An Old Lady was staring out a window at the Mansion Grounds. With slight amusement she reflected that her choice of dress for the day had been rather appropriate. Spring buds and greenery were embroidered on the hem (yes her dress had one!) winding their way upwards in a most antiquated and fashion. Outside spring was coming. The first leaved had already unfolded und buds were coming out among the flowerbeds. The temperature outside would be bearable. Or at least it had to b, for in her present mood she decided on taking a walk outside. Her joints were willing - it seemed bad weather had come to an end at last.

Spring incoming. How wonderful? She thought back to her classes and rumbled - quite unladylike - in her chest. These teenagers would be full of hormones now, sighing and smiling and it would be a chore to keep them in line. Not that they were much more of an obstacle to her doing what she wanted than she anticipated really. She was rapidly becoming infamous as one of the strictest teachers in the current body.

And the one with the oldest body. She sighted as her cane floated over towards her and she made her way in the direction of the next door. Out and about. Or so was the saying, was it not?

Cafas was enjoying spring, more or less. He enjoyed the fact he could train outside without turning blue or sweating a river into a parka. He took the short leap out the window with great care, landed, rolled to disperse force and felt awesome. now why couldn't he have done that when Calley pushed him?

Forgetting something?

A quick check of either hand informed him he was indeed. He was missing something sharp and a couple of things less sharp and decidedly more cloth like. No fist wraps. And no sword. That meant no training. Until he'd been back to his room. With a sigh he tried the Calley way, up the tree, but the branch wasn't a fan of his weight and bowed frightfully low. He got off of that quick smart when it began to creak ominously.

Stupid cute cat boy with his stupid reflexes and weight

He had no choice but the front door. He ran around, in, and up. Soon he was drawing hear his room. Well, near being relative, he was more drawing within a few rooms and corridors of his room. Ahead of his a door opened. He recognised the woman, she was the one the kids kept complaining about strictness.

Strictness in mutation control classes? NEVER!!!

Cafas smiled and waved. "G'day ma'am, how's things?". He could not have sounded more Australian had he been forcing his accent.

The be-caned woman turned slowly to face the teenager. Then she blinked a few times in evident surprise. Had that boy really had the audaciousness to dye his hair a flaming maroon color? Or what was that Thing On His Head to be called? Pink? She blinked a few more times for good measure. Finally she pronounced in a very nice alto her judgement.

"Hello Boy." Her voice held...something. It was nice. Really nice. " Also: How are things is the proper form. And in answer: Things are Fine. How about yourself?"

She managed to stand quite stately as she faced down the youth with a smile on her lips that was indeed nice. Nicely dangerous. And there was a twinkle of amusement in her eye that had nothing to do with strictness. How might the child react to that she wondered? How indeed. And then there was more. With a limberness that belied her apparent age, she grabbed Cafas by his hair.

"Whatever you have done with that needs to go. It is not your color." Her pronouncement was accompanied by a firm tug on the locks she had gripped.

Well now her reputation held up. That was one thing, how he was, that was completely separate and altogether different. He was, in a word, or three, kind of amused. "I'm doin' great, cheers." No need to respond to her corrections. What was it they said? Keep you mouth shut Cafas, before it gets you in trouble? Yeah that sounded right.

Still, I was being perfectly polite.

Now she was staring him down? what was this? The old (and decidedly weird) west? Cafas was about to excuse himself and walk from the room when his hair was grabbed firmly, and tugged. The indignance on his face could not be hidden. It perplexed him as to how she got the drop on his, given her appearance, thought really by that stage he should have been more wary of judging things by how they look.

"Ouch. I'll have you know I've had my hair this way a very long time. I put it back to brown a few days ago and there was public outrage. Riots in the hallways! Pitchforks, lit torches, placards, epic battles." So it was a slight exaggeration, he was entitled to his little lies.

Wish she'd let go of my hair.

She did not let go of him. In fact she looked rather amused. Or how was it called? Bemusement. The face of a cat that had just stolen your last bits of milk and cream. Not really stolen actually, because, as everyone knows, cats (and old people) do not steal. They simply find things they have lost a while ago. And they have gifts. Certain gifts. Like bold smiles.

"So, the boy can lie with a straight face." She so did not say that. Actually, yes, she very much did. And then came another bit. "Good for you. Considered going into car sales?" Finally she released the lock she had held hostage. "Do you have, perhaps, a pair of shears?" Her eyes were glinting wickedly now. Really wickedly.

This was no nice granny. This was no despotic teacher. This was the witch from old stories. The one with the gingerbread house. She looked ready to eat the young man. Hair and all. Quite comfortably.

Cafas took his hair back. How dare she accost his hair! T'was unseemly. It also didn't help that a kid just ran past them, the quick glare said it all 'Mutter a word and you'll soon find out how bad pain gets.' Not that this tended to really worry mutants who just smiled back and jumped through a wall. Bastard. "I'm actually in sales, though not cars, and I never lie about my products. I didn't spend two years on the street, fly to the USA and join the X-men to make my living dishonestly." Anymore... That 'Brief' stint of theft aside (brief being relative, to an immortal it would have seemed brief, okay? You happy now! ARE YOU!)

Alright I guess I'll play ball, it would be nice to have a friendly face around here.

Cafas returned the woman's smile, albeit with slightly less apparent malice. He didn't, however, refrain from stepping out of range of her reach. There, that'd show her. "Shears? No I don't believe I do, easy enough to make however. Though if I'm honest Ma'am, I'd much rather keep my hair, it's become such an ingrained part of myself that when I did take it back to brown I felt somehow like I wasn't quite myself." There, polite! Still he felt he needed it cut. Just a trim. Maybe more, likely not.

This is kind of uncomfortable.

>> "I'm actually in sales, though not cars, and I never lie about my products. I didn't spend two years on the street, fly to the USA and join the X-men to make my living dishonestly."

She snorted. Like someone twenty years younger. Maybe thirty or forty. The woman was an Old Woman after all. With capital letters. Lines in her face expressed impolite disbelief. Impolite, because it was very much direct and directed to her... partner in this crime? Her opposite... Opposition? At YOU, YOUR FACE!

She made no secrets. Of that at least. "Walk with me." She announced imperously, for something, or someone, had had enough of youthful naivete and rightful indignation. Her arm grabbed again. This time at his. (Her skin was like pergament. Thin and age-spotted. It was smooth though. And smelled slightly of flowers.) "And do not worry, your hair is quite secure." For the moment, young man, for the moment. (She did not add that she was quite capable of not only telekinetically glueing lewd pictures to doors but also of wielding razors. Pink hair screamed for flying razors. Or swords.)

"Firstly: An Australian without shears... its quite unbelievable. Secondly: X-men do tend to lie when it is convenient. They're not Saints." Most certainly she was not one. And she was an Old WOman. Who should qualify other than she?

Despite his offense at the disbelief Cafas found himself following the woman. He didn't have the slightest idea why but it seemed like it was officially what he was doing now. Her grip around his arm felt simultaneously powerful and fragile. He was not entirely reassured by her assurance that his hair was safe.

Wow. Racist much?

"Man Australia's economy hasn't been based on wool in quite a long time. Mostly Mining and Grain now, which left the centre of our continent even less hospitable, some how." Though the way he heard it they had mutants trying to terra-form the place. Those mutants were beyond his comprehension in power, which was probably why they were allowed to use their powers freely, who was going to stop them?

Certainly not me, or the government, try as they might.

And then she questioned his honour! Again... "Ma'am while other X-men may be of questionable moral fibre and honesty I assure you I am not." Not true, though who was going to dob him in? Saph? Ha, yeah that wasn't going to go well for either of them if it happened, which it wouldn't. "Where are we going anyway? Cos I was gonna train a bit."

Or I was going to use the excuse to be alone and have almost everyone leave me alone. Except girls, why don't they get that I'm not gay anyway? I mean my boyfriend gets it...

Man? Politically incorrect much? She ignored his ignoble comment without much ado. Why? Because young people did not understand any more. She was Granny Stephens. And she understood some things. Like war. Like politics. As far as she was interested in them.

"Boy, assure me of whatever you like." Her voice was one of stern admonishment. Of the unbelievers talking. Heretic she was in the world of Holiness that was the Mansion. It was the tone of age and wisdon. or it was supposed to be. Supposedly somewhere in there lay the gravitas of age. But it was well hidden behind a wall of snarky acid, liberally poured upon youthful convictions. convince me, her tone said... convince me please.
It also said: You will not do it. Not because... Im unbelieving. But because you can't. I see beyond your Masks. Too old I am for games of faces. Too little patience. Too little... imagination?

"Be what you want to be, but purity and goodness have killed more people than have wars. Convictions... demand a price. Both the ones handed out from cour and those others put into your pink head." It was effortlessly emotionless her voice. As if he had no stake in things. "And as training falls into the purview of my classes, why don't we head to the danger room?"

her walking stick made appreciative noises on the ground. Or mocking ones. Meteronomic clacks that underlined her statements. Her slow movements telling of her age. Carefully. Effort hidden behind the skin like her veins. Shining through. Who would believe that she was the stern teacher? Many it seemed.

Cafas had a feeling their discussion on the matter of morals and convictions was over, so he left it. He felt like a child compared to this woman, as was evident by the fact he was still following her without even the thought of resisting. That is, until she mentioned her classes, now the thought was there, that was for sure.

What was the word they used? Unpleasant?

Despite his misgiving Cafas still didn't stop following her. "Given that Sam covers physical training, I'll have to assume this is going to be mutation training?" That and the woman looked old enough that a light breeze may do her in, though he knew that appearances were hard to judge by.

Man don't I give my powers enough of a work out with my business?

The danger room did indeed appear to be where they were headed, and Cafas didn't like the smirks he was getting from passers by. "So then, what's the plan? I manipulate the properties of metals, have to be touching them, though I suspect most of the staff already know that."

Her smile stays in place. That old smile, friendly. Granny smiles. And then she forms the words. "Mr. Johnson..." The name flows from her lips like something smelling cordially of a dogs droppings. And looking somehow like your favourite fruit... rotten suddenly in your mouth. Mr. Johnson. Every syllable distinct. Every part apart. We are not. One. Could it be any clearer? More cleanly?

"...does work on the physical aspects of training our students." Now back to sweetly saying things we know. Maybe she doesnt much hate the physical things. Despite being obviously not in good shape any more. At seventy-three that might indeed be excusable. but what do young people know of being old and... frail?

"I am currently thinking on doing a few excercises with you." She announced. Nothing more. Nothing less. What those might be she did not elaborate. But then they had arrived at the signature metal door. That might... have been coincidence. Then again Granny had taken some time with her answers. Maybe lost in though. She was an old lady after all. And old people are forgetful. Everyone knows that.

Over the touchpad at the entrance spread a green glow, creeping around slowly. Some kind of snail looking for things maybe. But then again... Granny was a Mutant, too. Quickly, very quickly, the door opened and Granny strolled in, taking no heed of her young follower. She knew the room and the layout it seemed. Was confident and comfortable here. And equally confident in the curiosity of young men presented with a challenge. The scene had changed away from the all metal interior already. A bit it was like walking through a window. (Holodeck much, are we?) She was... knowingly amused? Can one be these things together?

The scene was pastoral. Insofar as the african steppe is pastoral if you walk into it. The heat was brutal, unrelenting. The sun found you everywhere, beat upon you with such force that sweat shot out of every pore immediately. One would be drenched in minutes. Off to one side were several low trees. Thorny and gnarled things. To the right was a small mount of what appeared to be rocks. And to the front was...

an Elephant. It was colored like Cafas' hair. Margenta. Pink if you wanted. "but first I wanted to show you something." The old lady said. Not that she left the youth much time. She let her walking stick fall to the ground. It made a small cloud of dust appear around her legs. But that wasn't what drew the eye. What drew the eye was the fact that the big... pink... Elephant was being wrapped in the same kind of glow that had appeared before the entrance. emerald green. Translucent. What happened next you asked? Its not like you can juggle elephants. Or do anything else interesting with them.

Well... she trew it. Away. Made it fly. To an extent.

Drom the trees to the left there came a very... big... crunching sound after a few seconds. Granny already had her stick back in her hands. She was not smiling. More thoughtful. "They say I am a stern teacher. Questions?"

Did she just... Throw an elephant? Cafas was slightly too awestruck to have any questions, though he did wonder how a simulation in Africa would help his power at all. No metal as far as the eye could see. Dust rose around him as he sat in the beating sun. It had been a nearly three years since he'd felt heat quite this intense, maybe more, when had he done the whole Uluru thing with the parents? Before he'd left home. Wow it had been quite some time, that was... Nearly six years.

"I see not metal here, so unless your idea is to make me try to find what things my mutation does not affect, we might need a different simulation." He was being a bit of s smart ass, but she had it coming. Especially given the tone in which she had mentioned Sam, who Cafas, at the very least, respected. He lay back, stirring more dust to rise around him, letting the sun filter through his eyelids. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, a bit hot, but the humidity was low and it was way warmer than New York ever got. the city never seemed to leave Spring, just rode it straight into Autumn.

The crash from the elephant landing was outstandingly loud, the trees had never stood a chance. Cafas was waiting for something interesting to happen. He half expected she would throw him next, or at least pick him up, he suspected she liked being able to intimidate people. Well, she didn't intimidate him, he would sit here being a pain in the ass until she gave him something to do, and then he would do it, because he had been meaning to do training anyway.

Ah, the Old Ladie never lost her composure at the loud noise. Though she did regard the rising plume of dust from the trees with a sort of slightly confusd fascination. She se emed almost meditative in her contemplation of the results her little stunt had produced. Maybe lost, as old people so often were, in the way-back-then. Not quite here anymore, are we? And indeed she was not. She recalled her more youthful (and, as she would say, more adventurous) days. Back when she had had an occasional need to do something impressive for impressionable young men. Or to them. She had been a memorable woman.

>>"I see not metal here, so unless your idea is to make me try to find what things my mutation does not affect, we might need a different simulation."

Her student for the evening had had a question though, and she turned rather deliberately to face him. "I do think you might appreciate this." She said in tones that bubbled up slowly from her lips. Thickly like memories from far away. Her hand raised her walking stick. She shuffled her feet a bit as the act shifted her balance. Nothing dangerous yet, but really, she did not want to fall down here. And my, it was hot in that room she thought as she brought it down again with grand gesture. Well a somewhat spoiled grand gesture. More like fell upon her stick. Why did there have to be a stone right where she wanted to put her foot? She was still cursing under her breath when the wooshing sound appeared.

Wooshing sound... like air being forcefully displaced... from overhead. QUickly getting louder, very quickly. Noise it was now. Now it was becoming...

*tschunk* There was a plume of dust. An eruption of a miniature volcano maybe ten metres away from the pair. That and a notable shockwave going through the ground. Like something had hit a big gong. Cafas might note that there was metal in the savanna now. As the dust began to clear, the shape emerged slowly, glinting into the luminosity of the sun. Another something Cafas should be familiar with. An anvil was lying in the desert. *tschunk* make that two Anvils. *thunk* three.

Granny had made it rain. Anvils. In the desert.

Cafas did wonder what the seemingly crazy old woman was up to. As he lay there in the plains, calmly observing the sky, he noticed something growing nearer and nearer. At first he had thought it to be a bird, but as it got larger and large in his vision he came to recognise the shape. He also knew roughly how much they weighed, and, not knowing if she had some form of coating on them, was not sure he could deal with it.

Ho cra...

He rolled quickly out of the way as a sizable crater formed itself somewhere around where his hips had previously been. After a moment of observing the object in the crater Cafas was glad he had moved. The momentum alone would have done him in without some very clever work.

Well I certainly have never been on that side of the relationship before...

"Anvils. Well, I don't know what you have in mind, but that is certainly more for me to work with than dust and elephants." Cafas took a quick jog between the anvils. All roughly the same size, shape, looked like the same metal even. Well, iron was reliable like that. He was more used to steel anvils, they were lighter and didn't corrode as fast, but he was sure he would make do.

Crazy Witch...

Yes... A perfect quote...

Granny... the crazy old witch... smiled at the youg man in the way sweet old people did. "Why, I thought you could work with moving metal... and this Id like to train with you." Spoke it with the most adorable east coast accent and... one of the anvils lifted off the ground, glowing sickly greenish. It flew straight at Cafass' face. Because anvils are sneaky like that. And old people have no consideration whatsoever.