Early 1952; University of Toronto

Edward would like to be enjoying his class on the primacy of communication in the structuring of human cultures and the ramifications thereof on the human mind. He's actually quite interested in The Toronto School of thought, and with little more reason than that, he'd been halfway to another degree since they settled here.

Ancient Greek had provided a good challenging distraction, and the idea about its impact on psychological communication systems and social states, intriguing. It rarely lost his interest, even when his peers and professor's distractions, both on him and not, could be incredibly tedious at times. But it wasn't any of those today, and he wasn't paying enough attention to be able to focus.

He wasn't even paying loose attention to the fixated pleasure of Esme's architecture class on burgeoning urbanism a few buildings away. All of his focus was settled on one point.

Jasper.

Weaving his way through people passing between classes, studying, in groups here and there. Testing his ability to be around large groups. Whether he could manage what the rest of them seemed to do without too much of a struggle. Which had Edward watching Jasper, both himself and through the eyes of those passing him, more than the professor writing notes on the board in front of him.

The slow ramp of struggle with the temptation, that was expected, and, the unexpectedly sizable mounting weight of every new flood of emotions from every new person, hundreds of them, everywhere, more with each passing hour as midday brought in the biggest crowds of the day even in winter.

The Stormcrow & The Saint, Redux

She hasn't been paying attention for minutes now, and he's listening to the way it's ratcheting in her brain. He wasn't trying to. He's left this alone. For the most part. As much as he could. He's done enough damage. To all of them. But he knows this part of Alice.

It's hyperbolic, to say he'd known this even if he were dead.
He is dead, and he recognize it. The spiral.
Getting tighter, faster, drowning out her class.



He manages to resist for about thirteen minutes, but then he just can't.

Because she might be sitting still, facing forward, but if she were human, he'd worry about the chance of hyperventilation. It's not. That. But it's. Important. Something she isn't even talking about, but she never stops thinking of it.

That term, and Edward's refusal to play nice with her futures.
Both of them in an endless whirlwind, buffeting her between one and the other.

From: 360-339-2730 (Edward)
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Breathe, Alice.
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11.23 am Tues, Apr 10

The irony is not lost on him.

It isn't even that not breathing will do anything to her. But she can't freeze up entirely, like home, here, either. And part of that is breathing but in an entirely different way. Even though she won't need telling it's not so much meant that way, even if both apply.