Not again [Stephen]

"I've got the world on a string..."

Stephen Gage had a propensity for singing to himself, if poorly.

"Sittin' on a rainbow..."

Today, for all its autumn cold and dying trees, was no different. Sometimes he'd hum, others merely snap his fingers in time with beat, and on rare occasions he'd walk in time with whatever music happened to stroll across the pathways of his brain.

"Got the string around my finger..."

It was an old tune today, classic, and enjoyable despite its age. The cold has lessened in its intensity as of late, and that alone was reason enough for Stephen to be in a good mood. His coat, usually buttoned and zipped to the maximum possible level, hung open, revealing the long-sleeved t-shirt he'd donned beneath it. The Hammel campus was beautiful, even more so now that he wasn't viewing it from a hunched-over position as he tried to fend off a chill. It was a sight he'd seen plenty of times before, but he rarely got tired of it.

"What a world, what a life - I'm in love."

Well, he'd never claimed the songs he sung were accurate. Love was something he'd somehow managed to miss as of late. His most recent date had been a catastrophe, so far as he was concerned. Honestly, who ends a date with a handshake? Apparently, dentists from Montpelier. Cute dentists, at that. And Stephen had found the compliments of his teeth far from endearing.

Something much harsher than his song reached Stephen's ears, and his eyebrows shot up, his head craning this way and that to find the source. Somebody was yelling, angrily so. It seemed to be coming from around the corner of a building. Stephen ran, terrified that some student's powers had gotten out of control. He knew a thing or two about that, and recruiter or not, he considered it part of his duty to stop that from happening.

His boots, worn for the weather, thudded heavily on the ground as he ran. Hs hand steadied the rest of him against the wall as he whipped around the corner, expecting to find somebody glowing and ready to explode.

Instead he found a fight. A catfight. And he was not pleased. Prepared for the worst and presented with the least, Stephen's face creased in annoyance and he trudged towards the brawl. A small group has formed a ring around the two female students who seemed dead-set on rending the other to pieces. Kids.

"Hey!" Stephen called, and some members of the ring look up, fear on their faces at the sight of an adult and probable faculty member. The spectre of discipline loomed above them, and they parted, allowing Stephen to get a good view of the fisticuffs. "Stop!"

Nothing. Fine. If they wouldn't stop on their own, he'd make them. His hands at his sides, Stephen flexed the fingers on his hands once. Teenagers had smaller bodies than adults, easier to control, and faster to dominate. He called out again, using the parenting-voice he'd perfected through years of practice on Zac LaRousse"I said stop!"

Times such as these made Stephen extremely pleased that he was not a teacher. His time away from the campus assured him that he rarely had to deal with bickering between students. The only fighting he had to deal with was with those usually infinitely less-trained than himself: angry, scared, or uncontrolled potential recruits. Once they actually reached Hammel, Stephen liked to fool himself into believing, they became more well-behaved. Evidently, that was not quite the case.

One of the frozen women disappeared before Stephen's eyes, the action causing a break in his stride only for a moment. Her clothes remained perfectly visible. Maybe she was an Invisible, maybe she could camouflage, or do a whole host of other things of which Stephen either hadn't or couldn't think. Either way, it was a bit impressive. Though certainly not enough to let her off the hook. If that was her power, though, Stephen likely didn't have to worry about her. The other one posed more danger. Last time Stephen had forgotten to be mindful of potential abilities, he'd found himself on the receiving end of a terrified child's telekinetic push. Turns out they don't have to be able to move to use it. Whatever the case, he knew one of their abilities. Might as well make use of that knowledge. He sighed. "Stop hiding, I can see your clothes."

At some point after receiving an admittedly impressive beating, the visible girl had fallen to the ground. And now, with Stephen's influence, found herself unable to stand up. Stephen pointed to her, more for emphasis than anything else, then jerked his thumb skyward. "You. Up." Her body followed his commands, the girl's eyes widening. Words came from nowhere, and Stephen looked around in mild surprise before seeing the empty clothing. Right. "It's over. I don't care who started it. I finished it."

Stephen crossed his arms in front of his chest, cocking an authoritarian eyebrow simultaneously at the visible and, he hoped, the invisible girl. These disciplinary things were difficult, at least when students were involved rather than Zac. Christ, how did he used to do it? "Now, one of you is going to tell me why I had to."

There was a single, very simple thought that crossed Stephen's mind the moment the girl opened her mouth: This woman was a bitch. As she continued, he eased his immediate stance to accommodate the various tribulations of life as a teenage girl (something with which Stephen was notably unfamiliar), though the general notion remained that this girl was what some might consider rather impolite. However, the sheer bluntness of her speech seemed to lend credence to her tale. Usually, lies weren't delivered quite like that. Either this girl was one hell of an actor, or she was telling something rather close to the truth. The spitting, however, did not help her make a good appeal for sympathy, nor did her aggravated demand of a request to be free of his power. His lips set themselves into a grimace at her abrasive nature, answering her with similar bluntness to her own. "No. You'll just run or try to hit her again or something and I'll have to do it again. Too much trouble. You're lucky I don't freeze your face, though."

The bleeding girl, the one whose boyfriend had supposedly been hit on, spoke up at Stephen's warning. "Do it! Do i-" she managed to get off before Stephen cast a look at her and pinched two fingers together, her mouth shutting itself firmly. He held a finger out to her, scolding her wordlessly, before turning back to face Cali. He waved a hand, removing his influence from her body, save her legs. "You can let the arm down, but I'm keeping the legs. They're mine for now. Now you," he said, returning his gaze to the silenced girl and unlocking her mouth, "What's your story?"

The girl grimaced fiercely at the two of them, jabbering off her own version of the events. "All I did was ask her to leave! Then she up and punched me, and of course I'm going to fight back! Not going to just let something like that go. I was trying to be nice. She was the one who started it."

Stephen sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Why did he have to get himself involved in this? He could have just kept walking and ignored the yelling. How much easier his day would have been. He clapped his hands together, rubbing the palms and looking from girl to girl. "Right then," he said, looking now to the other students that had remained, "All of you guys. Out of here. Before I make you, and yes, I can." The smart ones heeded his orders immediately, those less bright following suit shortly after. He returned his attention to the girls, half informing them of their future and half asking whether it was a good idea. "The three of us, off to Dr. Neville we go. Sound fun?"

He smiled, his index and middle fingers on each hand jabbing forward, commanding the girls to walk. "I'll let you lot go when we get there. Promise."

The vast majority of disciplinary meetings that took place in Sean’s office involved students fighting. In some ways, it was encouraging that there weren’t many incidents of academic dishonesty, and with a few notable exceptions – primarily Sam – there weren’t many drug or alcohol busts. On the other hand, the students should know better than to fight, but they were walking pots of raging hormones and that affected their judgment.

As such, although the psychiatrist had been interrupted while writing his notes by Stephen Gage and Cali – walking jerkily like she was being controlled, and given Stephen’s presence behind her, she was – he wasn’t surprised by it. Before asking questions, he saw that the reason had involved fighting. Cali should have known better, but she was a teenage girl, like half the students. Pulling on his discipline face, he told her, “Cali, you can sit down.” He then turned to Stephen, “You can let her go now, but thank you for bringing her in.”

Teenagers tended to be more aggressive due to the combined effects of their brains still maturing and the hormones which washed through their systems in unpredictable cycles. Sean understood this and thus was never surprised when students came to his office for fights. He still didn’t approve, because fights hurt others, and particularly with meta-human powers involved, there was a greater risk of danger. Given how it was a crime for a meta-human to use his powers against a non-meta, the students had to learn self-control now before they graduated.

He explained this to them occasionally, but it never seemed to take hold. This was how he ended up with repeat offenders in his office. The telepath waited for Cali to settle herself in her chair; he didn’t return the smile, because this wasn’t a smiling matter. There was nothing humorous about fighting, particularly not when they’d had this conversation before. “Who did you fight with this time?” It was best to simply cut to the chase.

Since no names were available, Sean had three options. He could either read Cali’s mind to find the girl’s appearance and then identify her himself. He could ask Stephen later, since he had broken up the fight. Or he could send a security guard to find the other person involved in a fight, although that would take time. Since asking Stephen was the quickest way that wasn’t invasive, he resolved to do just that. As for her sarcastic question, he replied sternly, “There won’t be any more punching people in the face. No more fighting. If you can’t handle your temper, then the next time someone gets you upset it’s your responsibility to walk away.”

While she laughed, Sean remained serious. He was not joking when he made that suggestion; he was telling her what she needed to do to become a functional member of society and to keep herself out of detention. Because the next time, she would simply be punished without the intermediate stage of talking to him. “I realize. You need to learn to let it go and start controlling your temper. This is unhealthy, and it’s unfair to anyone who crosses your path. Your temper is your problem and your responsibility.” It was not for other students to have to keep on their toes around her.