A carefully worded letter {open}

[✿ngela wingrose]

She silently agreed with Ollie; handwritten letters were much more personal than e-mails. Though Angela was generally a clueless girl, even she could pick up that the letter was addressed to someone significant. She was a woman, after all, and she did possess a little bit of intuition.

"So... who is she? Or he..." She didn't want to exclude the possibility that Mr. Eldridge was gay; he was in the same industry as her, more or less, and it wasn't unheard of, to say the least, "...the one you're making 'not too much effort' to contact?" Angela's slightly sing-song voice was teasing, but she wasn't mocking him. She envied him the fact that he had someone he felt deserved his 'elegant' letter.

His comment about the media made her laugh, "Sometimes. But as a mini-celebrity, any press is good press. This is nothing," She waved back to where the couple who'd photographed her were, "It's the real paparazzi that get scary, or annoying. Earlier last year when I was pregnant, they were just awful. I was trying to hide it, but some asshole... pardon my language... catches me at the supermarket in the baby aisle, and sells the photos to some gossip rag that splashes the news over its cover... and I hadn't even told my family yet." Yes, there were some nightmares involving photographers, that was for sure.

"But for the most part, being seen in public, like this, is good career-wise. Everyone has a bit of star fever, and seeing photos of say, Angelina Jolie drinking Starbucks makes her feel more human, more accessible to the public. Now, I'm nowhere near as famous as her, but small things like this give me good press, so I can't complain when someone recognizes me and takes a snapshot. Oh, here we are," She'd talked the entire way to the cafe, and they were lucky enough to snag an outdoor table for two right before the patio filled up. She settled down and pulled the stroller close so she could make some gentle adjustments to Kelly's blanket while the girl slept, but didn't wake her.

When he brought up the film, she just gave a small smile. "I can't say much about it at this point," Which was true, as there was nothing to say, "But I hardly think you're suited to play an extra. You're much too leading man for something like that," Angela feared she was dominating the conversation, and hoped talking about Ollie might even the playing field. "I'd love to see you perform some time - I used to love the theatre, but lately I've been far too busy to indulge." A loving, sideways glance to the blonde babe next to her gave the perfect excuse for her lack of culture recently.

[Ollie James Eldridge]

Ollie winced. She'd read him like an open book. Wasn't he supposed to be the telepathic one? He supposed it wouldn't hurt to say - it wasn't like it was a secret or anything.

"Just a friend. I left a few people behind in London. When mother died I went off the radar for a while, and she was with someone else when I got back. No biggy. We all had to move on." He smiled wistfully. Since when had he started saying "no biggy?" Weird. "But, that's all ancient history." he laughed. "It's the here and now that counts, right?" The question was rhetorical, but Oliver wasn't so sure of the answer.

Ollie gritted his teeth as she told him of that one member of the paparazzi that had exposed something deeply personal to the media to make a fat pile of cash. He despised people like that. In fact - he usually did something about it whenever he saw it - the few times people had tried to take photos of him without his consent, the pictures had turned out very blurry. Such were the advantages of telekinesis, and, of course hypocrisy. He laughed under his breath at this, before his eyes went a bit wide, and he looked sheepishly at Angela.

"Yeah, I don't like the paparazzi. I cried when Diana died, and I blame them." He sighed. "I guess we can take some comfort in the fact that they'll never be universally adored by the oh so vulnerable masses." he droned, sarcastically. "And they have ugly spouses. I always like to think that too." he added, with a cheeky grin.

"Well, I'm not famous enough for anyone to want to take photos. Actually, I get a little suspicious when people do." he admitted, pulling himself a chair at the table. as he sat down, he immediately found a salt decanter, and started playing with it, making individual grains of salt fly about with his mind, or making a flurry of them. There was no real-purpose for this - he just liked being able to exercise using his gift while talking - it was very much like trying to play a guitar and sing, when the parts for them weren't played together perfectly.

"Ha, thanks." He laughed. He could almost imagine himself as the leading man to a film, but he hated the idea of being famous. No, Ollie liked girls too much to be famous - he wanted to hang out with regular people, that thought he was nice, or funny, not people that tried to associate with him to give themselves a good name.

That having been said, Angela wasn't like that at all. For hanging out with someone that appeared to have the media keeping an eye on her, did that make him some sort of leech? Of course not. Ollie made a note not to let his convictions and prejudices run away with him.

"I love the theatre..." He trailed off, piecing the grains of salt together one by one, making them start to form a shape. "I guess that makes sense, as I AM an actor. I guess watching someone on film doesn't seem as personal as when they're pouring their heart out on stage." The figure was starting to seriously take shape now, and Ollie focused his mind a little more. "But, don't come to the next thing I'm in. It's a very sad story, and our director isn't very considerate towards the little boy who stars. I'm always the one that has to pick up the pieces." He sighed.

"No. I'll find a happier role next time, and you can come see me then..." He leaned forward, his miniature sculpture finished. "That is, if your celebrity life doesn't mean you don't have enough time for a simple actor like myself." He winked, and passed her the salt decanter, with the absolutely perfect sculpture of Angela and her baby in her arms inside it. He wasn't sure if she'd be able to tell - there was only so much detail you could put into something so small, but he thought that it was a fair representation.

"Don't shake it too much. I'll lose my concentration if you do."

[✿ngela wingrose]

For something that he claimed was 'no biggy', she felt his pain through his overly casual words. But she chose not to pry, as it wasn't in her place to do so, and let the subject pass onto the next topic. The vulturous paparazzi were fun to cut down to size verbally, but Angela allowed that topic to be replaced by the theatre. Again, like a handwritten letter, she agreed with him. Live performances were much more impressive than those caught on film. In movies, the actor had the chance to run their lines over and over again in front of a small film crew, whereas on stage you had one shot to get it right, and an entire room of spectators breathing down your neck. You didn't have the advantage of someone choosing the right angles, adding special effects and music - everything was circumstantial and much more difficult to work around if one thing went awry. Acting on stage was like drawing without an eraser. You made a mistake? You had to work it into the whole masterpiece whether you wanted to or not.

"I like happy stories," Angela agreed, not feeling as though she could sit through a sad production any time soon. She needed a pick-me-up, not a bring-me-down source of entertainment. She watched Ollie play with the salt, and looked around to make sure no one else was observing. It was so quietly contained however, that she needn't worry. Still, for a professor that taught his students not to use their gifts in public, he was quite hypocritical. But she couldn't complain, not after he let her examine his work once he was done.

"Oh wow," She breathed, holding the container delicately. She lifted it to eye-level, "Have you ever thought of pursuing sculpting on the side? I think you'd be fabulous." If he could do this with salt, who knew what else he was capable of. He could be an actor/professor/artist! It made Angela painfully aware of how unaccomplished she was professionally. After a moment longer of examining the salt sculpture, she returned the shaker to its original position on their table, and ordered an iced mocha cappuccino and a blueberry muffin from the waitor that approached them. She turned to Ollie for his order.

"They make excellent panini's here," He might suspect further that she could read his mind, but she was just commenting on facts she knew, "I'd recommend them if you have the time," Angela wasn't sure how long he was able to waste time with her. What were his plans after mailing the letter? He probably had places to be, people to see. Again, she felt like she was wasting her life, not doing anything important in her day-to-day life. The magazine protruding from Kelly's stroller only served as another reminder of how little she'd done over the past few years.

Today was making her feel extremely unimportant and little. Ollie was much more deserving of being recognized for his accomplishments than she was. She tried to keep her frown to herself while Ollie placed his order.

[Ollie James Eldridge]

Oliver, an artist? Yeah, right. He was absolutely terrible with his hands. But then again, there were his powers... But, didn't he spend hours preaching at children not to abuse their powers? No, he couldn't do it professionally. It'd lead to too many awkward situations. And it was always nice to be able to have something to impress people with.

"If you give me any more careers, I won't have anything to do in my free time." he joked, before placing his order.

"Can I have a panini but with all of the fillings except the pork ones?" he frowned. Turning at Angela. "I did a vegetarian thing in highschool. I've never been able to eat pork again." He said, scratching at his facial hair. "And a glass of water. And for the lady..." he trailed off, gesturing at Angela. As she took her order, he gazed at the sleeping baby, with a wondrous smile on his face, his eyes alight with something bordering on glee.

"I'm not doing much today, so I have all the time in the world. The advantage of being me is the severe lack of any kind of social life except meeting people on the street..." He looked at her guiltily for a second. "I should really get out more." he admitted.

Angela felt bad for wasting her life - Oliver felt bad for not having a life. He freely admitted that his dry-spell had been going for nearly a year, and he hadn't actually gone out once in New York. This was a vast change from what he used to be like back in London - he was always out, somewhere, with someone or something. But now, he didn't really have any friends, or anything. He wanted a fresh start - all he was doing was stewing in the misery of what he'd left behind. Being with Angela, a successful model, and actress, was really helping him realize this.

"You don't happen to know any good clubs about, do you?" He asked, picking up a napkin, and starting to fold it, carefully.