The now-sitting-on-the-ground-Martin was rubbing his cheek with an expression somewhere between curiosity and pain. It was quite long since someone had hit him in the face. Even longer since someone had hit him in the face with a shovel. In fact he could not recollect something remotely similar ever having happened to him. A fact that the not-so-heroic chronomancer would take great care to remember for future encounters with the more aggravated kind of American such as the specimen still audibly voicing his arousal at being offered the chance to advocate his cause with a more amiable audience. One that was still green. And one that did not talk back like young Andrea did. A fact he found even more amusing than the fact that the man really...
his thoughts trailed off, as his tongue found a broken off bit of tooth in his mouth and carefully proceeded to investigate the new landscape of the tooths surface. And as he carefully spit out the bit of white dentin on the grass, where it lay along, a single white diamond among the flowers of his work. Green fruit.

He addressed Andrea in his usual calm voice, the one she should know already. Slightly colored with a accent from away. “I am – as the circumstances go – quite well, thank you.” Though as he mused on his cheek and its rather unusual behavior to his touch, the slightly raised temperature of elevated blood flow and the loss of a part of one of his molars... it all was well as the circumstances went indeed. The man that had assaulted him was, after all, still quite adamant about ruining his roses, and just like diamond it would probably take him 6000 years to realize that he was fighting windmills as he trashed around and injured himself more. But if he continued thrashing – and as he seemed to be such a free American Martin would not hinder him in this particular exertion of his rights – he would just injure himself more, at the expense of his roses maybe, but that was one sacrifice, he was quite willing to make.

“Andrea, I am quite sure, that this was not all your fault, but if you could go to find me some ice, I would be very grateful.” His highbrow language contrasted quite a bit with the fact that he was still sitting on the ground maybe, but as she was still there, he saw no reason yet to get up and fetch the ice himself. Because... he wanted to have just a little chat alone with the rose-killer. Who could actually use his lips to speak more then insults it seemed. But did he have brains? Martin doubted, no, he seriously doubted, that fact

While she disagreed that it was her fault, she chose not to voice her opinion. "Yes, of course." She stood and turned to Saph, who seemed to have given up against the roses. She sighed, and stepped over to help the man up. "Stop struggling will you? You are only getting yourself wrapped up worse..." She knelt and began carefully pulling the branches away from him, unsticking thorns and making sure no more roses were injured. "There, all free." She stood again, and held out her hand to help him up.

Once he was properly on his feet, she turned to the ice dilemma and rushed off toward the kitchen. She was hit with sudden deja vu... how odd. She mused on the feeling for a few moments as her feet carried her quickly into the kitchen and to the fridge, where she discovered that the ice tray lacked ice. Biting her bottom lip, she turned and hurried out towards the infirmary- figuring there would be an ice pack or two somewhere up there...

So, he felt a little foolish... He didn't say much as Andrea helped him out of the bushes, he came out in a sitting position, and felt a tickle on his ear as a bird bolted be over head, causing him to look up at it oddly, and then down to the man he'd cracked in the face with a shovel...

He blinked awkwardly for a second, and then sighed... "look... I... my powers have been giving me a hard time... I... I think they might be making me a bit paranoid. I guess it's no real excuse." He reached up to scratch the back of his head a wincing as his cut complained... He wasn't really used to apologizing like this... "You see... She's a good girl... I... I kinda like her... So when I thought someone was hurting her, I... Didn't think right..." He shifted awkwardly once more, and winced once again... He was gonna need some serious band-aid work done here soon. "So... I guess I'm trying to say I'm sorry... and if you need me to make it up to you... Well... I'm game..." There... that wasn't so bad, now was it? He looked back to the rose bushes he had trampled... in his defense, he'd only ended up there because the man had thrown him on in. Then again he had been chasing him with a shovel...

Martin, for some reason that was quite obvious on his very face, stared coldly at the boy. Maybe not only for the thing with the face, but also for his complete lack of mental facility. That was a shameful thing indeed. But his hurting face did make that certain itch, the longing in his fingertips, to throw him right back where he came from worse. And from there he could climb back into his mothers womb. Or so his stare spoke. Clearly. That fact that he had somewhere between Andreas departure and the rescue from the rose, managed to get on his feet only added to the effectiveness of the stare.

“You, young man...” He curtly responded to the mans jumbled explanations, making his voice ring with ice. “are in serious trouble.” Stating the obvious was often unnecessary, but in his case, he made an exception. After all, that boy was behaving like a ten year old who had been given his newest toy. Irrational. Possessive. Gluttonous almost in his desire for the young ladies safety. The green lady. Or green fairy? That she was surely not. He continued, talking himself into a blizzard of words tinged with his accent only to make them sound harder and harsher. “Assaulting one of the Mansion staff...” That was the very first time he had actually played that card. A curious one in his hand, seeing that somebody else actually paid him much more. “... because of your drooling over a girl and some mutation related troubles.” He extended his own – still very much gloved – hands towards Saphirus and, just for demonstration – another concession to the apparently dimmed lucidity of the boy – peeled off the protective layer of cloth and Latex underneath. White skin. So very white it was certain that it never saw the sunlight, blue veins creeping underneath like small snakes, vines of ice, appearing in the sunlight only for the time it took the boy to, for a very short moment appreciate its unnatural whiteness, before he covered it up again.

Stepping up another two foot lengths to the rose-cut victim, he somehow managed an even supremer impression. (Some might have called it haughty) “Your problem is, that you quite obviously do not think, you turkey.” Well. He might had intended that meaning to be a little different. But the force of the word implied, that he had intended to say something not nice about the mans mental facilities. After the first rant was over, Martin retreated a few meters to see whether the youth had anything more to say to him. He hadn't even noticed that he had called him a young man. Which, de facto he was, but... oh well. These things happened.

Saph blinked as the rather young looking gardener called him a 'young man' like the was some back-door hooligan who just ran away from home. He was almost 28. This kid had to be in his earlier twenties, though... He spoke like the was an old man telling a kid to get off his grass. As much as it frustrated him, being talked down to in such a way, he knew that pushing it further would only escalate the problem. He felt a poke in his eye, and winced, covering the eye just in time for Martin to pull the staff member card.

Saph's eyes widened at that, and he opened his mouth to respond, but the man went on. The show of incredibly pale skin just made the older mutant raise an eyebrow. Was it some sort of threat? That didn't matter, what mattered was that Saph had to stay calm, and do what he needed to make this issue a non-issue.

The man called him a turkey, he was at a loss for words, so he chose not to comment on it. Turkey? Really? "I... Look, I said I'm sorry... I'll fix any damage i've done... and... Look, I'll do what ever you want to make it up to you. I acted without thinking, but as I explained, this past month has been... strange for me... I've been seeing things, feeling random pokes, like some invisible man has been tormenting me... It's all gotten me a little... Paranoid. I vented that paranoia on you, and I'm sorry. How can I fix this?" He didn't really have anything he could say other than that... He just had to hope that this guy was willing to deal, and that his punishment wouldn't be as cruel as the man's tone seemed to hint.

The gardener watched with impeccable and immovable stance. A little pain showing on his face. A little insecurity maybe, too. The first time he had played the card indeed. And this man-boy seemed to be quite unthinking still, despite every joker he had thrown out of his hand for him. Which created a very strange sensation in Martin. It posed the most difficile question of how to teach him the results of his actions were not always what he intended for when he did not take the care that was needed to ensure the desired outcome. If one did not plan, one could not come to victory. If one could not stand the pain, one should not go to war. A dichotomy. This one had gone to war. With a power he could not judge. And now he was backing off like he had beaten him with a very heavy stick. He really had, for otherwise this pose of his, that ridiculous search for forgiveness would not be taking place right now. And was wondering whether the situation had warranted such excessive use of his privileges. 'I'll do what ever you want ' he said. And showed therewith that he had not understood a single byte of the thing that had caused this conundrum. He showed that he had not understood the responsibilities of the grownups in Martins mind. And the emotion that was nagging at all these thoughts was simply named. Cold. Determination. With just that little hint of fury that came from damaged pride. If he had not been very much determined before to end the fight with a satisfying method, now he was to do something different. (And the fact that he had not been able to end the fight without incurring his own injury was most certainly enough to account for that other bit)

An irresponsible person promising irresponsible things. A very bad combination. The gardeners expression, complete with the freshly blooming hemorrhage was looking stonily unmoved by the mans pleas. Not a hint of satisfaction. Not a hint of glee. Not a hint of pain. It was all wiped away. Pushed away far beyond the confines of the boys perception. All so far away. “We will see how you can hold up to that promise.” A simple sentence. It was lacking tone. Color. Emotion. Like the man Martin. Like his face or his stance. It was completely neutral. And he had taken a great effort to make it so. A second chance? Maybe. Punishment for his ill-equipped and ill-minded attack certainly. Both things were in order. Both things he had to write down soon. The eternal book was filled. With thoughts and memory. Determination was in order to deal with this boy. For no other thing he had demoted himself to.

Just by using words and his hands, which he had put on Martin. A dangerous boy indeed. But punishment would commence. With the words, hinting only in their lack of hint at a blizzards cold that were to come, he walked off, paying no mind to his damaged cheek. No mind to the pain. He had to inflict punishment after all, as he had decided. Sticking to your decisions was paramount. There would be no evasion

Just walk away to dreams with me / See flowers fall eternally /
Blood raining from a blackened sky / The word that was the drop of dye /
to color both your world and mine

(( Continued for Andy in: Gardens, poison ivy, and spies... Oh my!
Continued for Saphirus and Andy in: Where mountains dance))