Clyde was wandering around the Mansion, and he was in teenage form. Back where he lived only a short time ago, he rarely got the opportunity to do that. However, this was a mutant school, so there was no reason he couldn't try to push his mutation a bit and explore the Mansion's many hallways and rooms. After all, he was new to the place.

The little venture brought the age shifter into what appeared to be some sort of recreational room. He glanced around the room, seeing that there was some other teenager in there. Ordinarily, Clyde wouldn't have really noticed him.

But he did. As soon as he saw the person, his expression turned angry. “You?!” he blurted out as he swiftly marched up to the other teen.

It was that weird-haired artist jerk from the high school! This was the same guy that kept on calling him a brat and talking down to him. He hated that guy! Since he was there, that probably meant... he was a mutant, too?

Persi really needed to just give up on drawing in the living room. Or any public place at all, it seemed. He hadn't even managed to sit down this time before someone yelled at him. At least this time they were probably going to be honest about interrupting him, and not get mad at him for being annoyed at the interruption. Persi sighed, turned around, and saw... a complete stranger. Who was apparently furious with him.

"...Me? Do I know you?" Persi carefully backed up the rest of the way to the chair he'd been aiming for, and sat. And kept an eye on the other guy. He did not open the sketchbook he was carrying. He had no clue what was going on, but sketching was probably not going to be it.

Clyde raised an eyebrow, briefly puzzled at the guy's reaction. He was well aware that he looked a little different when he'd last encountered him, but was he really that unrecognizable as a teenager? Perhaps that was the case, but it wasn't as if it mattered. Jerks never remembered who they were jerks to, anyways. Well, Clyde wasn't going to remind him just yet. Or possibly not at all, if he could help it.

Arms crossed, the age shifter looked the other teen in the eyes. “Unless theah's some cahbon copy of you waltzing around somewheah, yes, we have met,” he blandly stated, with less hostility than earlier. Heh. Maybe trying to toy with this guy's head could be fun.

...Persi did not need that reminder. Turns out, it hurts more when someone else accidentally reminds you of something than if you accidentally remind yourself. Odd, but pretty clearly true after the last few days. He scowled. "I have a twin, so actually, yeah, there is another me somewhere." Probably. Irri was probably fine. He wasn't stupid enough to do something stupid if he thought Persi was already gone and couldn't be saved. Persi was almost sure.

Also, the speech sounded familiar. Not enough to actually place it, of course, but familiar. Then again, Persi would remember weird speech like that pretty well; he might not necessarily be remembering this guy. And weren't kids supposed to have generally learned how to avoid speech problems like this by the time they were teens anyway? He was pretty sure he'd have reminded that combination. So... probably this guy had met Irri.

...Actually... if he'd met Irri recently... that could prove Irri was fine. Which might be enough for Persi to not hate the guy for reminding him to worry. "So when did you meet him?"

“A twin...?” Clyde's voice trailed off. Huh, he was only being sarcastic about the carbon copy. If that were the case, and he'd met the twin, that would mean he'd shouted at the wrong guy. Crap.

Just as he was beginning to feel like a complete idiot, his eyes wandered to what the guy in front of him was holding: A sketchbook. The guy he'd met at the high school was drawing that pile of junk in one. Had he met the brother, that would mean they were exactly alike all the way down to their interests and that bizarre hair dye job. It wasn't impossible, but the sketchbook assured him he'd confronted the correct person.

“I met 'him' several months ago,” Clyde said. “I remembah that 'he' seemed to think that someone who approached 'him' was set out to annoy 'him.'”

"Oh." Well, there went that hope. That was... annoying. At least, Persi supposed, it wasn't actually a bad sign. Just not a sign at all.

And as for annoying Irri.... "Yeah, most people who talk to either of us aren't very interested in being friendly." It was high school, after all, and they would have stood out enough even if there hadn't been two of them. With two of them, people started getting freaked out, and that gave them no chance to get along with most people. Which, fortunately, wasn't generally a problem, apart from the periodic bullies. "Where'd you see him?"

“I see,” Clyde flatly acknowledged. It wasn't as if people were too friendly to him, either. But he figured that was because of his stupid mutation. If this guy (or perhaps his twin, though he was still convinced that the teen in front of him was the same person) had been rude to him for the sake of being rude, then it was no wonder people weren't interested in being friendly.

Assuming this was the guy, Clyde didn't want to go into too much detail regarding the encounter, or else he'd risk revealing his mutation's embarrassing issue to someone who'd most likely be less than sympathetic. “I saw 'him' at the high school. During lunch,” he replied. Hopefully, that answer was satisfactory.

New guy who'd met Irri sounded annoyed. Oh well; he looked too normal to really be friendly anyway. Which was ironic enough to amuse Persi; even among mutants there were the popular kids and the weird ones.

That... technically answered Persi's question, but was utterly unhelpful. "Yeah, my brother eats lunch." What a shocking fact.

Although, that did bring up another interesting fact. "You go to the high school? Not," Persi waved his hand at the room around them, "here?" He'd been under the impression that that didn't really happen. Even if it did, he didn't see any particular point to it.

...Then again, he'd just imagined Kaitlyn in a chemistry lab. Maybe he did see a reason.

Clyde's eyes rolled in their sockets. Of course he knew people usually ate lunch. Sheesh. Though the guy's behavior towards him hadn't been nearly as bad as when he was in his usual kid form, it still irked him.

Though Clyde knew that they must have gone to the same high school, he wasn't quite prepared for the other teen to ask about it. “Yeah. Well, I used to...” he said with reluctance. “But I'm here now.” Damn, just when he was trying to keep his mind off his argument with his father. That was one story he was going to avoid delving into if he could. He didn't want to talk about it, especially with him.

"You really don't like being very informative, do you?" Granted, it wasn't information that Persi cared about, beyond that Irri hadn't been seen in the last few weeks, at least by this guy. Beyond that, it was all automatic curiosity at best. So he was perfectly content to go back to his sketch and tune out the unknown guy.

The sketch was... turning out to be difficult. He'd been attempting to draw a shelf across the room, and it didn't seem to look right, but he couldn't actually figure out what was wrong with it. When he looked at details, or pieces, or measurements, everything should have been right... it was just when he looked at the whole thing that something seemed off. This was why he didn't like drawing objects much. Of course, the guy was now in front of the shelf... but Persi didn't really have any more interest in him, and he needed to practice. So he pointed the pencil in his hand past the guy. "I was drawing the shelf behind you. Do you mind...?" The pencil flicked to the side.

"And you seem to really hate it when people get in the way of yo artwork," Clyde mentally replied. That must have applied literally as well. As asked, Clyde took a couple of steps to the side and looked behind him. That teen was wanting to draw a shelf? Really? It wasn't that Clyde was completely incapable of thinking a painting looked nice, but he sometimes didn't get artists. Why the heck would someone want to draw that shelf? As far as he could see, there was nothing special about it. Hmph, there was probably some long-winded explanation of how deep or genius a drawing of that dang shelf was. Those were always baloney.

“Huh,” he mumbled to himself, unimpressed. He looked back at the drawing guy. “I remembah 'yo brothah' was drawing pictuahs of weird things, too.” That pile of school supplies and whatnot might have been memorable, but it was for being strange, not brilliant.

"Drawing weird things is good practice. If you draw things you know too much you start drawing what you know is there instead of what you see, drawing weird things means you have to draw what you see because you don't know what it's supposed to look like." The answer might have been poorly phrased, but it probably would have made more sense if Persi had been putting much thought into it. It was automatic, though; as soon as he did actually think about the comment, he blinked and looked up from the sketch. "Irr--my brother doesn't draw much, though, unless I make him or he's trying to draw an album cover. So that's weird...."

Unless he had been trying not to draw around Persi, since Persi was undeniably the better artist of the family (and willing to say so, since it was the only thing he was better at). That was a large part of why Persi had stayed out of music, too.

Yada, yada, yada. It was all senseless art talk to Clyde. And wow. That teen still hadn't even figured out that they'd met. It was probably a good thing, too.

“Uh-huh. I'll leave you to yo... thing,” the age shifter said in a bored tone. The guy seemed uninterested in talking, and it wasn't as if Clyde particularly wanted to start an argument or to annoy him.

Ready to continue checking out the rest of the Mansion, Clyde walked towards the door at the other end of the room. But about halfway, he felt something hook around his ankle. Unable to catch himself, he fell to the floor with a thud. He must have fallen pretty hard, or so he thought, because it hurt a ton.

Freaking power cord... Whoever put that large lamp on the table wasn't careful to make sure people wouldn't trip over the cord. Grumbling, he sat up and reached forward to untangle his foot.

Clyde's eyes grew wide as soon as he did. His clothes all of a sudden looked a lot baggier. And his hands... they were small again. “Oh $#!^,” he thought, alarmed.

"Okay." Persi had no problems with being left alone. This was one of the least annoying interruptions that he'd had to deal with so far, actually. The fact that he was tolerating interruptions at all was weird, but oh well; at least this one was short.

The crash, however, attracted Persi's attention again, and he looked over automatically. "Are you..." alright? The guy had tripped apparently, and.... "Did you--" just shrink?

..."Hey! You! You're that brat!"

Well that explained why Irri had been drawing. He hadn't. Persi stayed where he was, staring at the guy (brat) and trying to sort out the mix of annoyance, confusion, and a tiny bit of guilt. So that was why a kid was in a high school. Didn't make him any less a brat, but it made more sense.

“Don't call me that!” Clyde shouted. He couldn't express enough how much he hated that term. This was downright humiliating. It didn't help that his voice was that of a little kid's, either. Of all places his mutation could have decided to give out, it had to be in front of this guy?

He fumbled around a bit as he hurriedly returned to his teenage form, careful not to tear the clothes as he shifted. He then stormed right up to where the teen was sitting, angrier than before.

“Have I not made it cleah that I'm not one?” he growled, looking down at the seated teen.