Mason, for the start, was a little uncertain. She was prodding in places he found uncomfortable -- the sharp gazes, that weird tap on her heart. Maybe she's a hoax. Certainly a possibility. Maybe he should be counting his last seconds? Bye mom, shoulda come visited sooner. When she stretched out her palm, Mason just about flinched, his own mind scaring him with the possibilities she could hold in her very hand, the one she had outstretched.
And then something purple and glowy started to form right in front of him.
"We-w-well sh-i-t," he shuttered, backing up a bit, throwing a hand in front of himself protectively, but she just let whatever the heck that thing was simmer there. He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but then she tossed the fucking thing. Tossed it! That's it, he was dead, they were all fucking dead and then -- she caught it in some sorta protective bubble. The thing still blew, 'course, If his apartment was a mess before, it got even messier, every light object being thrown from it's place, papers flying everywhere, his white locks being tousled, and his blue eyes wide.
As she spoke on about her powers in depth, Mason stood from the stool, still seeming to be listening as he opened a cupboard, and brought out two glasses. His hands seemed to have the slightest tremor, especially the bandaged one.
After she was done, he let the silence hang in the air momentarily as he arranged the glasses, turned on the faucet to pour water into a red kettle that lay atop the stove, and pull a box of teabags from the cabinets. He only spoke once the tremble in his hands seemed to stop, and then he rested them upon the countertop, gripping the edges.
"Impressive." He murmured. "Yeah, uh. You're hired. Want some tea?"