It was stunning the many ways in which Juka's life had changed in recent months. Fabulous wealth was his to command and, with it, he found himself living in an extravagant manor 40 minutes outside the city, as the bird flies. Which, of course, he flew as the bird flies. Or, if not precisely as the bird flies then at least the closest possible facsimile of it. Wealth was something he was used to, although the level of wealth he now possessed was...something from a fairy-tale.

Still, the new extravagance of his existence wasn't the least of the changes in Juka's life. There was also the fact that he was now a 14 year old teenager; a stranger in the city, unknown and unknowable to everyone he had previously considered friends. Or, for that matter, enemies. It was better that way, he told himself. He couldn't get hurt that way and, if he remained a stranger to everyone then maybe his demons wouldn't catch up to him. Or rather, one demon in particular. But, best not to dwell on her. He had spent far too much time dwelling on her and the horrors she had inflicted upon him. Demon indeed.

In truth, Juka wasn't even entirely certain he could still consider himself human. He didn't need to sleep, eat, drink, expel waste, or anything else that made humans...well, human. A few minutes spent bubbled here and there and his need for food and drink disappeared. An hour spent in peaceful meditation while inside his bubble and any need for sleep completely vanished. Another hour spent inside the safety of his bubble and age ceased to affect him. So, if he didn't eat, sleep or age, was he still human? It was an answer that alluded him.

The thing about not sleeping was that it meant he had far more spare time than he ever needed or wanted. The thing about not having human contact was that it only served to amplify feeling's of alienation and inhumanity. As a 14 year old teenager, the logical answer to both of those was to start going to high school. No one would know him or the fact that he was a mutant and at least then he wouldn't feel quite so alone. That, perhaps, was the worst thing of all. The feeling of being alone, so very very alone. He was meant to be a social creature.

There was, of course, something to be said about pretending to be someone you were not. As such, Juka was less colourful than had been his want in the past. He couldn't blend in entirely, of course, as something would be far too foreign. However, instead of his usual flamboyant gowns, he instead opted for simple black and a rich, dark red, velvet cloak. His hair, instead of being its usual bright orange (or blue or green or really any other colour under the rainbow) was a simple black although still done up in somewhat elaborate fashion. It was a compromise he could live with and, combined with his much younger age and relative lack of makeup, he figured he passed for someone who was not Juka. Not, that is, unless someone was specifically expecting him to be Juka.

In times past, Juka would have simply floated from his manor home to the school but that was before he was pretending not to be himself. Instead, he opted for the much more mundane means of transportation: that being a car and driver. It took longer to arrive but what did time matter to someone like him anyway? He was dropped off just out of sight of the school itself and walked the rest of the way, yellow pikachu backpack full of books on his back. No longer was he Juka Miami, ageless and no longer human mutant. No, now he was simply Jared Bains, slightly flamboyant but otherwise normal half Japanese teenager.

School was boring. And stupid, and time consuming, and not fun, and… and school. And Blake did not like it at all. Art class sort of redeemed it, sometimes, when Blake was actually in art class, and having Irri around could make it more tolerable, and Blake used to sort of tolerate it more because it gave him lots of opportunities to draw people who weren’t paying attention to him, but it was still school. And, recently, he’d been much less inclined to draw people; there wasn’t that much variety, and most of them didn’t stay still, and drawing people in school was beginning to seem like kind of a dangerous thing to do, anyway; the last few years people had started actually offering to let him draw them (as if Blake wouldn’t draw them anyway), which was really awkward. Most of them were girls, and didn’t really act like they were casually offering like some of Blake’s art classmates would, which probably meant they wanted something that looked really really perfect and not like them at all, and Blake did not want to deal with a girl who thought he’d drawn her ugly. Girls were annoying enough even when they weren’t offended.

So most of Blake’s motive for tolerating school, especially during class, was gone. Drawing Godzilla and School Mountain had been fun, but wasn’t really something he could get away with during class. Which made it fortunate that class hadn’t started yet; Blake sat in the cafeteria, pastels, sketches, pencils and artist’s models scattered over the table, and eyed the ceiling. He wanted to work on the falling angel drawing, and he wanted to use the model to be able to do it better, but that didn’t work very well when the model wasn’t falling. The ceiling was those common, cheap sound absorbing tiles resting on metal bars, the same as in every classroom; teachers hung things from them all the time by lifting the tiles up and hanging string over the bars, and the cafeteria ceiling was populated by stuck pencils.

It was probably too high for Blake to reach the ceiling to lift tiles, and he hadn’t stuck pencils in a ceiling in a long time; he didn’t want to lose them. But if it had string attached, he could probably pull it back down, and he might be able to reach if he set a chair on the table and stood on that….

First, though, the model. Blake spent a few minutes digging string out of his backpack, then more posing the model and attaching string so that it hung from its legs in a suitable pose, grinning in triumph when it was ready. The string was a bit short, he’d have to draw the angel looking up at it instead of down or over, but that was alright; creativity was always appreciated, even if it wasn’t totally intentional, and Blake didn’t recall seeing any images of winged creatures falling down at the viewer recently.

It had been a very long time since Juka had last been to high school. Even when he was a natural teenager, he stopped going almost the moment he because a proper muscision. What was the allure of school, mediocre student that he was, when compared with the bright lights of the stage? And those bright lights didn't even begin to touch on the majesty that he had just started to learn about in the essence of his mutant power. Never had he ever considered it a curse, but rather his darkly hidden little blessing. Even now, with all the anguish it had brought to him and with his questions regarding his humanity, he still couldn't help but consider it a blessing. It was something truly his, just like his voice and his stage presence.

School, as it turned out or at least from first impressions, was much like how he remembered it. Everyone kind of looked and acted just like everyone else and no one was really confident enough in who they were to properly stand out. How very boring! Even he, muted though he was compared to his usual flamboyant majesty, was more of a sight than most anyone else around him. What a disappointment! Perhaps when he started actually going to classes things would improve. Maybe. Had he always been that cynical?

Going from outside to inside and into the cafeteria revealed only more of the same almost leading Juka to revisit the whole school idea. How much easier would it be if he could simply reveal that he had returned from the abyss, happy and healthy? Except that he couldn't. Not only was he not particularly happy but healthy was something of a matter of opinion. He might not be in any risk of dying, but surely being a 14 year old teen wasn't the healthiest thing when one was supposed to be 21? And he mustn't forget his enemies, constantly, constantly lurking in the fringes of his nightmares. He could never forget them. Or her.

That's when he spotted him. Another boy, somewhere around Juka's own present age, sitting all alone. A cursory glance marked him for an artist and, beyond that, marked him as someone not afraid to stand out from a crowd. Maybe this whole school idea wouldn't be a total bust after all. Assuming a casual and ever so charming smile, Juka made his way confidently through the throngs of students up to the boy. "Darling, I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all alone. Would you care for some company?" I didn't occur to him that his style of speaking might just give him away just as surely as his one of a kind bubbles.

Blake had not been aware that anyone in his school ever used the word ‘darling.’ Well, there was one art teacher who constantly addressed all the students as ‘honey;’ it wouldn’t have been too odd from her… but Blake was pretty sure that the boy in front of him wasn’t her. Of course, he was also pretty sure he’d have noticed if the guy was seen within a mile of him before, and that hadn’t happened, so what the school was (formerly) like wasn’t really relevant. So Blake’s answering half grin was only mildly confused. “Sure. You’re new here?” Really a pointless question, but stating the obvious sometimes made things easier. At least, a few of the people nearby wouldn’t have to ask themselves. And possibly they could start the gossip to inform everyone else, so that other people wouldn’t have to ask either.

Not that already knowing seemed to have ever stopped Blake’s classmates from saying stupid things. Pretending to have hope was always nice, though. “Did you have to move over Christmas? That’d suck.”

Blake eyed the model, hanging it from his hand again before setting it carefully down and eyeing the ceiling again, trying to decide whether the chair would be enough to reach it or not. He wasn’t entirely sure a pencil would be enough to hold the model, no matter how well it stuck. He did have some textbooks; if the chair wasn’t enough, maybe he could stand on them…. “I want to draw the model falling, but it needs to be hanging for that, and I’m not sure how to reach the ceiling.”

Juka had always enjoyed watching people. He wasn't an artist like some, at least not in the form of inked art, but they gave him inspiration both for his (formally somewhat more elaborate) costumes as well as his music. People came in a variety of different shapes, sizes and styles and when one probed a little beyond the surface, all of it came out in a rush. Many didn't give Juka much credit for being intelligent but, in his own way, he had his mental gifts. Sure, he wasn't much for math or science but when it came to people, he fashioned himself something of an expert.

“Did you have to move over Christmas? That’d suck.”

"Yup, over Christmas," Juka answered cheerfully. The lie came to his lips far easier than he would have liked it too. There was a time, not so long ago, when he couldn't bear the thought of lieing; even those little white lies that apparently everyone made. Now it was different, however, because now he had enemies and it wouldn't do for Her to catch up to him.

“I want to draw the model falling, but it needs to be hanging for that, and I’m not sure how to reach the ceiling.”

"I'm afraid I can't help much with that," Juka replied with an apologetic shrug. Actually, if he were willing to admit to the entire school that he was a mutant he probably could help given that his bubble floated everywhere, but that was completely out of the question. As far as the school was aware and would continue to be aware, he was just an eccentric teenager, nothing more and nothing less.

"I'm a singer, not an artist. Well, unless you count the art of applying makeup," he winked and grinned at his fellow teenager. "So, my dear artist, do you have a name?"

Blake had no real answer for moving. He was sure it sucked, but he’d already said that, and the guy wasn’t really acting like it sucked at all, so he shrugged and moved on. “The chair might.” He grinned at the guy as he stood up and set the model on the table. “You’re not too obsessed with rules, are you?”

And ‘dear’ this time. And makeup. Apparently he’d moved from somewhere pretty far away… like Hollywood or somewhere. That would explain a lot. “I’m Blake.” And Blake’s face was currently somewhat hidden behind the chair he was busy setting on the table and adjusting to put it underneath the right corner where tiles meant, then readjusting to another corner which was slightly farther from the edge of the table. But that was fine; it was obvious why he was hidden. And further obvious as he dug textbooks out of his bag and piled them on the chair seat. “My brother does music too. Well, not singing, but. Electronic stuff mostly. Drums and computers. He’s not here today, though.” And, all books collected, Blake eyed the pile, poking it as he talked. “What’s your name?”

“You’re not too obsessed with rules, are you?”

Juka laughed in amusement, quite unable to help himself. Of course the teen couldn't haven known anything about Juka or his almost complete disregard for rules, but he knew himself quite well and, in so knowing, he found the question thoroughly amusing. "Oh, you really don't have to worry about me and sticking to the rules. I have a bit of a history, you could say." He winked in conspiratory fashion.

“What’s your name?”

"I'm Jared," Juka replied, barely managing to suppress a sigh at the necessary lie. He hated lying, hated it with a passion. He hated the fact that it had become necessary in his life to do so just in case She should somehow manage to track him down and re-imprission him. Still, the alternative was dire risk to his own well being and, perhaps by association, anyone he was with as well and he just wasn't willing to risk that.

"Music is music and art is art," Juka offered the advice, sagely. "Different mediums that come from the same place inside the hearts and minds of their creators. We artists, I think, have to stick together, don't you agree? We operate on a different wave length." When had he become so sage? Or, if not actually sage then at least he sounded sage and wise in his own head. Maybe it had something to do with being in this strangely younger body when his mind remained that of a full grown adult.

“Cool.” Blake might have wondered what “a history” meant--if it had anything to do with spray paint, that was awesome--but he was busy climbing onto the table and very carefully picking the model up at the same time, so all that really filtered in was that Jared wouldn’t go running for someone to tattle to.

Always satisfying, when people were decent like that. “That’s true--” Blake paused as he scrambled onto the chair and textbooks, and then raised his voice so he could still be heard “--against other people, anyway. But my brother can talk about music stuff for hours without me understanding any of what he’s saying.” Whether the face that Blake made was directed at his lack of understanding, the tiles he was trying to simultaneously lift and get the string under, or his next thought was unclear. “And, I bet you’ve never heard a sculptor and a painter yelling about whose art is fine art and whose is just regular art.” The string went, finally, over the bar, so the tiles were dropped back in place and Blake paused again to tie the string. “Finally.” That accomplished, he eyed the table, the ground, and jumped.

Landing was a bit of a shock to his legs, but looked fine, so whatever. He grinned at Jared. “So. Yeah. People are dumb. But artists are less dumb, and less annoying about it.”

Juka split his attention between keeping an eye on Blake as he proceeded to climb ever upwards and ensuring no teachers came around to try and stop him. What, exactly, he'd do if Blake fell he hadn't quite figured out but if a teacher came by, well, he was very good at serving as a distraction. And if Blake did fall, he'd figure out what to do about it at that time. Probably something stupid, knowing his history.

"I know what you mean about going on and on," Juka replied with a carefree laugh. So far so good, his new friend seemed to have a solid sense of balance which really was for the best when climbing up potentially unstable structures. "I learned a long time ago that people prefer to simply listen rather than learn about all the details of production and stage show. I perform for them as much as for me, you know." It might have been the case that people had accused him of being something of an attention whore at times. But when had he ever let unpopular opinion stand in his way? The answer was pretty much never.

Blake landed and Juka clapped his hands together, reveling in the teen's success. "Well done, my dear. Ingenuity for the sake of art at its best!"

Blake grinned, and did not do anything that he, at least, considered unjustified posing. Totally worth the shocked shins, then. He grinned up at his accomplishment for a moment before beginning to pull the books off; the model by itself would be much less obvious than the chair would be. “Art’s better like that, easy art always turns out to be stuff someone’s already done.” Which was really annoying, actually, when Blake thought of something really cool, and then fifteen minutes before he finished found out that his masterpiece was actually something someone had done before and his could only ever be a copy, even if he’d thought of it himself.

Blake had a tiny bit of a grudge against those moments.

“It wouldn’t make sense to do anything for them, anyway.” Blake made a face, which probably looked much less mature than he intended. “I’ve seen what music fans are like. They don’t like anything, there’s no point in trying to make them happy anyway.”

“Art’s better like that, easy art always turns out to be stuff someone’s already done.”

Juka nodded his complete agreement of that statement. What artist hadn't gone through the always unpleasant experience of thinking you were an artistic genius only to discover that, in fact, you weren't quite so brilliant after all? It was an effort, always, to stand out and be truly unique and one that Juka was usually up to the task of achieving, but even he had his moments.

"Trust me, in music as in art there are always those moments of near genius only to discover that it was someone else's genius rather than your own." He laughed, remembering one of his early shows. He had gone all out, at the tender age of 17, in complete costume. Genius was, naturally, the word he thought most appropriate. But then, scant days later, something on the internet caught his eye and lead the realization that it had all been done before. It was more than a little disappointing but looking back on it now, the best thing to do was laugh. No use dwelling on past follies, especially not when he actually had real problems in life now and not just the problems of being a tortured musician.

"You sure do understand music fans," Juka agreed with a wink. "Never satisfied. But, alas, such is the life of a muscnision and I wouldn't have it any other way." Not that he was doing much performing as his 14 year old self, but perhaps that would have to change sooner rather than later. Maybe. If he could possibly figure out what to do about Her and the threat she might still pose.

“It ought to be shared genius. Great minds think alike, right? So if someone else did it first that just means we’re both geniuses.” It might be difficult to prove, of course, but if Blake thought of something on his own, and it happened to already been thought of, he’d still thought of it. It wasn’t fair to say it didn’t count just because he was younger, or his work was less well known.

Blake made a face at the idea of dealing with music fans. He’d been making a lot of faces, actually; he’d probably better stop. Too many faces were immature, even if they were appropriate. “I would, I don’t like ungrateful little brats.” That some of those brats could be easily twice Blake’s age was irrelevant. “Guess that’s why I’m not a musician, though.”

“It ought to be shared genius. Great minds think alike, right? So if someone else did it first that just means we’re both geniuses.”

Well, there certainly wasn't much Juka could do to disagree with that little piece of logic and he nodded enthusiastically. "Its not our fault that others think in the same great directions as us, right?" Something struck him as not quite right about that statement, but he shoved the little bit of doubt firmly down into the back of his mind. Surely it wasn't that important anyway.

Juka might have said more but at that moment the bell rang summoning them all back to their classes. He shrugged apologetically. "Well, my dear, it seems the endless tedium of rote equations and ancient history calls. I hope to see you around these halls and perhaps the two of us can make this dull place just a little more exciting, yes?" He winked and gathered up his bag.

Blake grinned at Jared. “Exactly.” It didn’t matter who thought of something first; that was just a matter of age and luck. As long as people thought of things independently, they were equally geniuses, and deserved equal respect. Proving that ideas had originated independently might be difficult, but at least there was no reason why he should respect his own genius less because someone else shared it.

“Ugh.” Blake dropped back into his chair, slumping expressively and sulking up at the model when the bell rang. He’d just gotten it attached. He sighed in obvious resignation, but grinned at Jared as he stood up. “It sure needs some excitement.” He considered the model, then shrugged, leaned over and bit through the string, making only a slight face as he set the model carefully on the table and reached for his own bag. Pastel, pencils, paper and other art supplies were quickly sorted and tucked away; the model, however, stayed out, since he wanted its pose to be saved. It could sit on his desk until he got to lunch, and then he could reattach it. Hopefully Jared had the same lunch; he was about the only decent person in the school (apart from Irri and Blake, anyway).