Time Warp: Nanananana Batman! (Mr Batista)

[Kieron Sharpe]

[October 2001]

Kieron looked at his maths homework again as he slouched against the wall in the corridor. B-. Well, it was an improvement from last week at least, but that minus glared at him mockingly. He had tried so hard but he was still so far off. Harvard or Stanford would never take a B- student, even though he didn't really want to go to either of them anyway. He wanted to go to Washington and study Ichf – Ichtha-... fishes, but his parents would never allow that and without their blessing (and the money attached to it), it was a pointless hope. Much like when he had been six and really, really wanted to be Westley from The Princess Bride.

A hand ran through his shaggy brown curls, the fourteen year old sighing in disappointment as he carelessly stuffed the sheet of paper back into his bag before shrugging it over his shoulders. At least his main classes were over for the day, that was the important thing. Sliding his sunglasses back up his nose, Kieron fished the little bag of turkey jerky out of the pocket of his navy blue jacket and nibbled on a small piece. It was bland and chewy and he didn't really like it, but he had been told that his body was burning through protein so quickly that he'd always have to be keeping on top of it. For the rest of his life. That sucked and the amount of nutrition classes he was having to sit through sucked and the jerky really sucked, but hey; now he got to go outside and be awesome!

For as much as the Irish boy hated school, he always looked forward to his training sessions. He had a new trainer today because Mrs Booth had left to go have her baby, but that did nothing to diminish his excitement as Kieron all but ran out into the chill October air, a bright smile on his lips as his maths homework was all but forgotten. Shoving his shades back up his nose again, as they had slipped when he was bounding outside, Kieron blinked back against the brightness of the setting sun as he approached the man stood not far from the doorway. His Irish accent was soft but standing out slightly more than usual thanks to the excitement in his voice. “Hi! I'm Kieron, are you Mister Barrister? I got told to meet out here today because Mrs Booth is off now.”

[Mike Batista]

Despite being a Stateside school that catered primarily to the Americas and the island nations in the Gulf of Mexico, enough kids off the beaten path found their way into Hammel that there were always new accents in the halls and old-timers like Mike could 'speak' Euro. Trainers, jumpers, anti-clockwise, 24-hour clock times, real football, etc. His latest trainee was an import from Ireland, but who'd been in the US for about four years and Hammel for a year. Reports and his file from Mrs. Booth said Kieron Sharpe was a very motivated young man when it came to training but often did not achieve grades in academia that satisfied him despite being above average. The boy's grades were certainly better than Mike's had been at the same age, but scuttlebutt said the parents wanted him in a very high profile career. In this day and age, Mike didn't know what the point was of parents in first world countries who were dead-set on their offspring pursuing careers of their choosing, especially when it was obvious the child in question did not have the required aptitude or desire. He supposed it required a special sort of blindness that some parents just had. Mr. Sharpe at least enjoyed his training, so that was something. Mike was very glad there was some aspect of his schooling that he enjoyed.

Outside in the brisk fall air, Mike wore a sweatshirt and medium-weight coat with his jeans and sneakers. A backpack with supplies in it dangled off one shoulder, containing his clipboard, paperwork, bottles of water, and various painkillers/supplements his trainees might need after a session. Mrs. Booth had said he'd recognize Kieron by his sunglasses. She was correct.

"Afternoon Kieron! I'm Mr. Batista, yes. Good to meet you!" He didn't say anything more about the pronunciation of his name unless the kid needed it said again. A grin spread over his face; it was usual for him to get the sullen, angry ones, so getting a sunny one was a treat. Tilting his head toward the field in a gesture that meant to follow, Mike started walking. "I'll be your trainer now," he continued. "We'll be having our sessions outside for as long as possible - I believe in getting you guys out of the school a little, change up the scenery. I also believe in taking a lap or two before a session to get you warmed up." Mike smiled and shrugged. "Makes me unpopular, but I've been making kids do the track for over twenty years and it works."

In the backpack was something else, but he'd wait for after the session to bring it out.

[Kieron Sharpe]

At first Kieron had hated his training sessions. The manifestations were awkward and hurt and he kept breaking things and bumping into things and it was just horrible. However, the more he had been forced to practice the easier it was becoming, and though he knew he was still a very long way from ever being as epic as he wanted to be, he could see little improvements and it was making him gradually more and more excited about getting to practice. It had helped that the home economics teacher had taught him how to make slits in the back of his shirts, so that if he did have an accident it wouldn't be quite so traumatic or hurt quite so much.

“Sorry Mister Batista.” Kieron had manners enough to know to apologise if he messed up someone's name, but the smile beaming on his lips showed that the gentle correction had been taken very lightly, and he followed after Mr Batista. “But it's good to meet you too!” As a general rule Kieron was a relatively happy kid outside of the classroom setting, and even though the setting sun was making him squint slightly it did nothing to dampen his spirits.

Hearing that the training sessions would be mainly outside caused Kieron to nod his head quickly in agreement. “I'd rather be out here, sir. My wings are pretty big an' I feel all cramped inside... and the walls hurt if I clip them.” One thing Kieron had learned very quickly was that yes, his wings were on the sensitive side, and when he messed up and they hit something holy potato skins it hurt!

“Oh, you want me to run? I can run!” Kieron's backpack was unceremoniously dumped on the ground, the young teen clearly very eager to just get to it. He did a few very quick stretches like he had seen the runners on TV do before a race, and then he set off jogging with no further prodding necessary. Kieron ran with all the elegance of Bambi on ice, but there could have been no doubting his enthusiasm.

[Mike Batista]

Very few, maybe one new student every two full school years, really enjoyed their power right out of the box. Mike personally felt that the best a newly manifested meta could reasonably hope for was indifference, but it was all too common to get kids who were completely at odds with their powers for quite awhile. Barring a fear of heights (which he'd had to deal with many years back), kids with wings tended to be the lucky few who delighted in their meta abilities fairly quick. Kieron had a few extras that made his life more complicated, but Mike was glad this particular stereotype had proven.

"No problemo, Kieron," he said easily.

Once at the track around the training field, the kid just went to it. No arguing, no whining, no long sighs or rolled eyes. Miggy, he said to himself, you hit the jackpot. You deserve a good one after all this time. Kieron's form was a bit troubling, but it didn't seem like running was hurting him or that his rather awkward stride was the result of anything physically wrong.

Two laps done, Mike had him walk to the center to cool off, and said, "Kieron, I'd like to just feel your back after you take your wings out. See what your muscles are doing, and then see you stretch out, as far as you can, and then flap a little, slowly, so I can see how they work. You feeling any aches or pains?"

[Kieron Sharpe]

Kieron had seen first hand the effects that many powers had over their wielders, and he had enough sense to realise that in a way he had been very lucky. Yes it often hurt and he couldn't go anywhere there was bright light any more and he'd accidentally ripped through more shirts in the past few months than he cared to think about, but compared to the kids that were screaming in pain or had bleeding noses or worse, he knew that he had got off easily. Besides, some kids could only make pencils move or make water ripple or something. He could freaking fly! How awesome was that?!?

There was nothing physically wrong with Kieron to make him run like he wasn't entirely sure where his feet were, but he had never been a sporty kid and running didn't really come naturally to him. He could just about manage with it, but he would never be like one of those graceful runners that ran the marathons or anything. After the two laps he was puffing slightly, but it had done nothing to dampen his quiet giddiness.

The next words spoken by the trainer, however, knocked the bright smile right off the young Irish boy's face. Whilst he had absolutely no problems with getting his wings out, having done so many times now under Mrs Booth's guidance, his wings were incredibly sensitive and people touching them felt very... odd and uncomfortable and strange. He couldn't quite pin-point why, but it felt a little rude and unwelcome from someone who was practically a stranger.

Still, Kieron had never been one to disobey and he knew that the sooner he got this over with, the sooner the bad-touching would stop. Kieron shrugged out of his jacket, the discomfort and unease clear on his features, and hazel eyes closed as he focussed on materialising his wings. The dark brown leathery wings started small but slowly grew, the span getting wider and wider as they arched into the air, towering over boy and trainer alike. Most people get cute little pixie or feathery wings. Kieron got gargantuan bat wings that appeared to be to-scale to allow actual flight for a person his size. He laughed quietly, his unease clear. “Can you, ah... See why I prefer being outside now?”

Kieron stayed still as Mr Batista poked and prodded at his back, thankful the trainer was at least being gentle about it. For a fourteen year old he was reasonably well toned in his upper body, thanks mainly to Mrs Booth's insistence that he started doing upper-body workouts to try to get more strength in his shoulders where the wings took root. When Kieron stretched them out they spread out to the sides from their root on his back, almost the length of a bus from tip-to-tip, and the young boy wobbled slightly as he adjusted his centre of balance to accommodate their weight. “It aches a bit, but it always does. It doesn't hurt like it used to. First time it happened, I was in hospital until the person from here came to get me.”

[Mike Batista]

Mike's own manifestation had not been any great revelation and had only begun in the last few years to really hit him in the side effects. His problems lay in being transferred across the country and his horrendous attitude. He'd never been envious of other metas' powers, Lord only knew what a terror he'd have been if he'd been able to fly, but there was always a curiosity. And of course, a sympathy.

None of the physical metas really liked this part, the inspection. He couldn't blame them, but it wasn't like he was going to post pictures online or judge them. It was all part of the job and he was as professional about it as possible. Mike kept a gentle, and he hoped, reassuring smile on his face as Kieron took off his coat and let his wings out. The process was a bit slower than he'd seen in other winged kids, but it gave him a good look-see at their build.

"Yep, I can. They're wonderful."

The trainer moved his fingers as softly as possible while still testing muscle mass and strength. Checking for anything too tight or lax, for possible strains or for places circulation might be hampered. All in all it looked healthy and strong, like a natural part of the boy rather than something just tacked on and not working with the rest of him. The wingspan fit the measurements Mrs. Booth had left him, and the rest looked to be in order. Excellent.

"That's good! You are a shapeshifter, you know. You just add on instead of completely change. But it all looks good! I can tell you've been doing your exercises. I compliment you on that, a lot of kids don't like them and don't do them. Without regard for your eyes, is any time of day better or worse, wing-wise? And then, with regard to your eyes, how are they feeling?"