Markers and Stepladders (Thomas)

[Henry Ballo]

Henry wasn’t sure about this whole…warm up session thing. Oh, he knew he needed it. That wasn’t the problem. After getting stuck in that tree, that was a no brainer. The problem was…

Well, a couple of things. One was that Henry just had a problem admitting that he needed help. He rather thought that the rather stiff email he’d sent to the trainer probably demonstrated that. Although, to be fair, that was also due to the second problem: the fact that a grown man used that colorful markers to make his point. Because to Henry…that was just plain frightening.

But oh well. He needed the help, and the man was offering. So when he got into the training room, he did the best to brush off any unease that he felt and came into the room ten minutes before the appointment had been made. He was dressed in his typical gym clothes—a tank top and a pair of normal pants—and had brought with him a stepladder.

You know, just in case. He WAS having issues getting down, after all. And now to wait for the man who liked colored markers so much.

[Thomas Lajoie]

"Boy you got my 'eartbeat runnin a-wayyy"[/i]

Thomas was so excited to begin his training sessions. So many people had reached out an asked for help, and he was only too happy to accommodate. This kind of practice would allow him to go into scheduled, structured classes with something to work on. He was so excited, in fact, he had his earphones blasting the best pump up jam he had on repeat. He walked by a group of girls giving him a strange look for rap/singing in the hallway, turned to them and sang at the top of his lungs.

"CAN'T YOU HEAR DAT BOOM-BA-DOOM, BOOM BOOM-BA-DOOM BOOM BABY, SUPABASS!" Needless to say, they cleared out of the hallway pretty quickly. 'aters gunna 'ate.

His earphones were connected to a device in a milk crate he was carrying, full of paper, every coloured marker under the sun, and speakers for said music device. He figured they might come in handy with some of the students he was training with today. He hurried down the hall to find the training room he booked, and stepped in as he removed his earbuds.

Inside the room was a man wearing nearly the same outfit he was, and he shot him a wide grin as he put down the box. "'Ello Ahn-Ree!" he gleamed, walking over and giving the student a hand to shake. "My name is Thomas, I'm a new trainer 'ere at the school."

[Henry Ballo]

It was, Henry reflected gloomily, exactly what he had expected after seeing the colored markers in the first place. The man who came in was smaller than him (no surprise there), and Henry’s gaze trailed down him in a calm, analyzing sort of way. He was carrying a milk crate, a set of speakers (and Henry really hoped they weren’t for playing the music that he thought he’d heard the man singing in the hall), paper, and markers. He was Not Impressed, and the capital letters were necessary just to convey how little hope Henry had in this situation going well.

However, he was going to make an attempt, because he did need the help, and because the man hadn’t even rejected his ridiculously formal email. So instead he tried to think of a way to politely start a conversation and stop being depressed by a potential failure.

The mispronunciation of his name was a start. It was new for someone to mess up his first name. But then, perhaps he spoke French. That was the way you said his name in French, wasn’t it? His mother had taught him a little of it. It was a useful language to learn in Africa. Maybe this was a way to start a conversation? After all, he liked languages. Maybe the man did too, and that would actually be some kind of common ground.

Right.

“It is nice to meet you,” he said formally, taking the man’s hand to shake. Then, he hesitated, and decided to try it anyways. “Vous parlez français? Moi aussi, un peu.” His accent wasn’t bad, if a little rusty, and he was trying. Have pity on him, Thomas. He’s trying his best not to be a grouch.

[Thomas Lajoie]

Thomas was used to being sized up in a room. People saw his stature, and got a feeling for his personality, and felt immediately that something was off. His mother used to say that it was odd for people to see so much personality in so little person. While he appreciated her attempts, Thomas knew he was alot to handle, and was fine with that. It weeded out the people who couldn't handle a little excitement from his life. He didn't realize until now, however, how strange it was to be training someone so much shorter than he. The authority that height brings is almost universally acknowledged, so he'd have to work against it to gain this mans trust.

Thomas' was won over in an instant upon hearing French, however, and beamed like a child when spoken to. His accent wasn't Parisian, but it was much lighter and more formal than his. "Ah, tres bien! Oui, je suis Quebecoise, j'habite au Quebec, Canada." he added, realizing that the petit peu of french this man spoke could mean a lot of things, so he switched back to English. "I am under the impression that your power is flight. Do you feel comfortable enough with dis to show me?" he said, his mind still going back into English mode. It was hard to test student's control without seeing them lose it, so he was anticipating on Henry agreeing to a display.

[Henry Ballo]

Thomas might have been won over, but Henry wasn’t…quite. He was close, though. Judging by the honest and real smile that twisted up his lips as the man spoke French, he seemed to like Thomas a lot more because the man could speak the language. “Ah, je vois. Je suis botswanais, mais j’ai visité le Quebec.” For one of his father’s business trips, of course. It had not been an unpleasant experience. Considering how other trips had gone, of course. The smile, however, vanished very quickly as soon as Thomas brought up his powers. Calm, he chided himself. He had come here to get better.

It was a shame his French was so rusty, though. He wasn’t sure how this was going to work with them both having English as a second language. Oh well. He could understand him, and Thomas seemed to be able to too. He wouldn’t worry about it. “I can try,” he said, but his face was impossible to read, and his voice was flat. “But you will need the stepladder if something goes wrong.” And he furrowed his brow and levitated a mere foot into the air. He held it—that was the easy part—and then floated back down, but that seemed to take more effort than getting up there in the first place. “Do not ask for more,” he told him frankly. “I cannot. It...” Now he scowled—a bit intimidating on such a big man. “It hurts. And I can never get back down. And I do not know if a man of your-…” He stopped, revised, and tried again. “If you could get me down if I did. Perhaps this is pointless…”

Well, so much for the good mood. Better work fast, Thomas. The boy’s ready to run.

[Thomas Lajoie]

Thomas was literally overjoyed to hear someone else speaking French. His roommate could, of course, but never had he heard such an interesting French accent. African creole's were some of the most beautiful languages he'd ever heard, but he never expected a Botswana native to speak such rich sounding French. Thomas' trademark smirk would be impossible to wipe from his face. Well, so he thought, until he watched Henry use his powers.

The lack of confidence, concern for Thomas' safety and the grimace of pain following this demonstration made Thomas quite sad. He needed to lift the mood, and encourage Henry that he knew what he was talking about. Hopefully, Henry would stay and listen - because the following advice wasn't what he was expecting to hear, Thomas was sure.

"Have you ever done yoga?" Thomas asked, quickly bending backwards into a bridge. "The positions hurt, they are supposed to, but you do them for a reason.." he added, his voice strained from the position. He pushed off with his feet and activated his abs, pulling his legs over his head and landing in a downward dog. He pulled one knee close to his hands, and pulled his pelvis closer to the floor, entering a pigeon position. "You breathe, and sink deeper." he said, doing so himself. "Just when you think you can't possibly go farther, that you'll lose control, or answer to the pain..." he added, focusing on his position and moving just slightly deeper into the pose, "you stop, breathe, and push just a little farther. Your 'eart, and muscles, they respond to you're authority." he continued, pushing his leg back and standing up straight.

"'ave you ever considered that maybe you're trying too 'ard to fly high, and not 'ard enough to fly... deep?" he said. He was banking on Henry's background of having English as a second language to allow him to analyze what he said carefully. To engage in one's powers despite the pain, and to force it to abide by your command.

[Henry Ballo]

Henry was pretty happy about having someone to speak French too. He didn’t speak a lot of it. His mother had only learned it in bits and pieces from visitors and from her brief time working for interpreters. Henry had picked up some from her and had gotten a little more from his Spanish teacher in high school—who knew a little French—and then when he’d visited Canada with his father. If this whole thing hadn’t been so uncomfortable for him, and if he hadn’t been determined to get his powers actually under control for once, he would have sat the man down and demanded more lessons. As it was, he wasn’t exactly in the mood.

Perhaps later.

Henry was honestly inclined to leave, but he did stop when Thomas bent back into a bridge, his brows climbing as he watched him. It was clear by his expression that he was reluctantly impressed by the man’s flexibility and strength, so instead he sank to sit on the stepladder, folding his hands in front of him as he watched him. He wasn’t…quite following him, but he was, for a moment, caught by the similarities between Estelle and Thomas. Both of them had sort of similar lessons to teach. Interesting. And he initially opened his mouth to say that no, he didn’t get it at all—because he didn’t. Fly deep? Such a thing wasn’t possible. But instead, he shut it and thought for a moment.

“So you are saying…” he said slowly, taking great care in choosing his words, “that I should push myself to gain control, sort of? That I should push past the pain and not focus so much on just the…results?” He didn’t quite understand, but shook his head. It sort of made sense. “I am sorry, but I do not quite understand.”

[Thomas Lajoie]

Thomas' had to fight off a smile as he realized that Henry wasn't resisting, at least, not yet. He was trying to understand the trainer's less than direct instruction, and think about his advice in relevance to his own situation. He couldn't ask for a more understanding pupil, and made a note to see if he was on Honor's roster for the rest of the year.

"Yes, em, sort of." he said, pacing back and forth as he searched for words. "The pain you feel... you need to own it. It is part of you just like the butterflies you get on a rollercoaster, or the pleasure of kissing someone you love." he added, not intending to be poetic really, but to draw on examples he related to. "If you were scared of feeling pleasure, you'd do a shit job of kissing as well! So own the pain. Feel it, acknowledge it, and move on. It will still be there, but you'll be past it." he continued, hoping his advice was comprehendible. Thomas noticed through his own years of training that his classmates were always falling victim to their heartbeats. As soon as the body fears, it's engine starts pumping like mad. Henry had to learn to keep his engine under control.

Lucky for him, Thomas' was the only repair man at this school who didn't need to open the hood to see it malfunction.

[Henry Ballo]

Henry really did want to learn, which was why he wasn’t leaving, and yes, he was going to listen. He might have been a little doubtful about Thomas’s skill, but he didn’t really question the man’s intent nor his well-meaning nature. So he was going to try his best. He watched, looking bemused, as the man paced back and forth, but did his best to focus on the words instead of the rather interesting sight of the man pacing back and forth.

“I do a…how do you say? Shit job of kissing? But yes.” Strangely enough, the boy looked a little cheered by the idea. “I think…I think I understand.” And strangely, he did. He offered one of his rare smiles to Thomas and stood, adding a quiet, “Thank you. So.” He folded his hands in front of him, decided that he didn’t like that position, then put them in his pockets instead. “What do I do next? Just attempt to…try again?” He actually seemed game for it. Not thrilled, but willing to give it a try, which was more than could be said for when he’d first come in. But he did understand what Thomas was saying—he’d gone through the same thing when he’d started in basketball. “Do you have any…techniques that are helpful for you?”

He might as well. This man seemed to know what he was doing?