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While it had it perks, Cassandra was fairly certain that her psychic abilities would be her downfall someday. Certainly on good days, by the end of it she would only have the slightest ring in her ears. The pressure of what felt like her own brain pressing back against her skull was more typical, however, a gentle ache she had long learned to associate with her evenings.
Today, however, the shrill screech of nails on chalkboards filled the whole of her head and the pain scrambled from one cortex to the next without rhyme or reason. She would reach up to rub a temple only for the pain to bloom against the other.
It was only one in the afternoon and Cassandra was ready to crawl into her apartment and revel in the dark nest of her bed.
Volunteering as an afterschool tutor and a forensic psych final still had to be done before the day was over, though.
It was not her normal café, but Cassandra simply could not muster up the energy to care. It was there, it had coffee, and she had money. It was enough.
The hectic buzzing of minds milling around her was worse inside. She gritted out an order for a venti black, paid, and moved to the end of the service bar, waiting.
Some minds were louder than others, and a select few were quiet, occasionally even void of noise. It was the first strike of luck in her day that one such man was there, waiting for his own order. If he noticed that she stood a little closer to him than was necessary, he did not give any indication.
Sunglasses and a snapback seemed like overkill.
But, for a moment of escape from the pulsating buzz of human thoughts, Cassandra did not mind if he turned out to be a tool. The relief was overwhelming. Combined with some caffeine, she thought to herself, she may just make it through the day.
“Grande Chai for Joe!”
And just like that, her respite walked away. Slowly the static came back and Cassandra was ready to tear her hair out from frustration as the blinding pain recoiled back.
She heard her name through the din, grabbed her drink, and nearly scalded her mouth as she desperately took a few gulps. Then she looked around, seeking out the hat she had seen before. That man was her ticket out of her horrific headache and she was not about to let him escape.
How Cassandra was going to make him stay in one place with her was unclear until she finally spotted him and took in an eyeful of the back of his leather jacket.
The target was acquired and the plan of action quickly pieced together.
The man had sat himself at a table off in the corner of the café, his back to the wall. It was hard to guess where exactly he was looking with the dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes. However, he must have eventually started to track Cassandra as she approached, since his head ever so slowly tilted up as she came to stand at his table, staring her down.
“So, I overheard that your name’s Joe.”
“Dredd,” he corrected tersely. His voice was deeper than she would have guessed, and his facial expression more permanent, as it hardly changed besides the movements necessary for speech.
“My ears can’t be that bad.”
“Joseph Dredd.” Still monotone, still no change in expression. And yet still, she was sure she could work with it. It was heavenly silent in her mind again and she was not about to lose that.
“Got it. Cassandra Anderson,” she said as she pulled out the chair across from him. The smallest of signs slipped from the man’s lips, but she pretended she had not heard it. “So, Joe, do you work around here or--?”
A single brow rose over the rim of his sunglasses and his grimace deepened.
“Are the pleasantries necessary?”
Cassandra was fairly certain that she was supposed to be cowed by his gruff irritation. Run off like what was no doubt a great number of people who tried to engage him in conversation did. Who would not want to run from a grouch who made it clear he was not interested in any social niceties and really just wanted to be left alone?
“Well, I could just jump right into discussing politics and ask about your obviously negative opinion on anarchy.” That finally changed the man’s stony face. His forehead rose the slightest bit, his eyes opened a little wider behind the shades.
“So, the shirt’s not just for show,” he stated. Cassandra had to glance down to remember she was wearing her Psi shirt, and then laughed.
“My brain was about ready to dribble out my ears to escape from the psychic static before I found you in here. The last thing I want to do right now is read anyone’s mind.” When Dredd stared at her blankly, Cassandra could not help but roll her eyes as she continued, “you’re wearing a second-hand leather jacket that was obviously previously owned by an anarchist. Which you then obviously went out of your way to buy and paint a big red X over the symbol.”
Dredd lifted his drink and took a long, slow sip, all the while considering her. Her smile had twisted into something smug, knowing she was making headway and he knew it. So she mirrored his movement, drinking from her own coffee, waiting for his conclusion.
He shrugged and put the drink down.
“He left it behind at a bar when he was apprehended for sexual harassment. He wasn’t in for long, paid some fees and slipped out relatively unscathed, and when he found it on me with the new additions, I got a chance to deliver a proper punishment for his crimes.”
“So, you didn’t buy it. You nabbed it from a creep and then when he found you out, you beat him up.”
“He needed to face real judgment.”
Cassandra nearly snorted, managing to hold back her amusement as she nodded, saying, “Well, I can’t actually disagree. Slimy creeps get outta those kinds of charges way too easily.”
“It’s despicable.”
Interlocking her fingers and resting her chin on them, Cassandra outright grinned at Dredd. “You know, I’m sure there are some anarchists out there that would say that’s why the system should be abandoned altogether. Pigs and all that.”
A quiet grunt that almost seemed like a laugh escaped Dredd.
“Alright, Anderson, if it’s politics you want, it’s politics you’ll get. But in exchange, you tell me what I have to do with your brains staying in place.”
“It’s a deal, Joe.”
“Dredd.”
“Whatever you say, Joe.”