His was not an uncommon face around the Mansion. In fact, it was perhaps a more common face than common sense dictated.

Whap!

“What—?”

“You’ll get worse than that if Sam notices you skipping Conditioning.”

“I—”

“Your funeral, man. I’ll wave to you when you’re doing your three hundred laps.”

The boy continued down the stairs, the second of his heads giving one last disapproving shake in the Italian’s direction.

Calley, apparently, did not go out of his way to explain his brother to his friends. His friends—perhaps on a related note—generally did not wait on explanations. This had happened before: especially this semester, as his study dates with Katrina had become... distinctly more frequent. Slate rubbed the back of his head, and proceeded into the girl’s dormitory hall. Outside of Katrina’s door, he paused to loosen the scarf around his throat. It was November, and the Mansion had definitely turned on its heat for the winter, despite the weather forecast: highs in the fifties all week, with more chance of rain than snow. He raised his hand to knock—

“I’m telling Cafas!” Someone shouted from the boy’s hall. Laughter and a hastily slammed door followed.

Sighing was a sigh of immaturity. He refrained. He was five years old now; five years old was much too old to be annoyed by such trifling matters. Especially not when he had important appointments to attend to.

Are you ready, Katrina? He asked, after a polite knock.

He was twenty minutes early. Punctuality was a sign of one's maturity.

“Ready... get set....”

>>Are you ready, Katrina?

The teen illusionist awkwardly pushed off the starting block, realized at the last second that psychic messages were not the same as a coach yelling 'go', tried to stop herself from causing a false start, and failed.

Failed, with a face full of gravel.

Oww...

The whistle blew, the class gathered, Katrina was sent bleeding with a pass to see DocProf. It was only a scrape, but it still stung.

That's one way to get a girl out of class early, she commented, sending along an accompanying mental imaged of what happened. At least she'd have time for a very quick shower now, instead of having to run into the meeting all sweaty and gross.

Grab me a towel and something clean to wear? She had enough time, but just barely.

The stair case never looked as long as it did right after a conditioning class, especially one in which they'd had to run laps around the track, then up and down the bleachers, then back to the track. Again and again and again.

Somehow she made it to the top, and Slate was there waiting. So worth the 22 steps.

“Hey,” she turned her smile into a pretend pout and pointed to her cheek, “Fix me up?”

Classes. Classes every day, from approximately 7:30 in the morning until 2 in the afternoon. This was something to which high schoolers (who were not failing) were accustomed. Having never properly belonged to that category, Slate had... forgotten.

White sunlight on grass and track and silver whistle around Sam’s throat. An Italian boy on the sidelines, nursing a water bottle petulantly, sweat on his forehead. A blue-skinned girl at the next starting block, poised to begin as—

“Ready... get set...”

Oww.

Slate rubbed his cheek, and met Katrina at the top of the stairs. It was a Tuesday; his morning classes were over, and he had several hours until his lone evening class; Engine Performance Lab.

>> “Hey. Fix me up?”

“Of course.”

He stretched out his hand on her cheek. The scrape was gone at the lightest touch; he brushed the smudge of dirt away.

“I left your clothes and towel on the bed. I will be in the living room, when you are done.”

The reason why was easy to explain.

The drawer, open before him. His hand, half in and half out, the clothing item dangling. Her mother, standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Slate. My daughter is at class.”

“I know.”

“Do you.”

He tucked his scarf up to his chin. Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps there was a slight chill to the Mansion’s air.

Katrina had difficulty suppressing her laughter as she hurried down the hallway to the shared girl's dormitory bathroom for what might have been the fastest shower she had ever taken. All the while she was thinking about what laughter must sound like when it's only in your head.

She reappeared in the living room, clean and refreshed, just in time to make it to their appointment with Shin. It was so tempting to grab onto Slate's hand and pull him all the way there, out of excitement. Except she didn't want to look like a little kid right before an X-man interview and she didn't want to look like a lovestruck teenager in case her mother was still lurking. So she didn't.

Their meeting was to take place in one of the study rooms in the library. Katrina had never used one before. She usually just plopped all her things down on a table in the center and spread herself out until she reached one of the computers. Besides, those study rooms were well known make out spots. The last thing she wanted was to walk into one that looked dark and abandoned to turn on a light and find that it was not so empty after all.

She was a little nervous, for some reason. Not that Shin was scary or anything, it was just such an official official interview and since Slate was also interviewing, there was twice as much reason to be nervous.

You'll do great, she reassured him, though she was pretty sure she was more nervous than he was anyway. Her hand, mostly without her permission, sneaked it's way into Slate's just long enough for a reassuring squeeze of reassurance.

She put a brave smile on her face, then walked forward to greet the shard manipulator.

“Hi Shin!”

"Hi Kat!" Renowned dog walker, dog watcher, and awesome mansion person. He smiled at her. "So, you and Slate, huh?" Slate. Not renowned for dog-walking. Rather, for lack of basketball skills, and for helping them all out in Romania. Alongside shifty gun lady. And other interesting things. "That'll be interesting."

Did she want a Danger Room test to go with this? Or was this just one of those interviews people did? He hadn't really gone solo on getting people onto the team before. An odd fact for a team leader like him. One had to learn sooner or later.

Sooner, rather than later was the key word here.

He was not nervous, contrary to Katrina’s apparent expectations. He had led a Faction himself quite capably, as well as a drug cartel and a foreign senate; his resume was well equipped for handling the responsibilities of an X-Trainee. Granted, it would be best if the X-Man did not examine that resume too closely, per se. Or ask his birthday. He was both physically and mentally capable of joining their team—that should be enough.

He didn’t have time to squeeze Katrina’s hand back; she was already moving to greet their interviewer.

Tetsuya Shinbo, more commonly known as Shin. They had met once, when Slate was very young. He feared the impression had been... less than favorable. He had heard the man was at the Romania Concentration Camps, as well—but he had only caught a fleeting glimpse of him through the rainbows.

He offered his hand to the X-Leader. “Mr. Tetsuya. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I trust you’ve been well?”

He loosened his gray scarf. It was getting hot again.

Katrina kind of knew what to expect once she had joined the X-men. She had been to the meetings, heard their plans, been on a minor mission or two, seen a tryout... and she thought she could handle it. She didn't, however, know what to expect from this meeting.

She knew Shin in more of a friend capacity than she did in any official capacity: she'd talked to him, babysat his dog, things like that. She didn't know what he was like as a team leader, though. She wondered if he could get really strict like Sam could, or if he kept a secret silver whistle, or if he liked to make impossible obstacle courses for prospective trainees to get through.

She just wasn't sure.

The little illusionist (who only ever admitted to turning invisible) pulled out a chair at the little study table and sat in it.

“So. How do we become X-men?” There would be some kind of danger room test, she knew, but were their other tests as well? Would they pass those?

So you find yourself a teacher at a Building full of Mutants. What is the first thing you do when you arrive? Nearly split a police officers scalp. Yes. Just that. Also try bullying your way around the staff. It usually works when you're past seventy. People tend to see you as frail (which - how utterly thankless of your body - you are) and a mostly incapable (which is a big mistake. About the size of a car. Being thrown at the face of you. Bam.) old hag.

So what you do after adjusting slightly the perception of the elderly in your immediate surroundings? Well... you go out and get yourself a bad case of the flu. No, not the standard variety that leaves you incapable for a few days. Being elderly and having a thankless body you get a full blown pneumonia. And a hospital stay to go with it. Was there a mention that Doctors are wonderful people? No? Consider it done. They really are. Especially if you are past seventy. And have pneumonia. They start liking you so much that they do not want to let you go quickly.

Not that you actually can walk in your dazed state. Actually you are being walked by two very nice men in blue uniforms. Who look at you most considerately. In that way that says: The hag is about to die.

Lesson One: Throwing cars is no help against bugs.
Lesson Two: This hag is not about to die. Bugs are a nuisance this body has been fighting longer than you, dear child, are on this world. It will not be put under by laughable Pneumonia. You might just find her gone for a month while she gets treated and recuperates though. Florida has the most charming sanatories, the doctor said. She raised her eyebrow at him. And went to California. Surfing is a sport for recuperation, yes?

And then, one day after you get back, you walk down the hallways of your place of residence. Your hip hurts. Your walking stick is thumping on the ground. Only to find two students talking with one of the Xmen. How considerate, as they would allow you for a few minutes of rest and, maybe, entertainment. And maybe she could indeed catch her breath, as it is rather labored. This is rather not a hypothetical situation, as any avid reader might have guessed. This is Granny. Capital letter. At the Mansion. Now: To look imposing. Two hands on your cane. Breathe.

And try not toppling over during the following coughing fit.

>>“Mr. Tetsuya. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I trust you’ve been well?”

The handshake was returned. "I've been good, thanks. And you can call me Shin." He smiled. For some reason, it felt unusual to him to be called Tetsuya by anyone other than his girlfriend or family.

There was one other thing Shin recalled of Slate. He could heal. He'd healed Kasumi, after all. He'd probably be useful on the team.

>>“So. How do we become X-men?”

Shin looked to Katrina. He didn't know much about her mutation.

"This is actually my first real solo recruiting," He admitted. "When I was brought onto the team, there was an interview first, and then a training session. A really wild training session. Streak likes laser robo death bots, you know?" He laughed. "I'm thinking of something different for you two. But first." He moved to close the door to the study room. Then, Shin sat down at the table with them and folded his hands. "Tell me, why do you want to be X-men?"

There was an elderly woman outside the study room's door. Her hair was gray, her cane stout, and her cough rather bad. She really should see the DocProf about that. Or was the DocProf limited to physical injuries, as he and Sebastian were? Slate really needed to meet the man, and compare healer's notes.

Mr. Tetsuya—Shin—discretely closed the door, successfully refocusing Slate's attention on the matter at hand. Interview, then training session; likely, no laser robo death bots. This was just as well: Slate had piecemeal recollections of facing similar robots during Calley's long-ago X-tryouts, and he did not think he would prove very effective against them. Katrina's illusions were not likely to fare much better, against mechanical opponents.

He blinked his way out of his thoughts as Shin asked a question. A rather good question.

>> "Tell me, why do you want to be X-men?"

A question he, perhaps, should have had a ready answer for.

"I... I believe it is time that I attempted to aid the world under leadership not my own. I want to help people, but... on a more local scale."

While he stood by his actions in Colombia and Romania as having helped, his actions in Serbia and China... had been slightly more consequential, and distinctly less positive, in a quantitatively measurable sense. This many trenches dug between Germany and France; this many square feet in Moscow destroyed in fire; that many people left pliable to a new leader's rise; that many custom printed wedding invitations arriving in a little brown box to a home that had no use for them anymore.

I just want to be near Katrina.

Slate was tired of starting wars. He trusted in the X-Men to do nothing of much consequence, on that scale.

Katrina gave a little wave to the old lady that wandered by with her cane. She was perhaps someone's grandmother come to visit or something. Shin shut the door so they could go back to their conversation.

Katrina looked down at her hands in her lap, suddenly shy not so much because of the question, but because of Slate's answer: the one that only she could hear.

That was sweet. Also, how was she supposed to answer now that she was all flustered?

“I want to join because...” Slate had already said he wanted to help people so she couldn't say that. This was a hard question to answer! “Well, I liked being an X-kid and making a difference and helping the community, I want to improve my ability to work with others, and now that I'm old enough, it seems like the next logical step.”

And about those laser death robots...

“Except, I'm not sure that my abilities would be great against laser death robots. I'd make a better pilot, or a stealth specialist or something. I turn invisible, but I don't think it works on machines, so I'd really not be very useful against something like that.” Slate's healing wouldn't do much good either, so unless they had different versions of the tryout for different people, it was very possible that they wouldn't make it in.

>>"I... I believe it is time that I attempted to aid the world under leadership not my own. I want to help people, but... on a more local scale."

Slate said.

Katrina suddenly got shy.

He supposed it was a tough question to answer. He had not heard anything funny in Slate's answer to cause such awkwardness, so it obviously had to be that. He recalled his own time answering the question. It had actually been quite cliche, and... in line with both Slate and Katrina's answers about 'helping people' and 'helping the community'. They were acceptable answers. He would also have accepted 'setting a good example' or 'showing people mutants can be good, too'.

Kat's answer went on to emphasize piloting skills and stealth and invisibility and stuff. Yes. Those were good, also.

Which reminded him. "I think we need to set up more pilot training lessons for me at some point, Kat. I'm still not Gundam Grade."

"I think those are good answers, by the way. And training sessions don't always have to be 'Go here, defeat this'. I think I can figure out a mission about helping people that'll show off both of your skills. Are you ready to go?" And maybe sneak past the old lady outside the room?

Had they already passed the interview stage? There was no logical reason they would move on to the next stage if they had not. Slate had honestly expected more questions; he had not particularly looked forward to them. Shin had acknowledged their single answers as satisfactory, however—and now they would move on.

This made great sense, Slate decided. The X-Men were not known for talking.

>> "...I think I can figure out a mission about helping people that'll show off both of your skills. Are you ready to go?"

>> And maybe sneak past the old lady outside the room?

Ah-ha.

Katrina, Slate covertly transmitted, as their proctor would no doubt expect, I believe our practical exam has already begun. Shin wishes us to 'sneak past' the elderly lady outside.

Slate had full faith that Katrina could handle her task; he was proud he had caught on to his first cue, as well. Though he could not remember telling Shin he was a psychic... this thought did not trouble him for long, however; of course the X-Leader would have means of finding this information out. How very shrewd of him.

Sneak? Oh, she could sneak. It was one of the things she did best. She gave Slate the tiniest of nods, then whispered out loud to both of them.

“Don't say anything for a minute.”

Then she turned all three of them invisible, even to each other. She, of course, could see both men in a half way there kind of way, but they wouldn't even be able to see their own hand in front of their own face.

Speaking of hands, after quietly opening the door, she took Slate's hand in her right, mentally blushing at having a legitimate reason to do so, and Shin's in her left, and gave them a gentle tug in the right direction.

The old lady never even noticed them. In fact, no one did. All the way down the stairs to the danger room, not a single person so much as blinked at them.

At the door, Katrina let go of both hands and invisibility illusion at the same time. What she really wanted to say next was 'Ta Da!' but it seemed somewhat unprofessional for an official interview, so she skipped it.

>>“Don't say anything for a minute.”

Shin was confused! But like the lady said, he shut. Up!

And suddenly, everything was made quite clear. well, er, that is to say. Very clear. See-through, in fact. One might say, invisible. Or else, everyone had simply left, even him.

Shin looked at his hand. Even him.

He had not realized the invisibility could pass on to multiple targets. It was kind of cool. But of course, being the professional that he was, he didn't let things like shiny new possibilities or surprise distract him, or come out in his surface level thoughts.

Okay. They may have come out, anyways. Not that he knew anyone would be able to sense those sorts of things. Really, the only person he knew of who could know when he was surprised without showing it was Kealey. And he usually acted surprised anyways, for her benefit. And also, because his acting sucked.

A hand grasped his own. The realization that they were supposed to move became apparent. It was nice when things became apparent, when one was silent and invisible. It made following the leader that much easier.

I wonder... this would be a whole lot easier, coordinating movements if we had someone who could both see the invisible and project thoughts into others' heads.

Row. Row. Fight the power...

The song had gotten stuck in his head for some zany reason he could not quite place. It must've been something someone had said.

Silently, they slipped through the halls.

Finally, he was visible. Shin let out a breath like he had been holding it in the whole time, resting his hands on his knees as he doubled over. Slightly.

Phew!

"That was awesome!" Shin said. In his most professional tones, of course. Because he was a pro.