Fire Bug (Katurian)

[John Thornton]

John Thornton did not understand how people could deal with being sick. It was horrible. Elle had apologized, once they'd finally realized how exactly he'd come to be infected in the first place, but he could tell she found the whole thing hilarious.

Clarisse had recommended he take a few days off work, but Thornton had never needed a sick day in his life, and he would be damned if he would take one now, on as flimsy a pretext as actually being ill.

Still, the headache and the chills he couldn't shake did little to improve the already rather sour man and it was with a slightly red tinge to his nose and a forbidding expression that he was waiting in one of the training rooms for his newest student. A pyro. From Russia. With limited English. John had serious doubts on his ability to pronounce the boy's name.

Perfect. Just... just perfect.

In preparation, Thornton had on one of his least favorite shirts. If working with Lyra had taught him anything it was that Hammel did not really see replacing trainers clothes as a priority, no matter how many items were torn, incinerated, or burnt.

Though he would not mind feeling warmer. It was freezing in here, even if he was sweating.

[Katurian Arsov]

Katurian’s previous school had operated on the maxim: ‘Those who can: do. Those who can’t: teach.’

Trainers at Odarennyi were widely disliked by their students. If you had a strong ability, you were in the army – only those who were too old or weak to be of much use were sent to the school to train the next generation, and as a result the majority of them suffered from a huge inferiority complex. Already nervous about their position in the school, all of the trainers had been very aware that their jobs were on the line. They had pushed and pushed, and when pushing resulted in accidents the students were told that it was their fault, and not their trainer’s, that things had gone wrong.

As a result, Kat had always had something of an attitude problem when it came to being trained – he disliked being told what to do by someone who didn’t understand his ability, and he’d had one too many bad experiences with a trainer who expected too much of him.

He expected no less from Hammel – while his aunt Yulia had warned him that things would be very different here, Kat had been too busy concentrating on everything else to wonder about his training schedule.

Tensed ready for a surprise (one of his old trainers liked nothing more than to jump at him on entry, forcing him to use his power to defend himself), expression obviously wary, Katurian pushed open the door to the training room. There was one man inside – presumably the trainer whose name was written on his timetable. (Big, muscular, could obviously handle himself, but Kat could tell from the older man’s breathing that he wasn’t in the peak of health) ‘Mr Thornton?’ he asked as he stepped into the room, still holding himself ready for a fight. ‘I am Katurian Arsov.’

[John Thornton]

John had never been to Russia. John had no plans to ever go to Russia. Further more, what sort of a name was Katurian anyway? That wasn't exactly fair, of course. Even Thornton realized that perhaps he was not in the best of moods, and while he wasn't about to start smiling, the expression on his new student's face seemed to indicate he was brandishing a knife, or something. The boy had also clearly not been taught control early enough. His own skin seemed to tighten in sympathy.

Or maybe that was a sneeze.

"Right, yes," he nodded, still scowling. While he had found Ma far too chatty, Henry far too sullen and Lyra far too... well, blade covered, none of them had managed to look at him like he was the one who might set them on fire. "Don't stand in the doorway, come in."

Reaching into his pocket, Thornton found the folded handkerchief he'd managed to remember that morning and quickly dabbed it under his nose before looking back down at Katurian. "You're a transfer student," he started, looking down his strong and completely blocked nose for reconfirmation, "So I can assume you've already had some basic training. Unfortunately, your records weren't all transferred."

The headache was still there and John rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. It was much more distracting, being ill, then he'd expected. Perhaps because his tolerance for pain and discomfort had dropped over the last 27 years.

"So," he said shortly, "Safety first. Everything in the room is fire proof, except of course for you, and my clothes. I do have spares, but I'd rather not. There's a fire extinguisher by the door, and a blanket. I know how to use them, should there be any accidents."

His tone made it extremely clear just what he thought of the very idea of being set alight, let alone having to roll Kat around the floor in a blanket. He would do it, of course. He would just dislike it excessively. Right now, he disliked most things excessively.

"Questions?"

[Katurian Arsov]

When it came to meeting new people, Kat’s scars were still new enough that he was able to forget that he had them – or rather, to forget that other people didn’t know what had caused them. He noticed the way John’s eyes travelled from his neck to his arms (suddenly he wished that he hadn’t rolled his sleeves up to the elbow), and set his jaw stubbornly. The slight flicker of expression on his trainer’s face was enough: evidently Thornton thought that the scars meant that he was weak, and that he lost control easily.

Well. Katurian would prove him wrong, no matter what it took.

Wordlessly, he stepped further into the room and allowed the door to close behind him, unsure as to why he had been asked to conduct this session indoors – surely he was more use outside? Unless, that was, it was already an exercise in his control. Katurian nodded when Thornton asked for confirmation, and got enough of the gist of his next sentence to give the older man a second nod to show that he understood. No records. In a way, it was a relief – it would give him a chance to show them what he could do before they heard the bad stuff – on the other hand, it meant that he would have to demonstrate everything from the ground up.

But work was work, and Kat did have to admit that it would be good to be using his power again. He’d been doing a bit of practise, of course (his training sessions in Russia had been daily, and lengthy – it was strange to go for a whole day with nothing), but performing actual tasks was always more satisfying than playing by yourself.

During the long (and considerably awkward) drive from the airport to the school, Yulia had taught Katurian some useful words in English, specific to him: Pyrokinetic; fire; fire-proof; flammable; fire extinguisher – and a few others he would need to know when it came to explaining to people about his ability. As a result, he understood most of what John said to him about the precautions he had taken.

One thing confused, him though – the man had mentioned that Kat was flammable, but not himself. Puzzlement crossed Katurian’s grey eyes for a moment, but he didn’t ask about it. Thornton had probably just forgotten to say ‘us’ instead of ‘you’. Or maybe Kat himself had misunderstood. Either way, he wasn’t going to ask a question – questions were frowned upon. They showed that you hadn’t been listening.

Kat was used to just waiting for orders, but Thornton seemed to expect something – so he looked up to meet his trainer’s eyes, and asked the one question he hoped John wouldn’t mind: ‘What would you like me to do?’

[John Thornton]

Thornton was useless at reading any facial expressions that were less than obvious and so missed any confusion on his Russian student. Instead, he nodded briskly in appreciation of someone else who did not feel the need for ideal chit chat and useless questions. "Right." He sneezed and raised the handkerchief to his nose a split second too late. Damn.

As per his request there was a bucket of wooden logs, among other things in the corner. Bending and scowling fiercely at the ache in his back (he didn't ache, he did not ache so his back could just remember that) and lobbed it down at his feet. "I imagine you can set that on fire. You you need tactile contact or is spontaneous combustion?"

He stood there, arms folded as he tried to sniff his nose clear. It was embarrassing, and he rubbed at it again with his handkerchief. Maybe it was bad because his nose was rather, well... large. Or distinguished, if you asked his mother. Or a bloody monstrosity if you heard his sister when she was talking to her friends. Mary did have a very high pitched voice, and it tended to carry.

[Katurian Arsov]

‘Flammable’ was one thing – ‘spontaneous combustion’ was another. Kat didn’t understand a word Thornton had said to him, and his usually sullen expression deepened into a puzzled frown when the older man stepped back. He dug his hands into his pockets, clearly uncomfortable. Still, while he didn’t understand the words, the inference was clear: the trainer was obviously expecting something of him. And given that he had placed a log on the tiled floor of the training room, Katurian allowed himself to guess that Thornton wanted a demonstration.

He’d understood one word of all that: fire. If fire was what Thornton wanted, then fire was what he would get.

Kat looked at the log for a moment with quick grey eyes, before taking a breath. He exhaled it, and the log started to flicker – he’d simply lit it aflame, rather than deliberately incinerating it, and so the wood started to burn at a normal rate. Easy as blinking. It was dry wood, so it was soon blazing merrily – Kat couldn’t hold back a small, quick smile at the sight.

His hands had remained in his pockets during the display of his power, and now he absent-mindedly reached up to rub the scar on the back of his neck. ‘I can...make burn faster,’ he offered, glancing up to see if Thornton was going to offer him any clues as to what he should do.

[John Thornton]

Thornton's eyes widened slightly, eyebrows rising in appreciation and surprise. Firstly, because it was warmer now and that was nice because it had been really chilly. It was all he could do not to put his hands out before him and just enjoy it.

Being flame retardant meant he really did have no fear of fire. Maybe he had, when he was younger but he had grown out of it, as he had grown out of all childish things. Like colds, and games, and general silliness. He hefted over the fire extinguisher with a grunt and put out the first log with one spray of foam.

"Alright," John agreed to the student's suggestion, and reached down for a few more logs, again dropping them at his feet near the middle of the room. "Make it burn faster." He could try wet wood next, maybe, though it seemed that Katurian was having no trouble at all with igniting. What if the sight line was broken, or perhaps if his eyes were closed it would be different.

Being sick seemed to be doing wonders for his training ideas. Or maybe it was because John really wanted to feel warm again. These cold chills were really unpleasant. The log was touching his left boot slightly, but John hadn't had feeling in his toes for three years now and didn't pay it any mind.

"When you're ready."

[Katurian Arsov]

Katurian noticed the change in Thornton’s expression. Was that..? Huh. The bastard had the nerve to look surprised at what he could do. Kat’s mouth tightened, but he did also notice the complete lack of apprehension on the older man’s part. That would make a change – it was nice to have a trainer who wasn’t scared of what he did.

I could have done that for you, Katurian wanted to say, as Thornton used the fire extinguisher to kill the flames. But he didn’t bother – this trainer would find out soon enough what Kat was capable of. If he was going to be underestimated, he would have just have to go along with it until John learned better.

When the older man corrected his grammar, Kat’s eyes flicked up towards him sharply. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing – he turned his gaze back to the row of logs in front of him, and selected the second one in. Another breath, and he reached for his power: the log caught fire impressively in a sudden slap of heat, and after a few seconds there was nothing but a pile of ash where it had been, and scorch-marks on the floor-tiles. The logs next to it were untouched, and Kat shot Thornton a challenging look before turning to rummage in the bag he had left at the side of the room.

There was a large bottle of water inside it, and Kat took a long swig – his head didn’t hurt yet, but there was no reason not to pre-empt these things. He put the bottle on the floor and straightened up, meeting John’s eyes with an expression which said: Now what?

[John Thornton]

Well, that was that then. Glancing down, John sniffed again and frowned at the black mark that was left on the tile, the toe of his boot touching the ash. He had control then. Good control, given the very unburnt bits of wood on either side. Right. Looking up and seeing Katurian's face, the flicker of approval quickly gave way to irritation, and the englishman's already lowered brows dropped further. The boy could have said, now there was bark on his sleeves, and the cuff of his right trouser leg was slightly damp with melted foam.

"We would waste less time," he barked, "if you tell me what you need help with, rather then let me figure it out." It was perhaps a little too loud, with a bit too much impatience given the circumstances, but John was feeling tired and had a headache and worst of all, was beginning to feel a little stupid and he really hated that.

So he looked down his nose, which was indeed a little pinker then usual and grimaced. A powerful pyro who didn't speak proper english and seemed to take John's attempts at learning as a challenge. He missed Henry. He missed Lyra. He even missed Max.

No, wait, he didn't. Nothing would make him miss that loud mouthed brat.

[Katurian Arsov]

Thornton’s tone brought Katurian up short – he could hear the irritation bordering on anger. He felt a kick of fear in his stomach. Just because all of the other teachers here seemed soft, that didn’t mean this one was the same: Kat regarded John with a new wariness, his spine stiffening as he corrected his slouching posture. Hands by his sides, shoulders back, legs apart. Kat lifted his head to look directly at the older man, standing formally as he would have done at home.

Katurian knew a warning when he heard it. Evidently this trainer wouldn’t be pushed any further.

‘Putting out fire,’ he told Thornton haltingly. ‘And burning with…’ he sought the right phrase, finally coming upon it: ‘…Eyes closed.’ Kat hoped his apprehension on that subject didn’t show – he’d been working on blind targets when he’d lost control and injured himself, and he hadn’t been made to work on them since.

Rationally, he knew that there was no reason for him to feel worried about trying again – he’d only lost control before because he’d been too tired to continue. But the idea of slipping up again made something hot run down his spine. Kat kept his expression blank (trainers didn’t like it if they could see you thinking – you were there to take orders, not to think about taking them), and his eyes never left John’s movements. He was determined not to let this man take him by surprise again.

[John Thornton]

Well that was new. John's look of surprise was hidden as he finally succumbed and blew his nose into his handkerchief, wincing after. It was disgusting, what came out of the human body when it became sick. Stuffing the soiled material into his pocket, Thornton checked again. Yes, he was still standing at attention. There was no other way to put it. He met the boy's eyes and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. This was not helping his headache.

Kat indeed was successful in keeping his apprehension secret, which might not have been the best idea. If John had realized exactly why Katurian was suddenly so much more attentive, and indeed fearful, he would have quickly explained, or tried to, that there was no way on god's green earth any trainer at Hammel would lay a finger on him. Instead, he nodded briskly. "We can work that," he agreed, and congratulated himself on actually getting somewhere. "Eyes closed, that is."

Half aware watchful eyes were on him, the trainer kicked the remaining logs into a small pile. If this was something the boy found hard it was hardly a good idea to expect the same level of accuracy. Satisfied, and closing his eyes briefly to banish his headache from his immediate attention, Mr Thornton turned back to his student. "Very well," he said, resuming his position behind the wood pile, arms crossed. "Close your eyes, and concentrate. Picture the wood, and," that was about as much as John knew about mental powers, and he scrambled for the right way to say the next part, "ah, concentrate." He finished, a little lamely.

[Katurian Arsov]

Thornton’s approving reaction to Kat’s behaviour was a little reassuring – at least it meant that he was less likely to go past the unspoken ‘warning’ Kat had noticed earlier. Kat continued to eye Thornton with the mixture of fear and insolence he had so often directed towards trainers in the past, but he kept his expressions from his face. It wouldn’t be wise to antagonise him.

Shit. Kat swallowed hard, regretting his honesty as soon as John agreed that blind targets would be their subject of practise. But there was nothing he could say, no way he could get out of it – so he just nodded (he was unsure enough of which mode of address to use that he didn’t hazard a verbal affirmative: if he said ‘Sir’ and Thornton thought he was being mocked, Katurian doubted it would end well) and watched apprehensively as the older man kicked the logs together.

He licked his lips nervously, and felt his breathing speed up. Closing his eyes when he was instructed to, Kat took a few deep breaths – he visualised the logs, reached for his power –

And bottled it. At the last moment Kat shook his head, opening his eyes and making a sound of frustration. Don’t be such a coward, he told himself, and tried again. His eyes were closed, his hands balled into fists. Sparks started to fountain up from the pile of logs, but they didn’t catch fire – Kat pushed a little harder, but nothing happened.

Pain started to needle in his skull, and he stopped for breath. Tense, he darted a glance up at Thornton. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, suddenly aware that he had come out in a cold sweat. The air in his lungs felt hot, and he could taste metal on his tongue.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was afraid of his own power, and he had just shown this trainer his weakness.

[John Thornton]

The thought a student might finally address him as sir, rather then 'English dude', 'Mister grumble butt' (he really did not miss Max) without him having to give another talk on respect owed to elders and teachers would have vastly improved John's mood. It was a pity.

Watching the sparks with interest, the oblivious trainer went for a look of what was supposed to be encouragement, but actually looked like a slightly less angry scowl. "That was a good effort," he said honestly and only a little grudgingly, looking at the scorch marks on the rough bark. "You almost had it."

The boy was sweating, and Thornton wiped his own bro with the second, clean, handkerchief he had kept in his other pocket. He had been close, clearly, and was disappointed. Completely understandable, given the circumstances of his previous and seemingly effortless success. Mr Thornton himself hated failing at something he was aiming for whether it was balancing a complicated set of books or an adoption process. "Take a moment and try again."

[Katurian Arsov]

Oh, Kat knew that his elders were entitled to respect. He’d learned that one the hard way. Several times.

He couldn’t quite read his trainer’s expression, but it didn’t look very positive – he didn’t sound very encouraging in what he was saying, either (Kat had to go on tone for that one, as he’d been too wrapped up in his own efforts to hear the actual words that John was saying to him), so it was with some wariness that Katurian looked away from Thornton for a moment to compose himself. He didn’t want to let his guard down around this one too much, from the looks of it.

Kat took ‘take a moment’ as permission to have a drink (he was playing it safe now, and enough of his trainers at Odarennyi had always demanded that he ask for permission to take a breather during sessions), and gulped down some more water.

When he turned back to the logs this time, he was determined not to let this get the better of him. He wouldn’t give in to his own fear – and the more confident he was, the more likely it was that he could get the logs to catch fire.

Closing his eyes once more, Kat held his right hand out in front of him, fingers spread. A tiny flame began at the corner of the pile of wood – it caught quickly, but it wasn’t contained enough: thin cords of fire began to run up Kat’s own clothes, and he snapped his eyes open when he realised.

Panic seized him.

He swore loudly in Russian, slapping at the fabric of his jeans until the fire was out – luckily he treated everything he wore so that it was flame-resistant, but the fire he made seemed to be stronger than anything natural. Katurian’s hands were shaking when he had finished, and he realised that he was crouching on the floor, white-faced. ‘Sorry,’ he said again to Thornton, keeping his gaze averted.

[John Thornton]

It was entierly probable that someone higher up should have realised that Mr Thornton, with his extremely stand offish demeanor and constant scowl, was not the best person for a young boy just excaped Russia to be confrunted with. Even the englishman's friends thought his ability to say perfectly nice things with a frown was a tad disheartening to those who didn't know him.

But, sternness aside, John's reaction to seeing his student set himself on fire was that of any normal person, minus the fear of getting burnt. He raced over the short distance and breathed a sigh of relief that the flames had been put out so quickly. Still frowning, but with concern this time, John crouched down in front of his new student.

"Are you hurt?" he said quickly, brushing off the apology. "Don't say sorry, have you been burnt? Do you need to go to the first aid room?" Balancing his elbows on his knees, John sniffed to clear his nose and then pushed himself back to his feet. While he was clearly shocked, Katurian wasn't reacting like this had never happened before.

Did that happen often with pyrokenetics? They set themselves on fire? That existence seemed much too fragile.

He wasn't looking John in the eye, and the trainer pressed his fingers against his browbone until the frustration passed. "It is fine," he said slowly, trying to sound, if not comforting, then not forboading. "Has this happened before?"

This, right here, was why they needed paper work. Something like this really should have been on his report. Prone to set self alight if pushed in unsighted combustion. A sentence like that could have...

Honestly, it would have confused Mr Thornton until he'd looked up what unsighted combustion was,

but then, then it would have helped him know this was coming.

"Let's not try that again right away," he suggested, offering a hand to help his student up. "And do tell me if you feel you're close to setting yourself on fire."