacas," she said, smiling at the comparison of creatures. Carlos definitely won points (for what? Nothing as far as she could tell) for having a more interesting animal of choice. "They are very resourceful animals. They can provide people with a lot, and although they're usually violent with their spitting and such, they're mostly docile towards their owners. That's a great thing, and I love them because of that." Alpaca products were wonderful, too, incredibly soft. It was amazing that something so soft could come from animals like those.

"Alpacas?" Carlos grinned and waved a teasingly dismissive hand. "¡Tienes que estar bromeando! A girl like you decides to go and pick a glorified llama as her favorite animal?" The young Hispanic, though kidding, actually managed to retain some look of shock and possibly disappointment. "Man, I was expecting something awesome and mysterious and strong. Algo así como usted. A lion or a leopard. Or even a jaguar, if you want to head closer to home in a geographical sense." Another smile, this one less amused and more warm and genuine. This time, the former slave wasn't completely joking: he really did admire Juana, for her strength and determination to play games by her own rules. She was a very interesting person, the girl with the golden eyes, and if he could let her know that without being a geek or completely awkward (and he thought he'd done a pretty good job of it now, using humor) then he would. Maybe Juana didn't appreciate humor as much as some, but that certainly wasn't going to stop him from using it to compliment her.

Whatever and however he had been attempting to do it, Carlos had succeeded in giving the older Hispanic girl a compliment she could appreciate. His warm smile was returned with ease, it was no act, and her wordless motion proved so. Possibly as a way to thank him, or to demonstrate how much his compliment meant to her, it didn't matter. What mattered was how her simple of action spoke louder than her words. She slid over just slightly, sitting closer to her Hispanic friend without feeling too much unease. In fact, there was hardly any at all. Maybe it was his charming personality, his compliments, or his determination to befriend her, but whatever it was, Juana could feel Carlos wiggling his way into her heart, where those she genuinely trusted resided in her. She made no comment on the movement, acting as though it was nothing when they both know it was much larger than a simple gesture. "I do like jaguars," she agreed with a nod and a chuckle of amusement. "And thank you. I've never been compare to a jaguar before. They're beautiful animals. We can say they're my second favorite, okay? Does that sound okay to you, amigo?"

Carlos's smile grew ever-wider as Juana scooted closer to him, and his laughter when it came was pleasant and genuine, if a little loud. "Sí. That sounds just fine to me, Juana. Besides, I wouldn't want you to change just for me. Liking alpacas proves that you do, in fact, have emotions." A teasing grin with that comment, though it wasn't meant to be offensive at all. "In fact, I think it's kind of cute. I'll attribute it to being one of your...quirks. Like how I talk about inanimate objects as if they have feelings or intents." He was referring, of course, to his stunt with the peach tree, where he and Cleo had first met. "How does that sound?"

"Muy bien," his friend said, her voice coming out like the pleased silky purr of the jaguar she had just been referred to as. It did sound good, not just his teases but the tim they were spending together. Juana found herself very much enjoying any time they spent together, if not looking forward to it. "Cute?" She commented with a small chuckle of genuine amusement. "What about that would you say is cute?" She didn't think of alpacas as cute, but she knew her friend wasn't referring to the animal anymore. Still, Juana wouldn't consider herself as cute and she didn't think Carlos could, either.