Stiff Upper Lip (John)

[Henry Ballo]

More training. And a new trainer. That didn’t surprise Henry. It should have, but it didn’t. Henry had a way of running through trainers. And what was it called?

Polite refusal. You didn’t yell. You didn’t ever say no, not directly. You just blinked your eyes, looked confused, complained that your English wasn’t all that good, and asked for a lot of repeats. You didn’t do your homework, and when they threatened you, just crossed your arms and looked down.

And at the newly-minted height of 6’5”, looking down probably had a large part of it. Most of them realized he was doing that on purpose. When that realization came, they tended to pass him on to someone else with the quiet and sometimes vindictive words of “You handle him!” Today was no exception. He didn’t know about this new trainer that he’d been passed off onto, other than that he was British and supposedly one of the sterner ones. That was fine. He could deal with stern. He could outstubborn stubborn. Or perhaps this one would actually have something worthwhile to teach.

As he arrived at the door to the training room, ten minutes early, he paused to consider that, then dismissed it. Right. Like any trainer could actually get him interested in actually perfecting his powers. What was the point? They wouldn’t do him any good. 

[John Thornton]

For some reason, one that totally escaped him, Mr Thornton had found himself some sort of magnet for the students other trainers had classified 'problematic', at least in a physical sense. Maybe because there was nothing they could do to hurt him. It was almost amusing when some of them seemed to think he should tread carefully, or something like that.

Still, his eyes did widen slightly when he say just how tall this new student was. Still, he was early which was a pleasant surprise. So many students had no idea how important punctuality was in all parts of life.

Still, his expression was still stern as foreboding ever as he carefully removed his jacket and set it down "Good Morning," he said, "I'm Mr Thornton, and I assume you realise I'm you're new power trainer," he crossed his arms and uncrossed them, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Tell me about yourself, power wise," the englishman suggested, "What are your limitations?"

And no, he was not intimidated. Not in the slightest.

[Henry Ballo]

This new trainer cut a stern figure. That was Henry’s first impression, as his dark eyes scanned the trainer with an intelligence he’d later suppress. Not intimidating to Henry, but that was because he was taller and fit. But still, not a reassuring one either. This one…this one would be tricky. He pursed his lips as Thornton crossed by him and into the room, but once Thornton looked at him, his expression was relatively smooth.

At least the height had made an impression. That showed this man was a little like the others. But he did get straight to the business. Henry nearly stepped into parade rest, but forced himself to relax. No matter how strict this man seemed to be, he wasn’t going to give in, not yet.

Sorry, Thornton. He’s only had one good male influence. You’ve got a fight ahead of you.

“Flight,” he replied, equally bluntly, but his accent much thicker than it usually was. “My name is Henry and I fly. I am…how do you say? All limitations? I cannot get up high, I cannot get down. I get stuck in things.” Real frustration came through there, but he clamped it down. He didn’t want to be trained. He didn’t want this. “You think you can help?” 

[John Thornton]

"Many limitations," Thornton corrected absently. After three years in Switzerland with no skill at french at all, he had been useful as an english tutor and had gotten used to correcting little mistakes. "And that is what I'm supposed to be doing, yes."

Flight? How the heck was he supposed to help with flight? "No wings?" He asked, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "How high have you managed to get? Could you touch the roof of this room?" Was he stalling? No. Of course not. It was just that he really had never worked with flight before. If it was winged, he could suggest muscle exercises but, well, there were no wings.

Still, even someone as emotionally uptight as Thornton recognised frustration when he saw it. "Mr Henry," he said, "it takes time, and practise for your sort of ability to be, well, at it's best potential," reassuring did not exactly come naturally to the stern man, and so he stopped before he got ahead of himself. "If you get stuck, I'll find a ladder."

[Henry Ballo]

That was the only problem with pretending your English was worse than it was. You got corrected on things that you had really meant. Henry was all limitations. That was why he was here, in spite of his better instincts—because he hoped deep down that Thornton could actually teach him something.

Very deep down.

Still, Thornton hadn’t even blinked at his act. Grudgingly, the scoreboard kept in Henry’s head raised a point for the Englishman.

“No wings,” he agreed. “Just flight. Or floating.” And at Thornton’s question if he could touch the roof, his brows climbed, and a familiar look of exasperation appeared on his face. Right then. He wanted that demonstration. He stood on tiptoe, extended his arm, and placed his hand on the ceiling, before looking at Thornton as if you say, now what?

“Like that?” he asked. His English “troubles” seemed forgotten, and his words were back to their crisp formality. Thornton wasn’t frustrated by a lack of English in his student—time to move on. “Or do you want me to lay flat along it? If so, I think you should be fetching that ladder now. I have been stuck against the ceiling before and prefer not to repeat it.” He lowered his hand and folded his arms across his chest. “You see where I have problems. But I have reached a height of…twenty feet?” He shrugged. “I did not have a measuring stick. You truly believe that practicing helps? So far practicing has only ended up with me stuck in a tree, on a roof, on the ceiling. I do not wish to continue with that trend.”

[John Thornton]

"Clearly, not what I meant," Mr Thornton said with a raised eyebrow. He was not amused, as his scowl made very clear. "If you can float, float off the ground. You don't need to lie on the ceiling, just, well, hover."

He was making this up as he went along, but he had come up with an idea based on a technique a colleague had mentioned they had used for the rowers at Oxford. "You need to work on control then," the englishman said blankly, noting that Henry's english had just picked up a notch but not making a comment. There was no doubt a reason for it, but he was not about to show that he'd so much as paid attention.

"If you just hover say," what was the correct form of measurement? They didn't use the metric system here for some strange reason, "a foot?" that sounded about right, "A foot off the floor. I shouldn't need a ladder for that."

There was gym type equipment around the room, which he assumed was for training use, so John bent to pick up a smallish dumbbell. "Hold this. It should stop you getting stuck on the roof."

[Henry Ballo]

Henry looked thoroughly unimpressed by Thornton’s scowl. He’d seen a lot of nasty looks. Most of them had even been directed at him. Just as Thornton wasn’t amused, Henry wasn’t frightened.

Then again, he is a seventeen year old boy. There’s definitely a bit of that invincibility syndrome going on there.

“Fine.” He awarded another point to Thornton for not commenting on the magically improved English. So far, the English trainer was coming out ahead. He wasn’t too pleased by that. “Obviously,” was what he said instead, with a shrug. “Fine. I will hover.” He didn’t seem pleased by the concept, but he did so, his feet lifting off the floor until Thornton came over to hand him the dumbbell. Then he touched back down and stared at it.

“You really think—“ he began, then stopped. Some battles weren’t worth fighting. “Fine.” He grimaced and took it from him, then floated up again, managing to linger at a wobbly foot above the air. He resisted the urge to stick out his hands Iron Man style and crossed them instead, dumbbell and all and stared at him icily. “And this is supposed to help how? Do you honestly know what you are doing, or are you just improvising this on the spot?”

[John Thornton]

A Sargent never ever ever admitted he did not know what he was doing. Besides, his strategy was based on sound practises. And Thornton would never take risks; this would help, and would cause no harm. "Do you question all your teachers?" he asked gruffly, even as he picked up two more dumbbells. "Now take these."

Yet it was obvious the extremely tall student had doubts, and if he was doubting his superiors he would not be trying to do his best. Mr Thornton sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "If you learn to maintain flight with extra weight," he said tersely, "you are exercising your power. When you attempt to fly without the weights, which," he warned, "will not be for a while, you should find it a lot easier to maintain height, and to even reach greater heights."

That made complete sense. It was not easy remaining civil when someone much younger than himself was questioning him, but he was managing. Just.

This would never have happened in Britain.

[Henry Ballo]

Strangely, that question seemed to amuse Henry more than it did frustrate him. His lips quirked upwards, and he shrugged his shoulders as he leaned forward to take the dumbbells. “Yes,” he said simply. “Why do you think you are stuck with me? I was told questions are good. Do you think otherwise?” A faint glint was in his dark eyes. Ha. Take that, you bloody British snob…

Sorry, Thornton. Henry’s being difficult today.

“Will I simply get stacked with more weights until I fall then?” he asked crossly, to disguise the fact that keeping these weights up while floating—even such a simple distance—was wearing…whatever controlled the flight out. It was stupid. He could hold these dumbbells while standing upright. Perhaps even while doing sit-ups while in shape. Why not? However, he wobbled a little, then swore softly, trying to correct it.

Maybe it was going to work. Anything that hurt this much had to do something.

[John Thornton]

John scowled and shook his head. "When I ask if you have a question, you may ask a question," he said flatly, "And maybe it is because I insist on this that I am now your trainer." His blue eyes met the student's squarely, one eyebrow raised. He was in charge of this situation, and he was not the one who needed to be reminded of that little fact.

But it seemed it was not over yet and John set his face into his all knowing teacher mode. "No. We will do this until you can carry this and more, and then we will move onto directional control."

It made total, logical sense and so Henry would have respect for him. "And we will be able to proceed much faster if you will stop doubting everything I say and just do it."

He even managed to keep his voice level, tilting his chin up and taking a breath through his beak like nose. "You won't get better at anything if you insist on arguing every step of the way. Trust me, and do as I say!"

[Henry Ballo]

“Then you will never ask me.” Henry rolled his eyes. “I know that game. And I am aware that you are now my trainer, but you know, you cannot force me to listen. Or to stop talking.” The newly-minted Chase Campbell could, though. He was well aware of that, and determined to not get as far as him. The thought of someone controlling the only thing that really was his was enough to make the unimpressionable teen quake.

Strangely, though, he didn’t object to Thornton’s statements on his training. It was logical. And Henry did respect that. So he clenched his teeth and focused on staying upright, and, after a time, even steady. He was just eyeing the dumbbells in the rack, wondering if he should grab more, when Thornton made that statement. His eyes narrowed, and he dropped to the ground with a thud, crossing his arms over each other and staring at him evenly.

“Make me, “he said flatly. “All you can do is fail me, and you know, no one cares if I stay here for the rest of my life.” Except him. God, anything but that… “Or you could pass me onto someone else. I am very used to that. You are not a bad trainer, Mr. Thornton. You know what you are doing, and your exercises, while hard, are not unreasonable. I do not think you will like this, but I am willing to listen to you if you are willing to stop trying to get the better of me.”

Like he would do that, he thought grimly. This one probably only thought teaching involved putting a student in their place first. But even if he didn’t last, Henry had picked up some stuff. Hence, why he’d even made the offer in the first place.