It was a rather painful irony that one of the only places Andrew Fletcher felt comfortable in - in New York City at least - was a bar. Sure, he would have much preferred the lobbies or waiting rooms of one of the city's many theatres, but he had left that world behind so harshly and so long ago, he still wondered if it would be possible to ever again set foot on the velveteen carpet without the waves of agonizing guilt. That would be a battle for another day. He had not been back in New York City long, and he still didn't quite have a real place to live. The hotel was fine enough, but it was expensive, and keeping the rest of his life in storage was rapidly draining his accounts. He needed employment, and he needed it soon.

For now, however, he was silently enjoying his bourbon (his first, and he could not permit himself to go past three drinks for the day), and flipping the pages of Great Expectations. He knew, of course, that reading a book in a dive bar was not the wisest course of action, but in all honesty he had a lot to digest lately, he didn't feel like doing it in the bright light of day, and reading a familiar book would help him organize his thoughts. While Great Expectations was a magnificent piece of literature, there was so much to it that one could sufficiently let their mind wander for several pages before another moment important to the plot came up.

A mutant. He was a mutant. He could still remember the look on Violet's face, that powerful expression of compassion that had solidified his decision to leave the University of Pittsburgh. Violet had been witness to the birth of a whole new Andrew, and she had told him she would do whatever she could to help him. And then she had vanished. The story he had been told was that she had dropped out, but he didn't buy that for a moment. Unfortunately, he had not been able to dig up any information on her, and had been forced to retreat from his hunt for the time being. Once he was re-established somewhere, he would start looking again.

He turned the page and took a sip, savoring the liquid. A mutant who could nullify abilities. That was likely a dangerous kind of mutant to be.

The door kicked open and Sam charged on through, it was early and it was his place so he figured if anyone had an issue with him showing up like he did it come up in the next work meeting. Man, did Sam hate staff meetings. Not saying anything to anyone he trudged over to the end of the bar passing someone who was reading to make his way behind it.

Grabbing the first near empty bottle he could find he opened the bottle with his teeth and poured it’s contents on a pretty severe burn on his dominate side. The cork broke under the stress from his teeth and he tasted alcohol for the first time in years. Sam didn’t think much of it and then spat the cork to the floor. ”*****ing firecrackers.” he grunted and grabbed the first rag he could overturning for his blinded side. It was dirty and it caused him to look at it for a moment.

”One time I need a fresh rag.” he shook his head and then tried to will some ice to form around his burned hand and realized he couldn’t. His thermal vision was gone now as well now that he thought about it. Sam looked to the lone patron drinking a class of whiskey. He could tell from the color and the way his gaze lingered on the drink.

”Morning.” Sam cracking his neck taking a few steps towards the kitchen. ”Need a rag!” there was someone yelling behind the window. ”No a clean one!” he shouted. Sam looked down to his hand that started to ice over then looked back to the patron then got hit in the back of the head by a fresh linen. Wrapping his hand he studied it trying to dull the pain.

”Want me to turn the lights up?” Sam asked nodding his head to the book the patron was holding.

The crash of the door slamming open made Andrew jump, and his hands instinctively tightened on both the book and the glass, his mind prepared to use either as a weapon - or a weapon and a distraction, depending on the situation, he wasn't picky. He watched with alert eyes and tense legs as a handsome, rugged-looking fellow charged into the bar, the dim lights giving hints of injuries on the man's skin. He considered calling out for the owner of the establishment to come assist the newcomer, but the extra moment's pause answered a whole different question: this man was well acquainted with the bar, and if not staff of it, then intimate enough with those that were to treat it as thought he owned the place. Andrew's body slowly began to relax as the man muttered something about firecrackers before grabbing a random rag and pressing it to wounded skin.

Andrew cringed. The rag was filthy, and placing it on an open wound such as that...well, the place was filled with alcohol so there was likely some way to clean the wound. He thought of the handkerchief in his pocket to offer the man, but then pushed the thought away as the man barked for a rag - specifically a clean one.

Andrew now worked to relax himself completely and return to his thoughts. However, the man didn't stay silent for long, calling out a "Morning" before asking if Andrew wanted the lights up.

"Ah, no, thank you," he said kindly. "It's really more of a way to focus my thoughts than actual retention of the words. And as I've read this book...numerous times...it would be a waste of the electricity and I shan't want to put the owner out. The customer is...not always right." A little smile formed after this last sentence, and he shyly looked away, wondering if he'd said too much in response to a simple question. The side effect of being a professor - a short answer was often difficult to find.

The icemancer shrugged, the lights were already on. If anything it took more power to keep the lights lower. At least as far as he knew but then again Sam wasn’t an electrician. ”Owner is fine with it.” he said shrugging. ”If they are on they are on.” he said walking away from the kitchen and bank of switches.

The closer he got to the patron the more difficult it was to control his thermal sense till it vanished completely. He didn’t comment on it, rather went for the first-aid kit that was under the bar. Another staff meeting conversation. If you are bleeding or have burn wounds don’t do it in the kitchen. The office was the best place for it but then Sam realized there was no one behind the bar. Instead he moved back to where he had some thermal vision. Towards the end of the bar away from the patron who memorized the book he was holding.

”They rarely are but it doesn’t look as good if I say I’m always right. People might stop coming to this place.” he said grabbing the burn ointment and placing it on the wound. It burned but he knew a healer. When he could break away from the bar he’d pay Doc a visit. Pays to live in the same place as a healer.

”You just drinking or you want to put a food order in? Give my cook something to do?” more shouting could be heard from the kitchen after Sam spoke. The icemancer smirked not knowing if someone already asked him if he was hungry. Who was working today?

By this point, Andrew was pretty sure the man who had come stumbling in injured was the very owner of the bar he was now settled in. He also had picked up on the man's movements, watching him draw closer and then further away, being casual but definitely curious about Andrew's presence. Maybe, even, sensing Andrew's abilities and measuring them against a mental yardstick. Dangerous? Not dangerous? The paranoia was not something Andrew had felt in a long time, and was in fact a sensation he had hoped to feel little of ever again. But the man was smoothly moving around the bar, cleaning and treating his wounds and not regarding Andrew with any suspicion or fear. It was best he not bring anything up at all.

"They rarely are but it doesn't look as good if I say I'm always right. People might stop coming to this place."

Andrew chuckled. "Quite." He closed the book and inspected the casual menu tucked behind a napkin dispenser, considering the options. Bars were famous for their junk food, and Andrew was learning that fried and fatty was not going along with his digestive system quite as much as it used to. However, it would be rude if he settled in a place of business for several hours musing over his personal problems and nursing a single bourbon. Maybe he could permit himself four drinks today, and get a second bourbon. Especially if he drank with food. It would certainly help.

He pushed the thought away and tapped the menu. "Thank you for asking, I believe I will take you up on that. A Philadelphia cheesesteak and roasted asparagus, please." A sudden thought occurred to him. "Also, might you have a newspaper? I need to familiarize myself with the classified section. Though never fear, I am perfectly capable of paying my bar tab." He offered a friendly, teasing smile even though a sensation of silliness washed over him. An ad would not be so blatant. 'Teacher wanted for mutant school'! Things were not possibly so easy as that. And truthfully he wasn't sure if job postings even happened in newspapers anymore, or if they were strictly online. But he had no desire to walk to the Public Library to go job hunting at this time. At least, not until after lunch.

”No problem and yeah, I’m sure we got one somewhere...” he said looking around and finding the paper folded up by the staff area. Someone was reading the funnies. Did that mean she was working? Sam looked around for a burst of light but failed to spot anything. His lone eye shifted from the man behind the counter.

”Here ya go.” he said grabbing a pen and placing it in front of the patron. ”Not to worried about that. Not the best way to run a business but every now and then a meal goes out for free.” Sam strutted back to the kitchen window. ”Got a phili, roast them asparagus!” he called before hearing some curses and pots smacking around in the kitchen behind him. That was just the cook. He made a great burger so Sam couldn’t fire him.

”Where you looking?” Sam asked curiously, usually willing to help strangers out if they asked for it. ”We got a lot of trades coming in here, police, hell even the bikers that got the shops around the corner. If that’s in you’re wheel house.” Sam said explaining his random assortment of patrons. It was known that those who frequented the bar didn’t start anything. All of the staff Sam employed were trained to settle things. Be it verbal or physical. Making it more of a neutral meeting spot.

Keeping far enough back for him to activate his thermal sense he felt a flash of heat and then jumped to the side back into his newer blind spot someone appeared in a flurry of heat and well pink. His hand reached up and he caught his employee. ”Thought we talked about appearing behind the bar?” Sam asked helping the young woman upright despite his hand.

“Yeah, well. I had to rush back here because you’re cook doesn’t know how to work a circuit breaker!” she said eyeing the patron whom she served earlier then back to her boss. “Couldn’t jump any further... that was weird.” the woman said standing upright then looking at Sam’s hand. “The **** did you do to your hand now?”

”Firecrackers in a mailbox. One of the kids gave them a boost. Wasn’t expecting the force behind it.” he said giving a brief explanation while stepping back out of the blind spot. ”I got him. You got the tables.” “What table...”[/color] the door was pushed open and a handful of bikers strolled in.

Andrew gratefully accepted the pen and paper. “Thank you.” Now that the man was close enough to hand him something he stole a more curious look at him, and noticed that a patch covered one eye. Apparently, injuries were something common to this gentleman. Good to know. He resisted the urge to ask about it, quelling his ever-rising curiosity, and flipped open the paper, settling into the rhythm of the next few minutes. Eating, drinking, perusing, marking…the outside world could drift away, Charles Dickens could go silent, and he could focus on the next step towards establishing himself. He vaguely heard his order being called into the back, and his mouth watered slightly at the memory of his last Philadelphia cheesesteak. He was sure the New York style would be delicious.

“Where you looking?” The owner’s voice sounded conversational, casually trying to decipher more about him, he supposed. As the owner continued to speak, however, Andrew deduced that he was, in fact, genuinely interested, not just making small talk as bartenders so often did. He chuckled under his breath as the man mentioned the bar being frequented by police and bikers as potential trades. Do I appear to be either of those types of men? He wasn’t sure if it was flattering or not, but he had a feeling the man was honestly trying to help.

He set down the pen and picked up his drink, prepared to introduce himself, and stopped short as a young woman appeared behind the bar. He recognized her rather swiftly as the waitress who had first given him his bourbon, but he found himself wondering if the owner had simply pulled her up from behind the bar or if she had actually appeared because said bar due to supernatural means.

You are being paranoid and hypervigilant, he chided himself gently. Now that he had abilities, he did feel like his senses were permanently dialed up to 11, on the lookout for mutants and anti-mutant humans alike, trying to get used to this new world that he had already been living in. The shift in his perspective had opened up a lot of new ways of looking at things and he knew he could become easily overwhelmed by it all if he allowed it to dominate him.

The young woman inquired about the owner’s hand, and Andrew visibly leaned a little closer, wondering about that answer himself.

“Firecrackers in a mailbox. One of the kids gave them a boost. Wasn’t expecting the force behind it.”

Ah. That certainly explained a lot. Firecrackers were dangerous. Firecrackers mixed with kids were often worse. In a mailbox? Clearly, the kids the owner spent time with were little pyromaniacs. Andrew wondered if the man’s missing eye had come from an overeager teenager wielding a Roman candle. He’d certainly been in that situation when he was younger (as the overeager teenager).

The owner assigned the young woman to an empty table, a move that perplexed both her and Andrew until the door suddenly opened, admitting a crowd of bikers. The midday peace of the bar instantly began to fade away, and Andrew turned back to the owner, anxious to glean as much information as he could before he had to return to work. “Andrew Fletcher,” he said. “My name, that is. Former professor of theatre and film for the University of Pittsburgh. I…have had to relocate, and I am in the market for a teaching position at a local school. If such a position is available.”

“I hate it when you do that...” the bartender said as she disappeared into a pink ball of light and heat causing Sam to avert his gaze as she reappeared at the table the bikers were going to. Sam rolled his eye, ”Thought we talked about that?” he shouted at her who waved him off and started to engage in the group of bikers who all smiled when she ‘appeared’.

”Sorry about that. She’s a bit of a show off.” Sam waved his bad hand towards the man who introduced himself as a teacher. ”I’d shake you’re hand... but...” he waved his hand around then offered a ‘fist bump’ with his left hand.

”Andrew, nice to meet you. I’m Sam. I too happen to be a teacher of sorts.” he said not giving any more information at the moment as he grabbed a bucket and then put some beers in there. Putting it on the counter close to Andrew he frowned slightly then shifted it away from him till he could feel his powers again and tapped the edge of the aluminum bucket.

The thing instantly started to freeze over as a little beam of blue erupted from his left hand. Ice filled the bucket and the beers were now on ice.

”Can I ask why you had to relocate?” Sam asked raising an eyebrow. ”I know my school is always looking for an extra set of hands.” he said raising both of his into the air showing off his injury again.

The bartender ran up behind Andrew and grabbed the bucket. “Thanks boss!” then hurried back to the regulars.

Andrew barely heard the owner apologize for the young woman - his gaze was instead locked on her, eyes wide and a smile on his face. She was a mutant, and one so bold as to just use her abilities in public! Of course, he was no fool - mutants weren't exactly hidden from view nowadays, but it said a lot about the location, the owner, the neighborhood, that she could feel so confident as to just teleport around. Teleportation. His mind worked on that word for a moment, his curiosity engaged. What possible sequence of genes had set up to give her the ability to disappear from one place and appear in another? How did the laws of science - physics, biology, even chemistry - bend for her? What kind of an effect did she have on the world around her - the immediate air, for example - when she activated her abilities? He was no scientist, but the concept of mutation often made him wish he knew a little more math.

He looked back over to see the owner offering a fist. Ah. He had seen students do this, and it never failed to amuse him. He wondered if the owner knew that the concept had originated from a germaphobe who wanted to balance the social niceties of 'shaking hands' with his own (not unjustified) fear of germs. Thus was born the 'fist bump'. He quelled the urge to give the man a history lesson and instead carefully reached out his own hand, tapping fists as was appropriate. "A pleasure, Sam."

"I too happen to be a teacher of sorts."

That was unsurprising. Andrew could feel himself relaxing more and more by the minute in this man's presence. As whirlwind as he had entered, he carried himself with a confidence and grace that belied his sharp eyes and quick reflexes. He had a pleasant voice and a welcoming, if blunt, manner that lent itself to engaging speech. Perfect for a bartender, and a welcome attribute to have as a teacher. He wondered what he taught. Something as simple as math? He seemed a little too powerful for history, and a little too dangerous for science. Perhaps some sort of physical instruction - that might explain his injuries.

He watched as the man suddenly activated his own ability, as easily as breathing and with no concern for the crowd of bikers animatedly chatting with the young waitress. Andrew's eyebrows went up at the blue light that froze the bucket. He didn't miss that the man had had to move the bucket away from him, and he quickly ran through previous interactions in his mind. It would appear his ability to nullify mutations was closer to six feet than four, as he had originally estimated with Violet. Had it gotten bigger, or was he just more aware of it now?

"Can I ask why you had to relocate? I know my school is always looking for an extra set of hands." The question Andrew didn't want to answer, followed by a wry joke that brought a small snort and snicker to his lips. He rather liked the self-deprecating, dry humor. He decided to risk a response.

"Certain revelations about myself came to light that...instigated conflict with my coworkers. The work environment became...uncomfortable." He gestured. "As you no doubt can see, there are certain persons that find my...condition...intolerable." He hoped he didn't have to elaborate beyond that. "If your school has an opening and sufficient interest for an instructor of theatre and film, I would be delighted to send in my resume."

Andrew Fletcher. The man seemed reluctant to explain his relocation. That was fine. Sam had to relocate a few times in his life. So did a few of the other staff members at the school. Even more so the kids. It made it easier to develop a connection with them having an understanding what they were going through. There would be a background check. Sam had to remind himself it wasn’t his job to do that.

”Dinking at lunch?” Sam asked trying to make a joke. ”Some of the kids at school.... I get it.” he smirked. One students name came to mind but Sam didn’t feel like discussing a winged individual but rather felt like getting to know a potential coworker a bit better. It wasn’t often Sam had to the time to get to know him. His schedule was so sporadic as it was when it came time to east lunch in the teachers lounge Sam was already in the city putting out either a metaphorical fire or a literal one.

”We try to keep it comfortable.” he said icing over his left hand the one that was uninjured then stepped closer to theater teacher. His control faded and when he was within range he could feel the ice falling apart around his hand when he moved his fingers. The ice fell harmlessly to the bar top and he wiped it up with his now free hand.

”Adapted?” Sam asked. ”Noticed it when I came in. Couldn’t feel you.” he tapped his eyepatch, ”I developed thermal vision to make up for the lack of peripheral.” he summed up. Then he nodded to the bartender who was busy talking and taking orders from the bikers. ”She confirmed it.” he summed up.

Sam wasn’t a detective, but he had enough field training and paranoia for him to figure things out quickly when it came to the potential of danger. ”I think that department is short handed as is though.” he said with a thumbs up. Poking fun at his hand injury again.

"Drinking at lunch?"

Andrew laughed and raised his glass in a mock-cheer to the bartender. "Touche." He followed it with a wink before taking another sip. If only the trouble he had had with his coworkers was limited to his former abuse issue. 

He watched as the owner...no, Sam. Sam was his name. No last name, but then again who really offered their last name in this time period? He was really a relic of a long-gone time at this point. He wondered vaguely when his learned mannerisms and social etiquette had become out of style.

He watched as Sam iced over his hand in a further attempt to heal it, but then as he drew near the ice fell apart once more. "If you are looking to heal your injuries, perhaps it is best if you avoid getting too close. It would seem my abilities...cancel yours. Cancel anyone's, really."

"Adapted? Noticed it when I came in. Couldn't feel you."

Adapted? That was a term he was unfamiliar with. Was that what mutants called themselves these days? "I developed thermal vision to make up for the lack of peripheral." Probably a joke; he had not heard anything about mutations being developed on their own but rather due to a gene that already existed within the body. "She confirmed it." A gesture to the waitress engaging with the bikers, and Andrew recalled her speaking about being unable to appear much closer to him than she had.

"Adapted? Is that the term for a mutant now? I've not heard of it before."

"I think that department is short handed, though."

Two pieces of very important information back to back, and Andrew prioritized. "If you can give me the contact information for the school, I can offer them my resume. Unless an application is...online." He had known how to navigate a computer in his day, oh had he, but it had been a long time and the world had jumped ahead very swiftly. "I have no wish to appear desperate but I have found few opportunities and, as you know, one requires money to live."

The cyclopean X-men leader shook his head, ”Can’t heal it anyways. Not that lucky. Just covers the injury and numbs the pain. We got a healer at the mansion and well...” he looked at his wrapped hand, ”This isn’t gonna really stop me from doing anything.” he tapped the side of his head where his patch was, ”Seen worse.” another joke.

”Kinda.” he said leaning on the counter behind him and folding his arms as he explained, ”If your powers are what I think they are you can just cancel out others mutations. Not a mutant yourself but you have abilities. Like a branch off shooting from humans, like the way mutants are. Just instead of combating outside factors like mutants, you just combat the mutants powers. Couple theories as to why but its still relatively knew.” he passed to let the information sink in.

”Ran into a few of you guys already, in fact if are what I think you are you’d fit right in at the mansion.” he said smirking, ”A few kids and a few of the adults there love being around someone like you. Cancels out their powers, makes them feel... normal.” Sam said hesitating on the world ‘normal’ not everyone had his sunny disposition about their mutations.

”In fact, we have another adapted on the roster teaching. She’s kinda like the mansion mom... but don’t tell her I said that.” Sam said smirking. Gemma wasn’t that old but the way she helped everyone with their.... feelings, it was something only a mother was capable of. Or so he was told missing out on having a mother himself.

”Yeah, no problem. Probably be heading that way soon anyways. I’d offer a ride but your powers kinda make it hard to do that.” he said looking behind the bar and finding a stack of his business cards with the mansion address. The card also had his full name, his title ‘Instructor of Self Defense’ and ‘Mansion Greeter’.

”Hey man, times can be tough. If you are looking for work we got it. I’m a big fan of helping people where I can and if you can make a difference in any of those kids lives at the school I’ll sleep better.” Sam heard the bell for the food and slid the card on the bar before going to grab the food. ”Be right back with your food.”

Sam brushed off Andrew's comment about healing, noting that it would neither do much good nor prevent him from getting into any further scrapes. He followed it up with a quip about his eyesight that made Andrew snort. "It is fortunate that you find humor in your circumstances." He pointed to the eye and the hand. "Would that many in your position should still enjoy life and be at ease." It was supposed to be a compliment but as the words came out of his mouth he couldn't help but feel like an old man saying old man things to younger generations. He wondered how old the owner was. Battle could age a person well beyond their actual years, and while humor was a magnificent balm for old age, some wounds took too much soul energy from a person. He himself had one or two of those.

Sometimes he truly did feel like an old man waiting to die. And, as he often thought when that crossed his mind, he wished it were not so.

Sam then began to elaborate on the term 'adapted' and Andrew found himself leaning forward, captivated by the discussion. Not a mutant, then, but someone who was resistant to their abilities? The danger level was really no less, but rather the way Sam described it it sounded much more positive than the dark worries Andrew's vivid imagination had stirred up. He hadn't considered that some mutants would enjoy his powers...no, his adaptation.

A little kernel of hope sprang to life in his chest.

There was an 'adapted' teaching at the school already, a 'motherly' figure as Sam put it (but don't tell her that). Andrew smiled, sipping his bourbon and noticing the glass was nearly empty. He would not get a refill, not if he was about to interview. He was grateful Sam withdrew the offer of a ride - he would have denied it anyway. While extremely polite, he wanted to take the time to pull himself together and learn the way to the school on his own. But the kernel of hope began to catch light when Sam mentioned that they had work, and Andrew's being there might help him sleep better as long as he helped some of the children. That's all I ever wanted. This sounded like it could be an exciting opportunity and the first good one he had seen in several days.

He read the card. "Instructor of Self-Defense and Mansion Greeter?" He looked up at Sam with a smirk. "Not much in the way of riffraff gets past you, now does it? I imagine quite a few parents and students do a double take when you show up. Perhaps I should consider myself lucky to have met you off of the grounds." Stop it. He was too excited by the job offer to come up with a good tease. He tucked the card into his wallet, and set Great Expectations further to the side to make room for the incoming plate.

The icemancer stared with a smirk as the man gave him the compliment it caused him to laugh a little and he shrugged, ”Gotta laugh.” he responded. If he didn’t his life would have seen bleak and depressing long ago. He’d probably also have hit the bottle far sooner than he had. Worse yet the interaction he had with his ‘not-real’ family probably would have made things even worse but he didn’t want to think about that. He was starting to get looks from the bikers meaning he was making it colder.

”Makes it easier to deal with.” he said. Sam didn’t mention he had been injured worse before. He didn’t want to scare the man off. Not when he was potentially applying to the school. That was a conversation he didn’t want to have with any of the other staff.

”and no... not much does.” he said sliding the hot plate in front of the potential new co-worker. It was bar food but it was good bar food. Designed to soak up any alcohol and hit home with nostalgia of an actual home. Sam might have not cared for the cook but the man was brilliant when it came to food.

”Just be glad you’re meeting me here and not on the streets. Mansion is a night and day kinda difference.” he said with a chuckle. ”How do you think I wind up with so many patrons.” he said nodding to the bikers. A few of them had a few cuts and scrapes on their faces. One of them smiled under Sam’s watchful eye and waved with a smile missing half of his teeth.

”If a smile doesn’t work a fist does.” he joked flexing his bandaged hand. Sam saw the book then nodded, ”Give me a shout if you need anything else. Doubt I’ll be here for much longer though. You’re bartender should be back in no time though. Less spontaneous hopefully.”

The smell of the food hit his nose and Andrew had to subtly swallow as his mouth watered. He carefully picked up the sandwich and took a bite, his eyes involuntarily fluttering closed as the flavors filled his mouth. With a small sigh, he chewed, swallowed, and nodded to Sam. "This is delicious. My compliments to your cook."

He nodded as Sam easily received and responded to his compliment, grinning in agreement at his comments about making life easier by laughing, and acknowledging that Andrew's perception of him was right. He agreed that it was fortunate he was meeting the man at a bar during off hours (so to speak) instead of at the school. He suspected under the kind, no-nonsense exterior rested a firm hand and a solid instructor. The school he was at certainly indicated good quality with him as one of their teachers.

"How do you think I wind up with so many patrons."

"Well, part of it is your charm, I am sure, but your cook certainly helps." Andrew continued eating, testing the asparagus as well. Soft but not mushy, and seasoned. Very good indeed!

"Give me a shout if you need anything else. Doubt I'll be here for much longer though. You're bartender should be back in no time though. Less spontaneous hopefully."

"Ah, spontaneity. A delightful thing, in moderation!" Andrew inclined his head. "No, it was a fortunate pleasure meeting you and I imagine you will see me visiting your school before too long. Then, I can understand why meeting you off of the grounds was a better option." He winked playfully. "My thanks, Sam."