Clyde realized something when he picked up the newspaper left on the coffee table. The date on the paper was March 23, 2014. The day he showed up on the Mansion's doorstep was the eighth of May of the year before. That meant approximately ten and a half months, close to a year, had passed since he ran away from his family.

A pang of emotion hit Clyde. Part of him wanted to call to let his mom and Bryce know that he was all right. They deserved to know. But, the other half was a different story. He still did not know if he was ready to face his father. It was something he did not want to think about.

Trying to push those thoughts aside, Clyde sat down and flipped through the pages. News, news, random news. It was all the same. None of the articles really caught Clyde's attention. That is, until he saw one of the headings.

The Threat Mutants Pose by Amos Lambert. Speak of the devil.

Reading the article sickened Clyde, but he could not take his eyes off it. He gripped the edges of the pages so tight that they tore. He could feel his blood reach its boiling point.

His dad had not changed one bit.

Angry, Clyde ripped out the page. His hands mashed the article into as tiny of a ball as they could. He was prepared to cast it exactly where it belonged: the fireplace.

He'd been on the way to the danger room when he'd stopped by the living room in the mansion. No, that isn't a huge detour. Okay, yes, maybe it is, but he'd wanted to check on something and so he'd just sort of wound up there. What he'd wanted to check on, he'd momentarily forgotten seeing a young mutant rip apart a newspaper and make like he was about to hurl it into the fire.

"Whoa, whoa." Shin held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Someone else might have wanted to read that. What's wrong? Did you read something that disagreed with you?"

He wasn't sure what all had caused the sudden bout of violent newspaper tearing, but he was sure it couldn't be that bad. Maybe the kid's favorite sports team had lost in the ol' sports ball. March Madness was upon them. It wasn't unlikely the kid's basketball team had lost. His favorite team had done it. It wasn't a long shot.

He stood in blue jeans and a black leather jacket with a Darth Vader boombox t-shirt on underneath, and waited for a response. He was a mansion authority figure, after all. He figured he needed to actually do some of that figuring. Go figure.

Standing at the hearth, Clyde squeezed the scrap of paper a few more times just for good measure. But someone stopped him before he had the chance to burn the load of GARBAGE. And, of course, he was wondering if something was wrong.

“Obviously!” Clyde snapped.

He soon regretted it. This guy was someone Clyde didn't know. As far as he could tell, he was not even angry about the paper, just concerned. Perhaps he needed to do something about his temper issue. He tried taking a few deep breaths to calm himself before looking up to face the guy.

“Sorry, just doing everyone heah a favoh,” he grumbled. “It wasn't yos, was it?”

Likely, he was in hot water for tearing something up that didn't belong to him.

He'd almost mistaken the kid for a rubber band, what with how he snapped, then sprang back, tension yanking him back to his original, if apologetic, state. The Asian arched a subtle eyebrow, and didn't overreact to anything. He was more concerned that anything. If a kid in the mansion was unhappy, he wasn't happy. Even if he'd already been a bit unhappy, RE: Topic - Danger Room. A dangerous room, that was sure. Especially if one's powers weren't operating at 100%.

"Nope." Shin was succinct. He adopted a quiet, inquisitive tone as he added. "How was it a favor?"

That newspaper was really for the entire mansion to read. But they could get more. The real concern here was the paper-ripping, not the paper's absence. A newspaper could get replaced.

So the paper wasn't his. That was a bit of a relief. But, his obviously upset behavior still did warrant some sort of explanation. The thing was, Clyde didn't enjoy being pried into. His issues were his and his alone, so he didn't need any other party knowing about them. It was only natural that he didn't want to talk about such a personal thing, but it looked like the man was concerned enough about him to want that explanation.

“I don't really want to take about this, but fine,” he sighed. Reluctantly, he held out the wad of paper for him to take. “No one heah would want to read this.”

That wasn't everything, but it was something. Maybe he could escape without having to tell all.

No one would want to read it? "Why?" Shin asked the obvious probing question of the minute.

Sometimes, an X-men had to take on the role of a teacher. Sometimes, they had to be a psychologist. And sometimes, just sometimes, they had to be a professional chef. He had not had the opportunity to bake like that in a while, though, so it was irrelevant.

If the kid didn't want to talk about it, that was fine. He didn't HAVE to be a psychologist. He could just be a regular logist. But he'd asked why, and there was no turning back now. He waited for a reply.

To Clyde's dismay, the man still wanted answers. He heaved a sigh before speaking. “Just look at it. It's mutant hate.”

The majority of the article was spent listing instances in which a mutant used his or her powers criminally, and it was written as if all mutants were thieves and murderers. Clyde strongly disliked the stereotype enough as it was. The source was what made it worse. He'd always tried to follow the rules and get others to do the same. But in the end, that didn't seem to matter.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor and pulled his legs to his chest. “It isn't fair. I can't change what I am.”