Cira and Alexander Gaile - Gaile House - Olympia, Washington
Well, laying low for a time didn't exactly go so well. Alexander, Cira's father, was somewhat anxious to toy around with his new power. He spend this short free time going around the city, talking to random people and asking them to punch him in the gut while he held a small metal bar in his hand. Holding it made his skin as tough as iron and gave it a little iron-y tint, and if anyone was actually strange or confident enough to take him up on his offer, their fists hurt quite a bit afterwards. It also made him capable of punching through anything less durable than iron, which he used his free hand for. Fortunately, it was only junk he punched; nothing to worry about or pay for.
The son himself decided to stay out of school, going around on the internet and continuing to watch the news for any updates on the going-ons around the world with the Atlanteans. He'd also taken to practicing his own ability in his spare time, finding out he could direct things through the air, or at least things he could already lift. A sharpened pencil quickly became a mini-spear, and he could bring apples or other things to him by thinking about it, and a tree is... a tree. That thing ain't movin', let alone uprooting and flying through the sky like a javelin. Was he telekinetic? No, that wouldn't have been able to triple his running speed from what he could think of; plus, telekinesis may have actually been able to uproot the tree. Then he started to think about where he and his dad should go, since there's no doubt the cops/scientists/U.S. government will be rounding up as many Atlanteans as possible to use/study/abuse their abilities, and the people who showed them off would be the first victims.
The pair stood up and walked over to the woman calling them, where Cira corrected her pronunciation. "It's See-rah Gay-ll, actually."
"Whatever. Come with me." A little annoyedly, she led them into a nearly empty room. It was just a long table and three chairs, all of which were occupied. The one in the center stood up. She didn't look any older than twenty-five, and had a pretty face and short hair to go alongside an otherwise normal, fit body. She noticeably had a black tattoo of what supposedly showed the result of a recent stitching along her neck, and introduced herself as Tasha.
"I'm in charge of collecting the information of the Atlanteans residing here in Washington." Tasha raised one of her hands to her throat and traced the index finger along her mark, the two men at either side of her trying to not pay attention to it. "As you've probably seen it by now, I have stitches around my neck; that's my tattoo. I have the power of Psychometry. If I touch something, I can find out all the information associated with it, like who possessed it and where it came from, among other things." She looked proud of having that kind of capability. Something like that could be pretty useful for a detective or something. "So... Cira, correct?" She looked at the younger of the two in front of her. "Could you show me your tattoo and tell me what your power is?"
He opened his palms to Tasha, showing her the pair of eyes in them, but the latter half of that question was a tough one. He wondered about what it was called himself. "I can move stuff, I guess." They probably got the telekinesis idea, since he didn't really clarify it, "But it's not telekinesis. I mean, I managed to speed myself up to a good three, maybe four times my normal running speed when I first used it; but it's not just moving myself like super speed, I can move other things around, too." He needed an example... "Dad, do you still have that bar on hand?"
"As a matter of fact, I do!" Alex pulled the iron bar from the past week out of his pocket and he quickly absorbed its properties, standing at the ready like an eager private in the military. Cira looked to the table, where the two extra Atlanteans (why were they there anyways? Are they bodyguards or something?) had unused clipboards. He motioned one hand at them by closing his palm and jerking it back, and they stacked on top of each other before both flew at his father's head. (He didn't really need his hands to use his ability, but Cira finds that it becomes much more fluid that way.) Alexander simply stood there, completely unphased as the clipboards broke in half against his forehead and landed against the wall behind him. He set the iron bar back in his pocket and pulled out a wrist-sized ring of tangled rubber bands, noting, "I've also started keeping this around in case metal didn't do the trick. Hope your mother doesn't mind."
"Okay," Tasha muttered as she tried to start up again, writing on her thankfully undamaged clipboard, "so Cira can move things, presumably including himself, without the use of telekinesis, and Alexander can absorb the properties of whatever he can get his hands on." She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "We have a safe haven for Atlanteans of all kinds where they can learn to use their powers better. If you're willing to come with us to England, we can have you both situated immediately. If not, we'll simply release you with your new IDs."
Cira now believed it would be a good idea to take Tasha up on her offer, under the premonition that someone will want to kidnap some Atlanteans soon enough; humanity was unpredictable, but it almost always wants more power. He dug for the slip of paper with Tasha's phone number on it and called her. She answered Cira's inquiry about if they could get a flight out soon with, "There's one en route to Florence tonight," to which Cira was a little too delighted to hear, "and you can take a train to London from there the next day." Cira anxiously accepted; even if he was only going to be in Italy for a few hours, it was still a visit to Italy. "That's good. I'll notify the people in charge there about your arrival; I don't think they're much for surprises." He barely managed to pack his own stuff AND get Alex to pack, too, but otherwise, the taxi ride to the Regional Airport and the flying was pretty smooth. (Though Alex had to literally steel his stomach to keep from getting airsick.)