Time Warp: Thick Headed [Vincent Meian]

[Clement Evans]

October 18, 2013, afternoon.

The combination of zero progress with his current trainer and the many detentions he got for not cooperating led to Clement getting a new trainer in the middle of October. That was fine with him. As much as it grated on him, his power was useful. It had saved him at least twice, from Xavier and from his own father, and as much as he appreciated not having serious burns or multiple broken bones, he couldn't help resent it. Not only had it literally changed his life, but popping out armor during every fight... seemed like cheating, or like his body thought he couldn't handle it. Clement thought it... well, made him weak. It was an odd thought, and probably didn't make much sense to anyone but him, but... there it was.

For his first training session with Mr. Vincent Meian, Clement was late. Unintentionally. He'd never been in that part of the school before (his other trainer held sessions outside), and his crappy eyesight couldn't quite make out the room numbers over the doors. Clement had heard things about Meian, though he wasn't aware that he was also Jesse Adams' trainer. The Japanese trainer was unflappable, strict, and by all accounts tall enough that his lineage was probably tainted with orc or yeti. Clement felt especially sour about the last. It was like his life was trying to make him run into every stupidly tall male in Vermont. Where, apparently, even the Asians grew to insulting heights.

After squinting at door sils for five minutes, he finally thought he found the right door. It was open, and there was someone ridiculously tall inside with black hair. Or, well, black at the top of their body shape. Clement wore jeans with slightly grubby knees, white sneakers with blue stripes, and a red t-shirt. Given his power, his clothes were all a little oversized (not that this was difficult with his very skinny build), and he wore a pair of red suspenders. They were sort of dorky, not that he cared about that, but he wasn't going to have his pants fall down during his first meeting with this dude.

Standing just outside the door, he looked inside uncertainly, and then took a few steps inside, a look of 'is this right?' on his face.

[Vincent Meian]

Clement Evans had been transferred to one Vincent Meian under the apparently unspoken rule that any child too unruly or stubborn or emotionally damaged for anyone else would be taken without question. That wasn't the case, of course; both Chase Campbell and Mike Batista were very good trainers who took pretty much anyone as well. However, it did seem to be a trend for the Japanese man to get transfers more often than new students for whatever reason.

Personally? He thought it was because Yvette Morganstern didn't like him. But he did his job without question and stuck to it. No student had out-stubborned him yet, and few had ever been transferred from his lessons.

The fact that the small boy was late came as no surprise - it was their first session, all the others had been held outside, and the Californian was still relatively new to the school. Besides, he was used to waiting when it came to his students. On time or late, he was always there at least a few moments before the scheduled time. So waiting a bit longer wasn't a concern.

He would, however, be amused at the idea that he was descended from some sort of mythological beast, though. It certainly gave reason the inexplicable discrepancy between the average height for males in his country with his own stature.

Having worn something of color for once today, Vincent stood in the room, rolling up the sleeves of a red dress shirt tucked into his normal black jeans. Having been facing the door, he noticed and looked up when Clement appeared, noting that the boy didn't look him quite in the eye and squinted. There was a reference in his file that the child didn't see well, but refusals to have an eye exam put the school at a bit of a stand-still. Not that it mattered particularly to his training until they were further along - when Clement would need to refine his powers in practical use.

"Come in, Evans-san," he stated, beckoning the boy into the mostly empty room. "Please close the door behind you."

He didn't mention the tardiness. The boy was on-guard enough without being berated for being late.

[Clement Evans]

Campbell and Batista had been considered for Clement when it became crystal that the current arrangement wasn't going to work, but both other men had powers that made them uniquely suited to a certain demographic of meta that Clement did not fit into. Yulia and Honor were too strict, and the others he'd probably out-stubborn as well.

...Evans-san? Okay. Japanese. Clement had figured that from the name, but thought with a first name like 'Vincent' the guy would be a later-gen and not someone who might not have a firm grasp on the L sound. It was a little uncomfortable being called the equivalent of Mr. Evans, since he was used to hearing it when he was in trouble. He thought he might be anyway, since he was late. Clement closed the door wordlessly and stood by it, not ready to leave its sense of protection. The guy was tall. Taller than Dr. N, taller than Ben, taller than Jesse, taller than Xavier. And he was built.

Shit.

Unconsciously, Clement folded into himself to make the smallest target possible, curving his shoulders in and holding his hands to his stomach, back to the door. His pale blue eyes darted about, looking at (approximately) where the trainer's head was, and where his hands were.

When the man was finished rolling his shirtsleeves up, the view of his forearms made Clement's own hands and arms armor up to the shoulders.

"Ow fuck."

[Vincent Meian]

Fortunately, despite being a direct transfer from Japan, Vincent had grown up with an Latin name that was ridiculously hard for people of his country to pronounce and thus knew rather clearly how to pronounce most of the sounds that littered the English language. 'V's in particular, which meant that despite the way his vowels tended to form, saying Clement's last name was actually without error. His first name would be a bit trickier, but the tall man did know how to enunciate the difference between an 'L' and an 'R'.

Unless he was upset, but that was a different problem.

Unfortunately, the child seemed quite intimidated by him. Back against the door, eyes darting to every motion that he made, curled up on himself as if to make a smaller target - signs of abuse, or at the very least fear. In fact, despite not telling him to, the small teen immediately turned the tell-tale gunmetal blue up his arms once the trainer's hands were back at his side. The expression and expletive were also enough to make him frown. Not in anger; notating the side-effect of pain.

However, he could not approach the boy if it would only make him more afraid. Hmm.

Looking to one of the desks in the room, where he had placed a boxed lunch in anticipation of this manifestation (notes in the file stated a severe deficit of vitamins and glucose after power usage), the tall man thought, then decided against it. No - he'd still be ridiculously taller than the child sitting there. Hm.

Oh well.

Taking a half-step back, Vincent settled himself on the floor, then beckoned Clement over. "There is no reason to be nervous. I will not harm you."

[Clement Evans]

Being able to say L put him ahead of Ajima, whose difficulty with his name had prompted her to rechristen him in Korean. She couldn't do the V either, but Korean didn't have that sound so she was excused.

Cowering (yes, it was cowering, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it wasn't), he watched his new trainer with a somewhat skeptical expression once the pain of the armor passed. The big man looked around, as if in thought. At a desk, and what looked a little like a doshirak and kind of like a pencil box. Another moment, and then that long storky body compacted itself, origami-like, down onto the linoleum.

"There is no reason to be nervous. I will not harm you."

If there was ever a sentence designed to make him paranoid, that was it. Clement had lost count of how many times he'd heard that or some variation of it, and how many times it had been a big fat lie.

But, well. This was Hammel, and the adults here didn't fuck with him. The kids were a different story, but the adults, nope. Still, why'd he have to say that?

Stepping forward hesitantly, he hissed a little when the armor vanished. It didn't hurt, not at all, but it still felt a little funny. It wasn't so much like putting on and taking off real armor, or even clothes, but like going from being one thing to being another. Still eyeing Meian, Clement slid forward a few more steps and stopped well outside the man's reach. Blue eyes became hard, as if daring him to try something.

[Vincent Meian]

Knowing the signs of abused and skittish teens, Vincent merely waited while his new student tested the waters around him. True to his word, the trainer wasn't going to harm him; if there was a need for a strength test of the armor or any practical self-defense application, those would come later. Much later. For now, it was just testing boundaries, getting to know each other. Clement's file had stated that his manifestation was in self-defense, but given the boy's stubbornness very little else was determined save what his recruiter noted.

Though the stare he received was wary and cold, the tall man simply looked back, patient. His large hands rested in his lap, and though his posture was straight it was also relaxed. He had no need to be ready for a fight, even if the boy was going to be irascible. It'd already been made clear that his stature was enough to make the brunette cower anyway; being more aggressive would make matters worse, not better.

Still, they couldn't just sit and stare at each other.

"Evans-san what do you know of your ability?" he asked simply, the tone merely curious and without accusation. Pointedly, he did not order (or ask) the boy to sit as well - he was not so tall that sitting would place him eye-level with the Californian, but the difference in height and stature would be easily noted if both were sitting. Whatever made the boy comfortable, or at least less nervous.

[Clement Evans]

The trainer was almost unnervingly calm. Of course, with that height and that muscle, he could probably spring into action without any notice. It made Clement that weird and sort of stomach-clenching combo of glad/resentful for his powers. Glad he had them, resentful he was glad.

Sliding forward a few more steps, still just outside the man's reach, Clement stopped at a place that was a bit off to one side of Meian's front. From what little he could see, the man was dressed sort of formally for a training session, but maybe he thought Clement couldn't do much. Or, anything that would get him dirty. He was correct. On both counts.

...Know about his power? Clement blinked. He'd never been asked that, and now that he thought about it... he didn't know much. But... there wasn't much to know, was there? It was all pretty straightforward.

"Um. It's body armor. It's... fireproof. It makes me have to drink this stuff in a can." There were other things, but they were pretty obvious. Like that it was that weird blue-grey color, and could cover as much of him as necessary. And there was the whole 'manifests when endangered/nervous', but he wasn't going to say that. Somewhat against his will, a brown eyebrow rose and he asked, "Do you know more?"

[Vincent Meian]

While Clement's assessment was very true objectively, it wasn't the case currently. The trainer could easily defend himself from this position, and in fact had been trained to do so himself, but he had no intention of harming his students when it was uncalled for. The armor later would perhaps change the match-up considerably, should the Californian learn to control it properly, but fighting wasn't what they were here for. Today.

If the boy could have seen the clothes his trainer wore more clearly, he probably wouldn't have had an idea of 'formal' first - though still very dark, the black jeans had certainly seen better days and were beginning to wear in the knees and pockets. The same could be said for the red shirt, to a degree, as the fabric was not a finer weave like one would expect from its cut but simple cotton. Easier to get stains out of and patch, which was handy in such a physically intensive line of work as this. Compared to some of the other trainers (namely the female ones), Vincent was practically dressed in full casual wear.

Ah. Well, that was straightforward enough, and accurate if not terribly in-depth. At the question, he nodded a bit. "The armor you manifest drains nutrients from your body," he explained. "That is why you have been told to drink those beverages - they help replace what your abilities use. There is a list of vitamins and minerals that are drained when your power activates, thus if you are having difficulty with your current diet I can help you supplement it." Nothing like having well-rounded meals and healthy snacks, after all. And Clement didn't look like putting on some extra weight from food intake would hurt him.

Aside from that, there was little else he could explain without first doing a number of tests. After all, though the armor was impact and heat resistant, that didn't mean that Clement couldn't feel anything underneath it. Additionally, it would be a mistake to assume that it was effective against blades or any sort of piercing strike without testing, and that was very dangerous. Especially given the brunette's lack of control and general skittishness.

"Have you tried to make your armor appear at will?" Vincent asked. If the power activated simply as a reflex, it would be much harder to train. But first he needed to see if the boy was willing to try otherwise.

[Clement Evans]

Clement thought anything with a collar and/or buttons was formal, and had yet to wear either one. Liked it that way. Though he'd probably change his mind once the temps started dipping.

The trainer just sat there, hands resting on knees, looking for all the world like he was perfectly relaxed. Clement wasn't fooled. To him, it looked like a coiled spring, a set mousetrap, just waiting to snap. Not a little of it was due to the guy's sheer size. It wasn't often Clement ran into guys that big... well, till coming to Hammel. Xavier, Doctor N, Ben Rhodes, and now Vincent Meian. It was like now that he was meta he suddenly had an advantage he shouldn't have had, and to balance this out, he had to meet a series of increasingly tall males.

The long explanation was phrased oddly and archaically enough that Clement didn't completely understand it. He also didn't know what 'nutrient' meant. His face showed a bit of his uncomprehending, eyes squinting and brow furrowing in a way that meant he didn't understand rather than that he was angry. (For once.) Finally he said the only thing he could, "I don't know."

The question surprised him. Clement hadn't even considered making it pop. It was such a nuisance (when it wasn't saving his life) that he didn't know why he'd want to have it appear when it didn't have to be there. "No."

Honestly, he had no idea what to do to make it manifest. Looking down at his hands, he flexed them a few times. Nothing.

"Can I make it go whenever?"

[Vincent Meian]

The boy's face went from suspicious to confused, and once again the trainer cursed his lack of complete fluency in English. It made things difficult to convey sometimes, especially to younger children or to those (like him) who spoke English as a second or third language. He frowned slightly, trying to think of a better way to word everything he'd just said without making it sound like he was talking down to Clement.

"There are other ways to keep you healthy other than these drinks when you use your armor," he finally stated after a moment. "Changing what food you eat and how much will help the most. I can help you understand what to ask for from the school kitchen so that you will need to drink fewer of those protein mixes as we train." It wasn't exactly what he'd said before, but he was trying. Getting things across in a language where you barely understood the slang, let alone spoke it, was difficult.

The answer was somewhat expected; the teen's abilities tended to manifest in moments of danger or high-stress, so there were a number of reasons that he may not have thought to try it outside of self-defense. But the fact that he was interested in whether or not he could was promising.

"Many abilities can be used... at-will," Vincent replied, struggling to make sure his terminology was understandable. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again if he could help it. "Your power will most likely be the same with proper training. Currently, the armor appears when you are... nervous. It is defensive. As you learn in this school, you will find ways to make it activate outside of your reflexes."

Meaning 'probably not now, but pretty soon', basically.

[Clement Evans]

Though he likely didn't know it, English fluency was a problem of everyone currently in the room. Clement tensed a little when his trainer frowned, not sure if the man was angry at him for not understanding, but he didn't break out in armor again. But Mr. Meian just started talking again, and this time it was Clement who frowned. Being told to eat more was an old saw, and one he tried to follow now that he had readily available food all the time, but most often he just wasn't very hungry.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, shifting a bit uncomfortably. Clement didn't like it when people knew he didn't like something, and though those drinks were gross, it wasn't like it was painful or anything.

That he could control his power was an almost revolutionary thought. "So... I could make it not happen when... I don't want it to?" But then there was the other thing he had to clear up before they went any further. "Why am I supposed to do it at a person? Who's Will?"

[Vincent Meian]

"It does matter," the trainer replied firmly. "There is little point in training you if doing so makes you ill because you cannot keep yourself healthy." If it were any other student (or perhaps just one with fewer issues with adults), he'd suggest sending them to a nutritionist to get an exact understanding on what vitamins and minerals were needing to be replaced. But Clement was having a hard enough time staying in a room with him, it seemed, and the tall man had made every effort to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"Yes." Vincent relaxed a bit and nodded in approval. "To... 'hold back' when you do not want it to happen, and to make it appear when you do."

However, the trainer's face registered confusion as well. A person? How could armor be used 'at' a per-

Oh.

Inwardly, the Japanese man cursed. Outwardly, he simply shook his head. That's not what he... how else could he explain it? Clement understood the concept he'd been trying to convey, but had misunderstood his terms. Again. "No, not... to be used against anyone named Will. 'At-will' means... when you wish it. I apologize; English is not my first language."

As if that wasn't obvious.

[Clement Evans]

The words, though true, made Clement scowl. It wasn't like he wasn't trying! He'd spent his entire life trying to keep himself fed and healthy! Failed miserably, but that was beside the point. Now, despite having what seemed like a stupidly bountiful tray full of food three times a day, his stomach had been conditioned over the past twelve years to maybe 500 calories a day, tops, and was too stuck up to change. Honestly, was meat at every meal a thing?

That revelation made him thoughtful, and for once his guarded face relaxed. His last trainer hadn't mentioned that, though... he hadn't been with them long, and most of the sessions had been Clement ignoring what was said and doing nothing.

By this time, Clement was close enough to see Mr. Meian's face change expression. Clement's mirrored it, as he didn't understand why he couldn't understand his own words. And then shook his head. Why? Was he trying to deny how dumb Clement was? Some of the anger returned to the boy's face, but then the man spoke.

Oh.

Well Christ, that was a weird phrase. How could 'at will' mean the same as 'when you want to'? Clement couldn't see the connection, but then, English wasn't his preferred language either.

Deciding not to comment on any of that, he just said, "I can't use it a-at anyone anyw... way."

Theeeere it was. Clement ground his teeth in frustration. He knew it would show up eventually. His head must be more mixed up than he thought. Clement scraped his tongue against the backs of his teeth, hands into fists. Pressed his lips together.