compass {Mike}

[Erik Stewart]

By the time another day of training was done, it was almost dark. The days were getting shorter. Soon it’d be cold weather all around, and Erik never did very well during cold weather. He soured, grew sullen. His already lackluster productivity output fell during the fall and winter months, dropping next to nothing – some days it was hard dragging himself out of bed before four in the afternoon. And with the cold, he knew, came the holiday season, and the date of his birth, too.

But that was another matter entirely. While Erik’s studies continued to suffer, he managed to show up to training lessons, at least, and even made some progress with it. If Mike’s goal was to get him to transform quicker and smoother, then he’d get his wish. Even Erik’s backaches, which seemed so prominent when he first came to training, had subsided some with each successful day. It was surely a feat in teaching the un-teachable. Erik himself seemed simply bored with being confrontational where Mike was involved, but that wasn’t to say his attitude had vanished completely.

“As soon as I’m done with this shit, I’m leavin’,” he said. “I’m droppin’ out.”

He was tired and he had work right after this, until ten. Mike had given him some minor criticism or another and it’d set off his little confession, with his brows drawn in and his mouth set. It might have seemed like a lie, or an over exaggeration, but it wasn’t. Erik had been thinking about it for quite a while, and for some reason his fifth year of high school seemed like the ideal time for him to follow through.

“I’m tired of this place,” he added.

[Mike Batista]

Mr. Batista wasn't under any delusions that Erik came to training regularly due to his trainer's skills or the level of interest he had, honestly, he didn't quite know why. Possibly because he was making progress he could quantify, possibly because he had the school's mantra drilled into his head and figured the sooner he was in charge of his powers the sooner he'd be let go. Either way, Mike was proud of him and what he'd accomplished.

As it happened, Erik was one of those counter-intuitive shifters who ached less when they shifted more. Most shifters were the opposite, and a few had no correlation between frequency and aches. Knowing, as they said, was half the battle though, and it was a good thing to know. Mike asked that Erik shift at least twice a day, though he didn't know if the boy was carrying out his orders. He must've been doing it at least once, though, or he'd be more achy and cranky.

The sudden statement didn't surprise him. Erik had no love for either the school or his education, though his low level of participation was a large factor. Not that Mike was about to use the old 'you need to apply yourself' saw. Deciding to finally care about your transcript at almost-nineteen wasn't... ideal. Phoenix.

So, foregoing the whole 'but you could do so much more' junk, he just nodded. No judgment, no shock. "What did you have in mind for a job? You staying here?"

[Erik Stewart]

Erik had meandered a few steps away from him. His back was turned away and his hands were raised, brushing up and down the length of his freckled neck, in a gesture of frustration. Before he turned to face him again, his fingers pulled at his hair, and he let out a long stream of breath. “I have a job,” he said.

It wasn’t the best one. He cleaned up around the LGBT center, a ‘part-time janitor’ was the official term. His prospects after that weren’t great – not with his grades, nor his lack of funds – and he might even be stuck there indefinitely. “Indefinitely”, however, was a hard term for Erik to grasp; at most, it meant five years, tops. Erik looked into the future and found nothing worth envisioning. Asking him to describe his ambitions within the next ten years would be a frustratingly impossible task.

“I work at the center,” he said.

He knew he was going to get a ‘That’s not good enough’ look, or, at worst, a wrinkle of derision. Erik wasn’t that keen to see it.