Playing With Fire (Sam Rixon)

Changing trainers was all too familiar with Sam. Either his trainer moved on to another job or school, or they got sick and tired of his shenanigans and fobbed him off on someone new. Usually it was just a game, and a chance to annoy someone else.

This time he’d been a little reluctant on the change. He’d liked Sabine, when she wasn’t being a complete bitch. He’d made some sort of progress with her, however minimal it was, and now he was changing. He didn’t even know who this ‘Vincent Meen’ was, but if he was anything like his best friend (also Vincent), maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Vincent Verax as a trainer is a terrifying thought.

As a rule, Sam was usually late to his classes. It didn’t seem to matter when he got up, or how organized he tried to be. He was unfailingly late. Today was no different, and he couldn’t even blame it on his math teacher keeping him behind to discuss his behavior, or his grades. He was just... well, Sam. Unorganized, and unmotivated.

As such, he slunk into the room a solid five minutes after he should have and dropped his ‘bitching’ shark bag with a bang on one of the desks in the room. “I’m here!” Looking a mess as usual, not to mention mature, he eyed up his new trainer. Definitely not as cool as his best friend, but hey, he’d take it. “Can we make s’mores? I can make the campfire!” Yes, he was hungry, and s’mores sounded like a great idea to practice with. If only his new trainer agreed with his logic, and if he was awesome in any kind of way, he would.

Well, he could hope, right?

Sam had energy, yes. That much was very much true. He seemed to have two modes of operation. Tired and lazy, or hyper and energetic. Vincent was lucky that their first meeting was not on a lazy day. He was also lucky that the teenager had finally kicked his pot habit. Showing up high to training sessions had never gone well, if history was anything to go by.

Better yet, Vincent hadn’t yelled at him for being late. That was a first. He hadn’t even had to drag out pitiful, flimsy excuses as to why he’d shown up late. Vincent was freaking awesome.

“Sweeeeeeet!” Sam practically howled the word as he bounded over to the desk. He had no idea what was in the container, but he was more or less a human garbage disposal. As long as it wasn’t fish, he would try just about anything once. So, into the container he went and retrieved one of the fruit things. “Ohhh my freakin’ GOD, dude. These are wicked good.” So much so that he might have inhaled the rest, were it not for the warning.

Vin always got to eat in class. Something about cell regeneration and needing food for it. Well. Now Sam’s trainer did the same thing, and even provided the food. Amazing food. He had something to brag to his best friend about later, now.

After swiping his hands against his jeans to brush off crumbs, Sam beamed at his trainer. “Awww, shit, dude. No one told you?” He wiggled his fingers. “My control sucks ass.” Yes, that was a legitimate measurement, in his mind. “But I can totally show you!” He had no problems showing off his power, controlled or not. “What’d you want me to burn?” He was so used to this, he knew the drill.

“They’re amaaazing, dude. Your wife make ‘em?” Yes, Sam was stuck in the dark ages where women cooked and men did... well, manly things that did not involve cooking or baking. He was useless in the kitchen himself, and was usually happiest when Spencer cooked at her apartment. Sure, he’d tried to learn, but he’d quickly lost interest. Though he quickly did a double take when Vincent continued. “Duuuude. You made ‘em? That is...” Sweet? Lame? He couldn’t decide. So he just crammed another one in his mouth before speaking anymore. “Awesome,” he finally decided after he swallowed.

In Sam’s mind, ‘sucking ass’ was definitely a legitimate measurement of his abilities. His best friend said it to him often enough, so it had to be true to some degree, right? (That was going with the theory that Vincent was right... well, ever.) Oh well. His trainer would learn soon enough.

Sam caught the little pinecone and looked it over. He was used to lighting training blocks, or things outside. Or joints, when he still smoked. But this was new. Granted, it could also be fun. He could lob flaming pinecones at Vincent all summer long. Surely that was best friend love, right? “... That’s it?” Controlling burns to his skin was something he’d been able to do for a while now, simply because he’d needed to. This might be something he was good at.

“Okay! WATCH THIS.” Sam grinned as he cupped the pinecone between his palms and focused. For a moment all the thing did was weakly smoke. When it did ignite, Sam promptly looked pleased with himself. He grinned as it flamed into oblivion.

He just hadn’t banked on the fast burn time. The pyro jumped when he felt the scorch of the heat on his hands and hissed, dropping the blackened, hot thing on the floor. So much for showing off for his trainer.

Approve? Sam liked food in general (really, it was a miracle he wasn’t in the running for the Guinness World Record for biggest waist – curse teenage metabolism), but these were something else. He really hoped he could figure out an excuse to inhale more of them. After practicing, apparently. And now he was sugared up, and had some sort of motivation to work. He was so ready.

Sam had actually gotten quite good under his last trainer’s instruction at focusing. It was rare he lit unintended objects on fire now, but he still had issued controlling flames he started that grew, and he still couldn’t extinguish flames bigger than, say, a lighter’s fire. It had been a great trick when he’d still smoked. That was something he was still missing, but at least his withdrawal symptoms had slackened somewhat. It had been much, much harder than he’d ever thought, but Dr. Neville’s coping techniques, lame as they were, really had helped. He still had cravings, but they weren’t as strong or close together anymore. Normally when he was stressed out. Or bored.

He didn’t think his finer control had anything to do with quitting. Nope. Not at all.

The pyro caught the pinecone and looked it over, giving it a stern stare. “I can totally do this. You just watch me!” He leered harder at offending pinecone, jamming his finger against the scales. “Listen here, you. You’re not gonna burn me, got it bitch?” Yes, he just called the pinecone names. With that settled, he focused again, feeling the familiar warm surge throughout his body. Sadly, he seemed to have forgotten about the burn time again. No sooner had it ignited that he yelped and dropped it again. He shook his hands, rubbing them on his jeans in the hopes that it would alleviate the feeling of sticking his hands on a hot stove. Now it was a personal battle. The pinecones were working against him, and damn it, he was going to show them. “Gimme another one!” Well, at least he was working.

Sam would curse at anything. Best friends, inanimate objects, and sometimes even teachers. Granted, that was only a) when he was going through withdrawal at the start of his mission to quit smoking pot, or b) he was really, really frustrated. Usually in training. He’d cursed a blue streak at Sabine more than once. It would probably only be a matter of time before Vincent was subjected to the same thing.

“Uhhhh.... what?” Sam blinked, not understanding the instructions he was being given. “Nah. I can do it my way.” This was another reason he tended not to make progress in training. He was stubborn to a fault, and even when the suggestions given were probably helpful, he tended to ignore them until he was just about flat on the floor from exhaustion and frustration.

He concentrated again, heat flooding his body. He got the thing to light, and managed to hold it for a fraction of a second longer before a little sap pocket snapped and he lost his concentration. Again, he burned himself and growled, lobbing the pinecone to the floor rather than dropping it. “Sonofabitch,” he hissed, pressing his hands together. “This is stupid.” He hadn’t quite hit his wall, but he could see it now. Forgive him Vincent, burning his hands tends to make him a tad cranky. “Can’t we do something funner?” Because ‘funner’ is most certainly a word in Sam’s world.

Sam had all the time in the world, it seemed. His lacklustre attitude towards all things academic had already kept him at Hammel until he was twenty years old. All he had to think about was that he was still less pathetic than Vincent. His best friend would probably be here until he was thirty, unless he finally found the secret to being expelled, or just flat out quit. Then Sam might actually have motivation (and less distractions) to achieve success. Granted, with his girlfriend having graduated at the end of last year, he’d just found more excuses to leave campus and hang out with her. Sometimes she still tutored him, but for the most part he was happier with make out sessions and movie marathons than studying.

Concentration was key for training. Sam knew that. He also knew he lacked it at the best of times. Sabine had been able to keep his focus mostly through barking orders at him until he actually listened and tried. He’d also lost control the most under her influence when he let his temper get the better of him. Especially recently. Quitting his habit had left him with some impressive mood swings.

He was mostly riled up now because the pinecones were mocking him, dammit. At his trainer’s question, he shot him a tiny glare. “I can do it! Just...” How did he explain this? “That one hurt,” he tried. “Can we do something else?” Really, the burns were something he was used to, and they didn’t hurt that badly. He just figured if he looked sad enough and played the sympathy card, maybe he could get out of the pointless exercise. And the mocking pinecones. Vincent, herein lies Sam’s biggest problem. Enjoy.

If Sam graduated, it would be a sheer miracle. Though he'd settled down somewhat since he'd weaned down from smoking pot, his grades were still close to circling the drain at times, and though his control had improved, well... he still had random bursts of flame from time to time. Vincent would have his hands full if he expected to be a part of Sam's eventual graduation. If it ever happened.

Focus was a problem area all around. Sam got bored in class, he got bored during training. If he didn't 'get' something, his usual solution became to do little more than start to doodle and forget to pay attention. At least he had Spencer's help in math still. The rest of his classes, well... he just found them dull. Training included.

Well. Had found them dull. Fireworks? Hello attention.

"Fireworks?" Sam was all too familiar with fireworks. He and Vincent had shot off more than their fair share of them in the past few years. "Y' want me to light them? Because I can TOTALLY do that!" He had no idea what containing them meant, but if it meant turning the training room info the Fourth of July, well, he was totally down for that. "Beats the shit outta pinecones."

No, he was still not going to watch his mouth. Especially not now, when he was all excited.