Red, Slate knew, was a dangerous color. In nature, it frequently warned of an unpleasant death, to anything foolish enough to tangle with it.

Pink, he was not so clear on, though her tone of voice seemed an adequate warning.

"You could be both," Slate agreed, his voice carefully level. She could be. It simply... wasn't likely. Far more likely, she had been jesting this entire time, and he had failed to realize it.

"...Are witches real?" Slate asked, turning his own shade of pink. This, he realized, was probably a stupid question. One that everyone already knew the answer to. He'd thought they were real. Like griffins, and unicorns. But those were simply mutants too, were they not?

"You could be both... Are witches real?"
Susan's eyes narrowed as she looked at him. The fact that they were still balancing on blades, quite literally, seemed to be forgotten at the moment.
Was he serious about that question?...
"Depends on how you define 'witch'" she answered cautiously "Abilities, acquired knowledge, or attitude?"
Because she had two out of three. So far.
"Most people around me did think witches are real." she added "Demons, too. Don't you think most mutant abilities would have qualified as magic, a couple of centuries ago?"
She leaned against the wall gracefully, and slipped, sightly less gracefully. Holding herself up, she found her balance again.
If I were a witch...

>> "Depends on how you define 'witch. Abilities, acquired knowledge, or attitude?"

Slate gave a little shrug. This seemed a safe response to her narrowed eyes.

>> "Most people around me did think witches are real. Demons, too. Don't you think most mutant abilities would have qualified as magic, a couple of centuries ago?"

"I suppose," he stated, somewhat dubiously. "It just seems... less magical, I suppose." His lips quirked as she nearly slid down the wall; his blue eyes considered her. "Really," he said at last, one eyebrow raised mischievously, "your lack of grace is astounding, Ms. Witch."

This, of course, was the appropriate time to push off from the wall. One did not insult a young woman, of magic or mutation, and expect to get away with it.

<< If I were a witch... >>

He slid to a natural stop a few feet away, and glanced back over his shoulder.

< It is my hypothesis, > he stated, his lips unmoving in their silent grin as the words found their way directly into her thoughts, < that warlocks can stay on their feet longer than mere witches. I invite you to prove me wrong. >

"Your lack of grace is astounding, Ms. Witch."
Susan's eyes narrowed further, and filled up with a glint of obsidian black. The sight erupted with colors of sounds and noises, but at least from the outside it must have looked menacing.
Slate must have noticed that, because he chose the lesser evil, and made a half-hearted attempt to get away from her.
< It is my hypothesis, that warlocks can stay on their feet longer than mere witches. I invite you to prove me wrong. >
Susan's lips parted in shock as she heard his voice straight in her mind. She looked after him; there was no sound whatsoever, none that she could see, or taste, or smell.
Telepath.
Susan hadn't met one of those before. Noel might have qualified as one, but she didn't talk into her head.
Pushing herself off the wall she slid after the warlock, balancing with both hands till she slowed down to a stop a couple of feet away from him.
You know, this definitely qualifies as invading my personal space.
Kind of like tasting someone just by looking at him. But clearly, that was just an accident.
Susan reached out and pushed on Slate's chest. With outmost grace.
"Whoops."

Her black eyes were thoroughly intriguing. As she slid closer, he realized that may not have been he effect she intended.

<< Telepath. >>

< Quite. >

>> "Whoops."

She pushed him backwards. That is, of course, the precise reason Slate curled his weight forwards as he went down. And, of course, reached out to catch her graceful arm. They both went down, in a pile of coats and skates.

Slate was on top.

"As far as personal space violations are concerned," the teenager noted with solemn dignity, "I believe I have had them covered from the beginning, Ms. Witch."

"Meeep."
That was the exact sound (a very diginified one, of course) that escaped Susan's lips as she was brought down by the warlock, her back hitting the ice, winter coat somewhat softening the impact. That was the least of her worries anyway, considering what was on her other side.
"As far as personal space violations are concerned, I believe I have had them covered from the beginning, Ms. Witch."
Susan's eyes widened, and displayed a blur of confused colors that mirrored the thoughts in her head. Fortunatly she didn't have a grasp on any of those, so she had a good chance that the telepath didn't either.
One hand was still against his chest, making sure they didn't bump heads when they fell. Her eyes finally cleared up, staring into his baby blue ones in utter embarrassment. He was far too close for comfort. Especially for a witch. Witches didn't get this close to people. Especially of the oppsite sex.
"I..." she tried, doing her best not to form thoughts he could hear "... I think I'm starting to get the social angle of skating."

>> "Meeep."

There was something simple about that sound: something concise, and altogether satisfactory. It was the proof and counter-proof to her 'whoops'; it was his victory.

He would have pushed himself away from her sooner, of course, but her eyes...

It occurred to him, after those colorful swirls steadied, that this 'fall' may have been continuing longer than it should.

It also occurred to him that her hand was against his chest. It felt warm. Her face was very close to his; he could actually feel her breath. It, too, was warm.

So was his face.

Slate pushed away with all due gentlemanly speed, sitting up straight and directing his attention to other skaters. Not her. He was, after all, supposed to be observing people who could actually skate. Not... witches.

>> "I... I think I'm starting to get the social angle of skating."

"I..." Slate took great care in readjusting his red scarf, "...was not aware that it had any particular social connotations. Thank you for that insight. Susan."

It was the first time he'd used her name.

There was one extra moment of awkward silence during which Susan concentrated on not using her powers, before Slate pushed himself away from her. What was left was the fact that ice was melting under her and seeping cold through her coat.
"I was not aware that it had any particular social connotations. Thank you for that insight. Susan."
She looked at the spots of crimson warmth under the baby blue eyes, and smirked. She sat up too, smoothing down her skirt once again, and pulling her own scarf up to her nose.
Susan, huh. What happened to Ms. Witch?
"Well, duh. People come here to socialize. Why else would someone endure all the falls in the learning process? You thought people come here solely for going around in circles?" she looked around. Nobody skated alone.
Noel was right, after all. My people skills do suck.

So there they sat, scarf-wrapped and ice-bound, as the other skaters glided easily around them.

>> "Well, duh. People come here to socialize. Why else would someone endure all the falls in the learning process? You thought people come here solely for going around in circles?"

"Well..." Slate stated, her usage of the word 'duh' not helping his blush, "I was not quite certain of its purpose. I thought, perhaps, that the ease of movement across a nearly frictionless surface could be a draw. It was only a theory, though. Yours makes distinctly more sense. I had... failed to factor in the social aspect of human nature."

He nestled his head further into the scarf, until it covered his nose. His blush thus aptly hidden, he turned back to her. "I sometimes do that," he confessed.

It was not the most shocking of confessions.

"I had... failed to factor in the social aspect of human nature... I sometimes do that"
There was a muffled sound from behind the red-and-black scarf. Susan was laughing. It was not the laughter of the wicked witch; actually, it was a laughter that surprised the witch herself. She couldn't tell if it was the sight of Slate trying to manifest the self-hiding abilities of a turtle, or the confession. Whatever it was, it was amusing.
"I do that all the time." she grinned "I was told I... um, lack people skills. But."
Susan started the tedious process of getting back on her feet. It is not easy in itself, and was made even more difficult by the skirt. She had to find a way to kneel first, and go from there. It took some time, but finally she was standing again. She shuffled closer to Slate the Turtle.
"I think there might be a similarity between skating skills and socializing. It probably takes practice to get it right." she pointed out "... that, or you have to narrow the scale of your social interactions to people who equally lack the skills."
Susan folded her arms and looked down at him, her eyes doing their usual shifting performance.
It is fascinating that someone who possesses telepathic skills can be as clueless as any other person. Who would have thought...

Safely hidden behind his own red scarf, Slate was confident that Ms. Susan did not see his deepening blush.

She was laughing at him. It was not a good thing when women laughed at him. ...Was it?

>> "I do that all the time. I was told I... um, lack people skills. But. I think there might be a similarity between skating skills and socializing. It probably takes practice to get it right... that, or you have to narrow the scale of your social interactions to people who equally lack the skills."

With the grace of a penguin, Slate made his way back to his feet, thus joining Susan on the vertical plane.

"No one seems to comment on my social skills," Slate said. "I suspect that is not done in compliment of them."

>> It is fascinating that someone who possesses telepathic skills can be as clueless as any other person. Who would have thought...

Either that, or they were choosing to save their thoughts on the matter for their... thoughts. Ahem. She was simply lucky that he was not a skilled psychic. Then he could read her entire mind on demand, or so he had heard. Or choose not to read it. That, too, would be convenient.

Her eyes were shifting colors again. He found himself staring, and looked down at the ice.

"Would you like to practice your social skills with me?" He did not remember asking his lips to form those words. "At dinner. This Friday. If you don't have any particular research or pre-scheduled activities that I would be interrupting." His lips quirked behind his scarf. "Or coven meetings."

"No one seems to comment on my social skills. I suspect that is not done in compliment of them."
Susan made a huff of agreement befind the scarf, that came out somewhat muffled.
"People usually don't."
Too bad not more of them were like Noel, straight to the point. Would have made the learning process so much easier if people just pointed out the mistakes. In a helpful way. But it seemed to be another unwritten rule that pointing out someone's lack of a certain set of skills was considered rude. Strange.
"Would you like to practice your social skills with me? At dinner. This Friday. If you don't have any particular research or pre-scheduled activities that I would be interrupting... Or coven meetings."
Penguins are graceful creatures. Relatively. They certainly didn't deserve to be compared to Slate at this point. Or Susan, for that matter.
Has anyone seen a penguin fall on its face before?...
"Coven meetings are on Saturdays." Susan answered automatically before the rest of the question sunk in. You are supposed to start with the easy part, right? "... not that I go to any."
The fact that this invitation could have been considered as what other species labeled as 'date' was absolutely lost on Susan. There was a slight suspicion that this could have been something like the questions that used to send Molly, Jessica and Brigitte into squealing fits around the room, but since Susan never understood that part of the female nature, the suspicion was soon lost too.
It was a very reasonable suggestion, to practice together. At least they wouldn't get awkward, like they would with a... more socially skilled person. Not awkward was a very good start.
"I don't have anything scheduled." she admitted, not bothering with the implications of what it meant not to have something scheduled for a Friday evening "And I think it's a good idea."
She didn't forget to reward Slate's good attempt at the invitation with a smile that reached her eyes.
Standing on the ice seemed to be easier when you were not concentrating on it.

>> "I don't have anything scheduled. And I think it's a good idea."

He tugged down his scarf, letting his own smile show. The blush was mostly gone. Mostly. As the witch had earlier pointed out, the cold did make your face red.

"Would picking you up at six be appropriate?" He had access both to cars and to a fake driver's license. Really, it could be no more dangerous driving in New York's slow-moving traffic than across Colombia's back-water roads (while being shot at).

"I suppose I would need your address, for that," he contemplated. "Also, an exchange of phone numbers would be of use, in case unforeseen complications should arise." The goatee scratched at his scarf as he spoke. It was mildly distracting.

His eyes turned back to the rink. "First, though, I recommend we survive this encounter."

They seemed to have uncovered the secret of standing. While this was admirable, the larger conquest remained: skating.

"First, though, I recommend we survive this encounter."
The witch nodded and looked around "I don't know about you, but I think our chances of survival are higher if we stay close to the wall, and away from the crowd." she observed, and did a fair atempt at sliding a few feet towards said wall. To her utter surprise, the fall she braced herself for never came.
Interesting.
"I live in a boarding school for mutants" she answered his previous question, turning around to see if he was still standing too "It's a safe place to be, even though, well, the school part is not exactly a challenge."
There was plenty of interesting stuff to fill the holes in the curriculum though. Like getting tortured by telepaths. Susan decided that experience qualified more like a filed trip anyway. She tired not to think about it all that much.
Susan did another experimental slide, following the wall's curve by arm's reach. It felt like hard work, but she still didn't fall. Now the only question was how far she would be able to push her luck.
"And currently I don't have a phone. But I'm pretty sure the Mansion has one." she mused, looking back again to see if he was following. She tugged down her scarf too, so her words could be heard.
Her eyes were normal for a change. On the other hand, she was tasting ice on her tongue now.
Just great.

Being a gentleman (and having been slower than the lady), Slate graciously allowed Susan her wall. Though he himself could, perhaps, have used it more. With a bare minimum of wobbling, he trailed after her as she continued to speak.

>> "I live in a boarding school for mutants."

She turned. How did she turn? Slate braked, his arms wind milling for balance as he tried to avoid crashing into the witch. He succeeded, despite the laws of physics.

...Wait. He braked. How did he brake?

>> "It's a safe place to be, even though, well, the school part is not exactly a challenge."

Slate stared interrogatively at his feet. They had done something. He was sure of it. He was simply not sure what. That was the problem with 'instincts.' She started to move again; Slate follo--

>> "And currently I don't have a phone. But I'm pretty sure the Mansion has one."

--wud.

At the least, he had managed to avoid taking out her legs. He simply slid up rather near them, in a more horizontal manner than recommended.

"The Mansion?" He blinked upwards, as he regained his feet. "Xavier's Sister School, correct? I know it."

Experimentally, he moved one foot forward. Then the other.

He did not make much progress, but he did remain vertical.

"How are you doing that--" he searched for the correct term, "--sliding thing?"

It was a very technical term.