Emily had just had another one of those 'fun' conversations with her mother over the phone, asking if she'd met any boys recently, asking if her grades had improved any. It was annoying. Emily may have then also gotten the conversation more heated by using non-PG language with her mother when her temper had flared up and resulted in their conversation ending in hangup. Emily winced as she did it, she knew it would result in more trouble later.

To clear her head, she gathered a printed off Polaroid of her little shrine in the dorm. It was a corner with a pair of guitars and a base, a small amplifier and a few books with sheet music among other things, trinkets and photographs. It was one part mess, one part artsy and all chaotic. She pulled the picture out of her desk drawer and smiled at it. She didn't feel like sitting in here and sketching it. It felt too cramped.

She set off down to one of the classrooms that wasn't in use, and pulled a few paint pots from the cupboard, set up a fresh canvas and propped up the painting near the edge of the stand. She sighed, pulled on a pair of over ear headphones and started working on it. Emily wasn't an artistic prodigy by any means and she wasn't revolutionary either. Most of the time she preferred sketching, but painting was relaxing with music.

Her work turned out to be vary colourful and exaggerated, she lost track of time as she sat with a few brushes, applying them to the canvas gingerly.

It was a Saturday afternoon and, despite being a teacher, Nate found himself back at the school. He had a meeting with DocProf to take care of his physical and make sure his medical records were up to date now that he was a registered, documented person. Nate had an ID with his own legal name on it, a Social Security Card that could actually be traced back to him, and now his Medical Records were accurate and documented. He was wildly identifiable.

Normalcy was never something Nate expected in his life, and yet he found himself dangerously on the cusp. Sure, he was still a mutant teaching mutant children, but that did not change the fact that he was an art teacher rather than an art forger. A decade earlier, he would have guaranteed a “boring, by the books” life would have drove him crazy, but Nate was entering the fourth decade of his life and he was wiser.

He loved teaching. It almost surprised him the day he woke up and was genuinely excited to get out of bed and head to the mansion. Nate loved art, and occasionally, he now had the ability to spread that love to the kids in his classes. He still remembered how rewarding it was to see money hit his account after a successful fence, but seeing the enthusiasm and passion of his students was comparable.

Some of these kids might have potential—the kind of potential he had, but never went noticed. Nate wanted to keep students from slipping through the cracks like he did.

Once his appointment was over, he headed to his classroom, looking to prepare for the next week of classes. He found himself doing that more often lately—using his free time for the benefit of his classes. It was not just the teaching, of course; after four years in prison, Nate was happy to be devoting as much time as he could to art. It was now his hobby, the basis for his career, and the thing he shared in common with his… friend who he was totally not dating.

When he got to the room, the door was already cracked open, so he peeked in quietly. Even on a Saturday afternoon, the room was not empty, surprisingly. There was girl with brown hair facing away from him with headphones on, in her own world painting on a canvas.

He went unnoticed, so he took advantage of that, walking into the room but staying a few feet behind the girl. Instead of speaking right away, he watched her paint. She was no practiced expert, but he was intrigued. The brushstrokes were not bad, though her technique could use some refinement. Nate almost felt bad intruding on the girl’s escape into painting, but she was intruding in his classroom to begin with.

Finally making himself known, he spoke clearly, and loud enough to hopefully be heard through the music she was piping in her ears. ”Interesting use of color.”

Emily of course, had made sure she'd picked a time when nobody else was meant to be here. One of the school counselors had said that she should indulge more in her artistic hobbies. She'd found a time, and on here way down to the classroom had checked if it was free (It was the weekend, after all) And had booked it on the spot before she went down to the room.

She felt him coming way before he actually got there. She felt his consciousness flicker towards her when he entered, she didn't seem to be his immediate focus. When he entered at least, she sat, frowning at her canvas, thinking about what she was going to add to it for a few moments.

She did her best to ignore his presence standing behind her, contemplative was how she'd describe it. When he commented on her painting she just sighed, continued to ignore him and reapplied her brush to her canvas, a little less relaxed and focused before.

The young woman was uninterested in Nate’s input, which she made clear with her heavy sigh before she continued to ignore him. The sigh was the real cherry on top because she had to make it clear that she heard him, but just had no interest in engaging.

Nate rolled his eyes, walking his way over to his supply closet while muttering loudly, hoping he would be just loud enough to be heard over the music she was listening to. ”Thank you, Mister Holloway, and thank you for not minding if I use your classroom,” he said, playing out what the girl might say if she had any manners. He liked kids now, right? Sure, but she was a teenager, and they were certainly more hit or miss.

Looking through his supplies, he recognized right away that he was short on certain items since he was more conscious of them in his search: oil based paints, brushes, and a canvas. Walking back out of the closet, Nate folded his arms and, in a similar, but more annoyed voice, added, ”Thank you Mister Holloway for letting me raid your supplies.”

Nate sighed and shook his head, pressing his fingers to his temple. ”It’s not a big deal, but did anyone tell you to use my classroom today?” Before jumping to conclusions, he had to be sure another staff member was not throwing him under the bus.

Emily tried hard not to roll her eyes at the annoying teacher's reaction to her not speaking, she was after all trying to concentrate on what she was doing. His sarcastic comments were just great though, they managed to tick her off more than she already was. What was with this freaking school? It was so hard to find a corner with peace and quiet and when you did, even the teachers were assholes about it.

She took a few moments to compose herself and bat down the anger that was brewing before she actually responded to him, turning and giving him a deadpan glare. "I don't tend to make a habit out of stealing things, no." Her smooth Buckingham-shire accent quipped. "In fact, I was suggested to come to one of the art rooms and try engaging in the hobby multiple times by the mansion councilors, and was given permission forms for this purpose." She tried to keep her voice even, she really did, but it still came out a little contemptuous.

"And when I went to the front desk, I asked which classrooms weren't in use and would be quiet, I was pointed to and booked for this one, as well as encouraged to take supplies from the closet, which I was told were for anybody using it on pre arranged times, such as I was. My apologies if I've taken or used anything I shouldn't have." There was just a teeny bit of sarcasm in that last one.  

If the girl in his classroom cared that he was a teacher and an authority figure, it was not readily apparent in her rude as all hell tone, which was only aided by the Britishness of her. There was something about dry rudeness that carried well with a high-class English accent. He had a handle on a collection of accents, and could even place some of them at first listen, but his experience in the United Kingdom was limited, so he could at most parcel out Irish, Scottish, Rich English, and Hooligan English.

Her answer, for all the shortness and irreverence in her tone, made sense. There was little reason to lie about receiving permission to use classrooms when it was something he could easily check on, and in reality was not a big deal. Had the student in his room been less standoffish, Nate might have been less disposed to responding with an attitude.

The explanation did take his level of annoyance down a few notches, since he was less annoyed with the girl (though not completely clear of it,) and more directed at the lack of communication at the Mansion. ”Figures they’d just leave me out of the loop on this,” he muttered, before resigning himself into acceptance. ”You’re good, just do the supplies justice.”

He grabbed a canvas from the closet, assuming it best to just bring it back to his room so he could work on a painting for the upcoming week in peace. The girl was quiet, but her comments made him doubt she wanted company for longer than necessary.

While Nate was gathering items to take back to his room, he looked back at the scene the girl was painting. It was still starting to take shape, so he could not yet distinguish what it was becoming. Despite her attitude, it was hard for him not to be curious. ”What are you drawing anyway, kid?” It quietly bothered him that he was the type of person who called teenagers “kid” now.

Emily had been really enjoying how quiet it was emotion wise around here before hand, only little passing nubs of it as most people were enjoying a little spot of sunlight outside, or were doing something elsewhere. And now there was a teacher walking around when the classroom was said to have been completely unoccupied and distracting her from what she was painting.

She shrugged in response to his comment. She didn't really have a response to that, how was she supposed to use them well? She was painting with them, it didn't really go much beyond that. Mind you her level of actual concentration was dipping now so she was making very little progress compared to what she'd been achieving beforehand.

She sighed at the next question and set the brush down gently. "It's the corner of my room with all my artsy stuff. I feel relaxed when I think of it, and I've been in a mood so I decided to try and engage in a hobby." She'd actually been suggested to do this a few weeks or a month or two ago, but hey she was doing it now which was what counted ultimately.

The young woman was still standoffish toward Nate, but her attitude was deescalating, perhaps because he was keeping himself from taking out her frustrations on her for the moment. She might very well be a punk regardless, and Nate could have made the easy choice to walk away from the interaction, but curiosity kept him static for at least another minute. Given her tone and blunt comments, it was clear she had been enjoying the peace of being in the room alone with her art, but it was his classroom, so he felt no shred of guilt that would compel him to vacate at the request of some kid.

Realizing she could not easily shake him, the girl explained that she was painting a corner of her room, looking to use painting as a way to deal with whatever mood she was in. Nate spent likely too much of his time dealing with teenagers, so he was not concerned with asking for more information on a topic she would have no interest in divulging.

What he was interested in was potential. ”I understand. Painting has always been how I clear my head when life’s a mess.” Some people could not force productivity out of themselves to save their lives when their worlds got tough; meanwhile, when Nate and Quin separated the first time, and when Nate was contemplating turning himself in, his apartment became a private art exhibit.

Not looking to dwell on his own pre-prison pits, Nate returned to his earlier point. ”I meant what I said before. You have an eye for how to use color. Or beginner’s luck, but call me an optimist.” Approaching the canvas to get a better look at it, he asked, ”You got a photo you’re going off of?”

Hmmph. Emily often got into conflicts with teachers and other officials and staff members around the mansion as whilst teachers in a normal place might be able to hide their contempt, dislike or other negative feelings towards others and certain students, the brunette could pick up on all of that from them. And this teacher gave her a vibe... She wasn't sure on quite what it was she was picking up.



Maybe it was some low level of patronisation? She wasn't sure but she wasn't entirely liking what he was radiating.



She shrugged at his comment, not completely sure of what was an appropriate response. "I tend to just pick ah hobby and go with it, and drawing or painting is a lot quieter than playing an instrument or a video game." She didn't mention that it was also quieter on the power front, not having to be near all those stray emotions and all.



She nodded and handed him the photo. Sighing a little and putting her brush down, turning away from the painting to the man. It was too hard to concentrate now.

Maybe Nate would have been more delicate with his emotions if he was dealing with the girl in a class during the week, but this was Saturday, and he was not dealing with a child. He saw no reason not to be a real person with the students in the Mansion; pretending he was something he was not was a conman behavior. Being a teacher let Nate more firmly establish who he was past all the BS he so often lived in.

She was dismissive of his effort to relate to her, which at this point was expected. Her hobbies spoke to a creative mind, understanding of patterns, as well as introversion. He could see the elements of an artist there in an otherwise misanthropic young woman.

Looking at the photo she handed him, Nate’s opinions of her work were affirmed. There was a rough realism to her work, but imperfections were covered by her tendency for vivid colors, making her presentation more lively and eye-catching than reality. Work could be done, but he had to admit, he saw an artistic voice worth exploring.

Of course, he could not lay things on too thick with the girl, who was only entertaining him because she had to; he had to be delicate. ”Yup. Not perfect. But impressive for a hobbyist.” He handed back the photo and returned to attend to his supplies. ”Have you ever considered actual lessons?” he asked nonchalantly, not wanting to scare her off with an outright offer yet.

It was always interesting to be around non standard mansion goers and study their emotions. The teachers were quite a mixed bag, but despite the show she was putting on, Emily found herself actually quite intrigued by this man, he was quite A-typical for them. She supposed it was possible that he was the one she'd heard the 'prison' rumours about, whether or not they were true was another matter entirely. 

She wasn't overly interested in his assessment of her, which she could tell was happening. The frustrating thing about being an empath is you could generally pick up the gist of what a person was thinking, but never anything specific. Where other people were concerned it was like you were playing charades with their mind. Always on the general topic but always playing guesswork as to what was actually going on underneath. 

Huh. Actual praise. That was not what she was expecting to be honest, she'd thought more criticism would follow. She shrugged. "With both art and music classrooms would probably be a little too much for me." She admitted. 

Nate was unsure of what he expected from the girl who had been defensive since he entered the room. He was not planning on pushing the issue if she had no interest, but he did want to encourage her. Maybe it was the teacher in him, or maybe he was just looking forward to instructing someone who could prove to be very talented with some time and effort.

The girl was hesitant, but her disinterest did not seem to be with the subject of art itself. She specifically mentioned a classroom, and Nate immediately remembered where he was. At Xavier’s, dealing with special student needs had become the norm to him, from students needing nocturnal class sessions, to students who, for whatever reason, could not be around groups.

The fledgling artist fell into the latter group, from the sound of it. Nate knew better than to push or ask about her mutation, but that did not mean he would not make an effort to accommodate her. ”That might not be a problem. I can arrange for private lessons if you’re not a ‘group’ person. Some mutants work best alone, I get it.”

Putting too much pressure on the girl might make her snap back and shy away from his offer, so he kept things measured. ”It’s your choice, but I think you’d be amazed to see what you could do with some practice.” Nate offered a hand to shake. ”I’m Mr. Holloway. I’m here most weekdays, if you decide you want to give it a shot.”

Emily often resolved herself to disliking people based on first impressions, and then from there treated them as such, just from the emotions she picks up from them early. But frustratingly, the teacher was breaking this impulse by actually being kind of interesting, and for no apparent reason she was irritated by this. 

She gently began to pack away the equipment around her. Despite her frustrations, she wanted to explore interactions with this teacher more, and that was easier to do when half her concentration wasn't on a crappy painting that she'd probably ruined. 

Emily blinked a few times at the teacher. She'd never had anybody offer her one on one lessons, mostly she assumed that there were so many students in unique situations that the teachers just tried to treat most of them equally. The empath generally stuck to herself, not interacting with too many other students or teachers, often disconcerted by stray emotions she picked up from them that put her off of talking with them anymore than she had to.

So it was a little... embarrassing to have a teacher showing such interest in her. Her hazel eyes bored into his, staring a little dumb founded, not realising that she'd left his offer of a hand shake hanging in the air for a while. 

She took the hand. "Uhm... I'm Emily." murmured the dazed empath. 

The young woman was packing up her painting project, possibly realizing her workspace was no longer as private as she was hoping when she claimed the classroom for herself. Nate had made his pitch, and if time might help her mull things over, he could give her that time. If she really was disinterested, it was no skin off his back, but it would have been a lie to say he would not be disappointed.

After he offered his hand, the student eyed him seriously, as though she were trying to look deeper to read him and his intentions. He waited awkwardly until she accepted the hand and introduced herself. It was always nice when she could stop thinking of someone as “that girl” and put a name to a face.

Nate smiled warmly and repeated, ”Emily. It’s good to meet you.” It was surprising considering their rough start, but he really thought the encounter was being salvaged.

”So are you just not a fan of groups? Or does your gift not agree with them?” At Xavier’s, it was always more reasonable to assume someone was a mutant than not. ”No judgement either way. People on the whole can be hit or miss.” Nate certainly held his skepticism toward society on the whole, though he tried to be more of an optimist with students.