Moments off seemed to be on the rise recently. Cafas just hoped the trend would continue. He'd taken maybe five steps into the living room before he realised why he did not usually spend time in the room. He sensed moodiness, pencil on paper, and above all, hair dye. He sensed these things with his eyes.

Teenagerus Emotious

Began his brain.

Easily recognisable by his use of hair dye, insistence on looking as if someone drowned his puppy, "art" and air of loneliness.

How did his brain know so much about this species?

The missing link between Cafasius Australis and Cafasius Newyorkius.

Long hard study.

He was committed to being in the room now, so he plonked himself down on the couch. "Hey kid, what you drawing?"

Brilliant, how would you have responded to that?

He did not look forward to what would come next.

Had Persi mentioned he hated interruptions? Because he did. Apparently that was a rare trait, though, because everyone here seemed to insist on interrupting him. Or, possibly, they just didn't care. That also seemed like a distinct possibility. Why exactly was Persi putting up with a bunch of idiots with no concept of manners again?

...Not going there.

He scowled at the latest interruption, and answered in the hope that the guy would go away. Persi already had art supplies, so there was no possible benefit to the interruption. "Fairy Imps. They sit on the bookshelves and infest people with their auras, so that people start thinking it's okay to interrupt anyone they feel like." The last bit might not, perhaps, have previously been planned, but it was as good an explanation as any. It did suit their appearance; like cliche little girls' fairies, but with wide, leering, sometimes fanged grins and slitted eyes.

So that was the game they were going to play was it? Well far be it from him to back down. No, this kid wanted to tango, tango they would. Cafas casually turned on the television, switched to the news and promptly tuned it out. "Ah, I thought it would be a drawing of the inside of your colon." He never even turned his eyes off the T.V.

Smartasses anonymous needs to stop using us as a halfway house.

Oh look, more crime, surprise surprise, crime in New York. Still, it sure beat the gossip section of the "news" broadcasts. He was getting rather sick of his own face. "Anyway I find it helps to discuss your work with people, lets you express your ideas verbally, which can be just the thing you need for that spark of brilliance."

More inane news stories. The same crap, day after day. Heck, the stories were almost the same as when he'd been a kid, on the other side of the planet. Cafas reached to the coffee table and picked up a fork. He focused for a second, until it was as pliable as putty, and started shaping it, playing with it like one fiddles with blu-tac.

"So, you clearly have time off, why not hang out with your friends, it's nearly summer, I would have thought everyone would be out by the pool."

That comment earned the interrupter a disgusted glare, instead of the basic scowl he'd been getting. "I have to know what something looks like to draw it. If you want that drawing, though, maybe you could tell me? I'm sure they look the same."

And news. Persi did not appreciate interruptions from the TV any more than he appreciated them from people. Granted, he could insult the TV much more freely than people, but that wasn't nearly enough to make up for the fact that it was still interrupting. He glared at it, too, then tried to go back to drawing.

It wasn't working. Well, fine; if the guy was going to keep interrupting him, he deserved whatever insults Persi came up with. It wasn't like he didn't know what he was doing; he wasn't a little kid. "That's helpful, but only with talking to people who can tell good ideas from bad ones. Otherwise you either waste time chasing bad ideas to dead ends, or explaining to the idiot why catgirl Mona Lisa is a bad idea."

That... was interesting. Persi had almost managed to forget where he was. Well, that illusion was quickly gone. The ability was interesting; he could think of plenty of things it would be useful for... metal was shapable, so probably nothing that couldn't be done some other way, but certainly it would be much easier with an ability like that. The guy was an asshole, though.

As his next comment proved. The disgusted glare repeated itself. "Because I don't have any. Anyway I don't like sunburns." Technically, there were probably some old church or school sort-of friends that hadn't heard he was a mutant yet... but they would, and it wasn't like he could go back anyway. And here... well, his roommate hated him, and everyone else was annoying. With maybe the exception of the lizard girl, but she'd managed to convince him to stay in this place; Persi wasn't sure he dared test what she'd convince him to do if he spoke to her again.

Whoosh. Cafas liked to imagine he could hear that one go straight over the kid's head. Granted it might have been a retort, but it wasn't much of one. Cafas smiled to himself. He'd reduced the kid to I know you are I said you are retorts already. Maybe he wasn't as rusty as he had thought.

Cafas didn't miss a beat after the super obvious attempt to call him stupid. "If you were looking for an example of the bastardisation and destruction of art and culture by the internet generation, then Cat-girl Mona Lisa is probably an obvious and effective piece to demonstrate your point. If you're going for forcing your own self-pity on others and the self obsession of youth, I'd say fairy imps on bookshelves, infesting people with their aura is a sound choice."

Oh good, a trailer for Dusk. Just what he needed. In a way the kid had a lot on common with Jamet. Both were too sullen for their own good, and both wallowed in their self pity too much, practically forcing it on everyone around them.

"You might have some if you weren't sitting in a room, alone, drawing, and now throwing around insults with a random X-man. As for sunburns, put some SPF 30+ on and remember to re-apply it. Sitting in a room sulking is a sure path to self destruction though."

"If I wanted to do anything about the internet, I'd be on the internet. Criticizing the internet to all the people who hate it and therefore aren't on it is just smug echo bullying, it's not worth anything. I'll make the points that actually are relevant to my life." Which probably showed a bit more of Persi's philosophy and attitude than he intended, but he wasn't aware of it. Of course, he wasn't particularly conscious of a significant part of the philosophy he was demonstrating, either, so that wasn't a surprise.

Attempts to refocus on drawing paused in order for Persi to stare at the TV, then give the (suddenly recognizable) interrupter a disbelieving look. Really? You're criticizing me and you're encouraging--part of--that abomination? Not that Persi had read Dusk, technically, but he didn't need to to know it was basically the worst thing ever.

With that in mind, the interrupter's comments earned nothing more than an eye roll. "I've tried sunscreen, and it doesn't work; I'm too pale. I get burned anyway. And I don't want or need friends; I like art. Just because you can't stand being by yourself doesn't mean I can't. And, if you were that concerned about however you think drawing is going to destroy me," the doubt that Persi felt for that possibility was as audible as it could possibly be in his tone, "you wouldn't be insulting me. Now, since you came in here to interrupt and insult me, you leave."

There. That just about covered it, Persi thought. If the idiot interrupter would listen, now, that would be enough.

Cafas was fed up with the kid now. His stress dam was at 120% capacity. He needed to release some, preferably under controlled circumstances. "Right, that's it, I've had it with you kid." Cafas stood suddenly and walked over to the kid. "Get up." Cafas waited a second, then reached down and grabbed the kid by the upper arm, yanking him to his feet."Did that, at any stage, sound to you like a SUGGESTION!"

Christ was I really this much of a little shit?

Cafas decided this kid needed to be taught some respect and discipline, maybe pull his head out of his own ass while he was at it. Martial arts might be perfect for him. "You and me are going to have a training session, so that maybe that mouth of yours won't be the death of you. Come on."

Still gripping the kids arm Cafas pulled him out of the room and outside. He'd have used the danger room, but somehow this seemed like it would be more punishing for the kid. "See, mouthing off to X-men tends to be a bad idea. Here's some free advice before we start, pick your fights, so you don't end up facing someone like me that wants you dead."

Cafas dragged the kid to a fairly secluded spot. At least, there didn't look like there were many people around. Those that were payed no attention anyway. He let go of the kid's arm, pretty much throwing him another few steps. "Shut up and stand there. Right, now, you're going to speak when I ask you a question. Now, have you ever practiced a martial art?"

Cafas was glad he was wearing cargo shorts and shirt, because he was likely going to need the flexibility.

"Uh, no," was Persi's first response. That was shortly followed by an indignant "hey! when he was pulled out of the chair. That his sketchbook was dumped and left on the floor did not improve his opinion of this guy in the least. Unfortunately, attempting to pull his arm free accomplished a grand total of nothing. So did attempting to kick the guy. "Let go!"

"Training what?" Persi could drive already, thank you. He even still had his license; it had been in his pocket at the protest, and it still was now. What else there was to train, Persi wasn't sure. "I can already drive. Let go!" Not that he expected the order to make any difference, really, but you were supposed to say that sort of thing.

Persi growled as well as he could as soon as they got outside and he had to squint. And begin sweating just about immediately; he'd been dressed for staying inside, in the air conditioning, not any kind of in between and certainly not for going out. That didn't stop him from muttering "too late for that." Really, compared to Isabel, not much was scary. And this guy certainly wasn't any more than obnoxious.

Catching his balance occupied Persi for a few moments, after which the guy was rewarded with a look that questioned his sanity while Persi carefully considered his response. "Do I look like a jock to you? Go get glasses." And then, the considered part; he turned around, headed back toward the building, and (carefully considered) flipped the guy off over his shoulder.

There. Point made.

Cafas didn't know how much trouble he'd be in for simply beating the kid into submission. It was tempting to do it too. What the kid needed was a real good reality check. Self involved little twerp that he was. "Oh yeah, walk away from the guy that dragged you out here, I'm sure that will go better than your struggles to get free."

Cafas strode up to the boy and locked his fingers around the arm he so kindly offered, whether the gesture was intended for that or not. "You're going to do this. Do you know why? Because under all that hair dye and attitude, I think there's a guy who's been second best his whole life."

That was my problem.

Cafas pulled him back to the position he had been in before. He didn't let go though. "I'm going to make you this offer. You do this with me, this one lesson, an hour of your life, and I'll teach you how to throw a punch, few other basics. Then at the end of that hour, you get to punch me in the jaw, as hard as you can." He had a feeling he would regret that. Still, it might help.

"Plus I'll get you off Gym. This is offer is strictly exclusive to you."

Now he let go.

"Like that's going to stop me." That the guy had dragged him out certainly wouldn't happen; that he suddenly had a hand on his arm was a bit more of a problem. Persi really didn't expect trying to pull his arm free to work by that point, but he tried anyway.

...Okay, that comment hurt. Not a whole lot considering how old it was, but it did. Persi stopped trying to get his arm loose in order to glare over his shoulder. "And what if I'd rather prove that being able to beat up whoever you want doesn't actually make you a better person?" Actually, Persi was pretty sure it made you a worse person; at least, they tended to correlate. Bullies liked to beat people up, and were generally able to; that was most of his experience with people who were notable better at hitting other people.

Not that the guy seemed to care at all. Getting to punch him was pretty tempting, though Persi still doubted he'd actually be able to punch well in an hour. It wasn't like he hadn't tried learning before, after all. Getting off of gym was also tempting, assuming the guy actually meant gym and not today's gym class, which would not surprise Persi at all. Having to deal with him first was not tempting... and the idea of lowering himself to that level wasn't very appealing either.

Well, there was probably an easy solution. "And why should I believe you?"

Cafas shook his head at the kid. Emo little prick with no concept of the world. "I'm not going to teach you how to beat people up, I'm going to teach you how defend yourself when people try to beat you up." Cafas looked the kid over again. He didn't seem like he had the physical prowess of some boys his age. You never knew though.

Now the brat had the nerve to imply he may be lying. Cafas was half tempted to make the lesson 'What getting your head kicked in feels like'. Instead he took a steadying breath and shrugged. "Because I have nothing to gain by lying. Frankly, I want to do this because I used to be like you, and my mouth got me all the way to the emergency room. I'd rather that didn't happen to someone else, and that's the path you're walking." Heck, even Cafas wanted to hit him, and that definitely wouldn't be good for the kids health.

"So, an hour of learning how to defend yourself, then you get to punch me in the jaw, and I'll get you out of doing Gym." Cafas extended a hand to shake, as one did when making a deal. "I mean really, what have you got to lose?" Plus if he didn't, Cafas could always lock him in the danger room until it had taught him the value of combat skills.

"Yeah? And what's the actual difference? Does defending myself consist of running away and beating someone up includes punching them?" And that question was rhetorical, guy, so don't bother answering.

...That was not convincing. I dragged out out here to hit you because I just care about you so much, stranger, I want to help you! That didn't seem very much like human... er, mutant... whatever. It didn't seem like logic to Persi. Not the sort of logic he'd believe, anyway.

Of course, whatever the guy's actual reasons were, they were apparently enough to make him stubborn. So Persi gave in, though he was still glaring.

"My time, but apparently I'm losing that anyway, so fine. And if you ruined my sketchbook when you dumped it on the floor, I will find a way to hurt you."

The sheer stupidity of the clearly rhetorical question blew Cafas' mind. How someone could not understand the idea of self defense. It's right there in the name! He felt like this was going to be a very long hour. Still, it might do the kid some good. Even if Cafas' reasons weren't quite what he'd given, and more along the lines of teaching the kid what happened to snarky little pricks.

Never know, maybe he'll learn to get his angst out this way. Drawing sure doesn't seem to be working.

"Alright, right foot back, bout shoulders width. Face forward, guard up." Cafas pulled the kids arms into the right position. "Right, now, you're going to feel like making a fist. That's a great way to break a finger. You're far better off using an open palm." Cafas showed him what he meant, fingers curled down but palm open.

He gave the kid an experimental shove. Not hard, just enough to test his balance. It wasn't bad, but never hurt to remind them. "Stay on balance." He did a circle around.

"Okay, first thing first, the trick to fighting is strike first and strike hard. If a fight looks inevitable, swing before he does. Hit him before he hits you. Good opener is two left jabs and a hooking shot from the right." Again, he showed him what he meant. "The lefts soften him up a bit, daze him so he doesn't see the right coming. Make them fast, aim for the nose. The right is the powerhouse. If you can get a good shot to the side of his head you could end it there."

Not that I suspect he'll be capable of throwing a good shot.

He moved in front of the kid and held his palms up at roughly the kid's face height, maybe a bit higher. "Okay, like I showed you, my palm is the target, your left hand punching my left palm." He'd move his hand as necessary to catch the blows.

"The hell is guard up?" The question didn't seem to be needed, since his arms got pulled into what Persi assumed what 'guard up' as soon as he stopped trying to figure out where his feet were supposed to be. At least the guy knew when he was saying nonsense.

...And then immediately pushed him so Persi had to take a step back, then try to remember what he'd been told about his feet and get them back as close as he could figure out. "How am I supposed to balance when you're pushing me?"

"That sounds a lot more like beating someone else up than not being beat up." And was sounding more like it the more the guy talked. Apparently his little you-should-totally-trust-me spiel was about his reasons, and not what he was actually trying to teach Persi. Persi had technically agreed though, so he couldn't really get out of it now.

...And just how was Persi supposed to punch anything if not with a fist? They guy apparently thought this was obvious; Persi disagreed. So he spent several seconds staring at the guy wondering if he'd realize how stupid that (lack of) instruction was before realizing that, no, he wouldn't, and humoring him. The attempted... whatever that was, since it certainly wasn't a punch, was awkward from the way he was standing, the lack of any idea what he was supposed to be doing, and due to it being his left hand. That Persi didn't really care enough to try to make it anything other than awkward probably didn't help.

"How am I supposed to balance when you're pushing me?"

"That's kind of the point of being on balance, so that pushing you doesn't lead to you flat on your a**, or stumbling about the place. On that note, bend your knees a bit more, lower your centre of gravity." Surely even this kid knew what THAT was.

There goes his runaway mouth again.

The difference between defending yourself and beating someone up is largely philosophical. Here's how I look at it. You beat someone up because you want to hurt them, you defend yourself because you don't want them to hurt you."Or others, but he didn't think this kid would understand that concept.

The punch, if you could call it that, was pretty terrible. Cafas sighed. The kid wasn't trying, which was to be expected, but he kind of figured he'd be a tiny bit less terrible. Cafas took a moment to think about everything that had been wrong with the shot. He came up with a lot.

"Okay, first, use the heel of your hand." He poked the heel of the kid's hand, so there would be no mistaking what he meant. "Secondly, don't try to build the power from your shoulder and arm alone. The power should come, largely, from your legs and core. It seems counter intuitive, I know, but I find it helps to picture the flow of energy when you're trying to learn. Here, watch me."

Cafas took a step away. Then, slowly, he showed the motion of the shots. "Drive up from the legs, through your hips and core, then your shoulder, then your arm." He did it again, a little bit more exaggerated, to make sure it was obvious what he was doing.

"Just copy what I did. Do it slowly. Punch the air. If it helps, picture someone you really want to hit."