Tutoring [Oliver]

[Fifi Hart]

Generally Fifi didn’t hang much around the compound. It was suspicious for her to be hanging around M.S.A.D too much. She needed to give the illusion that she fit right in at Hammel (though for the most part she did), and spending too much time with the other operatives drew attention to them. However, there were some things that were just better done with a great dane draped across your lap. And things like that included studying.

Had Fifi been alone in the library, she would have thrown her chemistry book far across the room by now and stalked away to make some serious trouble. Fortunately, Ein had her safely pinned to the couch in the living room of Gabriel Underwood’s home. The other nine dogs in the pack steered far clear of Fifi, like most animals did. She was poison, to them, and if she wasn’t careful she’d be poison to Ein too. That was why the hand that absently stroked Ein’s head and back was swathed in an elbow-length opera glove. Fifi kept them in the compound for moments like these…just to be safe. It was no secret Gabe liked his dogs better than he liked anything else alive.

However, Fifi was quickly becoming frustrated. Not only had she not abused her power nearly the entire day, but science was just not her thing. It was boring. It was difficult to understand. And it certainly didn’t have the imaginative qualities necessary to analyze a work of literature. Growling and snapping her book shut in a huff, Fifi hunkered down into the plush couch, Ein’s huge, snoring body nearly covering her and camouflaging her from view. Huffing, she lifted up Ein’s face and looked the dog in his huge marble eyes.

“Ein…Can you teach me chemistry?” She asked as the mostly asleep Dane’s head slipped from her grasp to land heavily on her lap. His tail swayed slowly behind him, slapping harshly against the back of the couch. “I’ll take that as a no.” She said with a snort. “You’re not quite up to snuff when it comes to science, I’m assuming.” Grunting, she tried to push the large dog off of her, eyeing the nearby kitchen with her large blue eyes. Now Fifi was no strong girl, and Ein was no tiny dog. There would be no moving him. “Christ, you fucking lard-ass.” She grunted, heaving one last time at his shoulders before flopping back and panting. “Fine. You win, Ein.” She cooed, patting his head with her gloved hand once more. She could only pray someone would walk through the room to rescue her.

She couldn’t reach her science book, and she was starting to get tired of being sober.

[Oliver Wells]

He had been perfectly content sitting on the counter and sipping the steaming black spice tea. It was peaceful - most of the group had dispersed off to do their own things; sleep, read, train, whatever it was that they did for fun. The hint of a smile had tugged at the corners of his mouth as he gingerly sipped at the hot beverage, but the sudden, almost booming sound of their fearless leader's voice had startled him. Upon responding to the beckoning, he had learned he was to... tutor one of the younger members of the M.S.A.D - Fifi. The blonde had no real dispute with the girl; sure, she was eccentric, and pushy, and just a wee bit annoying, but Oliver didn't mind her. He had no fret with any of the group... or much of anyone for that matter.

He had silently agreed to help her with her most challenging subject, which just happened to be his best - chemistry.

Cradling the still-steaming cup of tea, he walked down the ominous hallway, trailing down to the massive library he had found sanctuary in on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, many of the other members of the group weren't quite as inclined to silence as he was, and prompted the elder teen to slip quietly away during times of particular rowdiness. He paused at the door, one hand resting on the deeply coloured wood, his ears straining to hear past the heavy barrier.... Fifi was talking to herself? Well, that wasn't quite so unusual, but it was still kind of awkward to listen in on. The door pushed open silently, his bare feet padded into the room - the faded jeans he sported were ripped and worn out, the cuffs dragging against the ground lifelessly. Approaching the couch the girl sat at, the back of her head facing him, he cleared his throat to alert her of his presence. He paused, glancing to the side before shuffling forward and sitting on the couch across from the girl, setting the cup of tea on the cluttered coffee table. He stared queerly at the large Dane that smothered the nearly pathetic looking teenage girl, and wondering if he was even aware of either of their presences.

It made a bit more sense now - she was talking to the dog, not herself. Not that that wasn't strange, but it was less so. He hummed shortly, eyes sweeping over the two, the girls cloudy irises switched down to look at something momentarily. He followed the gaze, resting on the forlorn looking Chemistry book lying dejected on the floor. His hands went around the text book, opening it and letting out a short laugh at the nostalgia of these books. "Gabe told me... you might need some help." He said - his voice was quiet, nearly a whisper in the way he spoke. He flipped through the pages silently, eyes shifting over the familiar equations and properties of the subject. He looked up to Fifi, raising his eyebrows as if to ask her what she needed.

[Fifi Hart]

Fifi knew there were plenty of people on the compound who could help her. She was pretty sure if Lala and Reese just sat next to each other they knew everything, and even Padmaja was fairly smart in her own way. Truth be told, Fifi probably could have asked the first person she saw to help her and she would have been fine. Fifi really just didn’t want any actual help. She wanted chemistry to disappear and to pretend it didn’t happen. Who needed to learn chemistry anyway? Chemists. And doctors. That’s who. Fifi planned to be none of those. If she didn’t think she had important spying to do in Hammel, Fifi would just drop out.

As she mulled over this possibility, Fifi imagined that she heard the smallest scraping on the floor behind her. She narrowed her eyes when another sound followed, just barely a disturbance in the silence. Jerkily she bent backwards, craning back on her head to look at Oliver upside down. Her eyes lit up with malicious glee (Fifi was incapable of any innocent feelings of joy) “Sparky!” She cooed happily, wriggling around under Ein until the Dane was unsatisfied with his human pillow and moved off of her. With the weight off of her she could sit up and actual turn to look at Oliver. Throwing one arm over the couch and draping herself languidly across it, she sighed. “Boy am I glad to see you I need he---Yeah.”

By the time Fifi had made herself comfortable on the back of the couch, Oliver had skirted quietly around her and moved to sit facing her. This was better. Fifi flopped back into a sitting position, her long arms akimbo like a rag doll. “Might is an understatement. I’m not science-minded.” Just said, tenting her fingers and pressing them to her lips. The cool fabric felt nice, but she couldn’t help but note how much better it would be to feel the warming, fuzzy sensation that her touch usually brought. “At all.” She punctuated tersely, glaring down at her book in Oliver’s hands. When she wasn’t under the influence of her own powers (which wasn’t often) Fifi was your average teenage girl. Generally it unsettled those who knew her well to see her so…focused. And concise.

“I can’t just memorize the equations. This plug-and-chug bullshit really pisses me off.” She whined, reaching out and snatching a crumpled test out of the back of her book. “I mean, if you don’t have the equations, you can’t solve to the fucking problem.” Fifi let out a pissy sigh and flopped back again. “How’d you do it, Sparky?” She asked, tilting her head as she regarded him.

FIfi could count on her hands how many times Oliver had spoken a full sentence to her. Well, that was an exaggeration, but it was no secret that the brunette was a quiet guy. He just didn’t feel like saying much. Ever. It bothered Fifi, who was incredibly talkative. It unsettled her not knowing exactly what he was thinking…or at least something close.

[Oliver Wells]

The blonde smiled weakly at the girl's nickname for him - he had heard it before, back at Hammel, his trainer had called him that. Not that he disliked it, no. He just found the numerous nicknames he had obtained over the years in a surprising amount. He patiently listened as the girl spoke, mooning over the bothersome nature of the complicated science. Really, Oliver hadn't found it hard in the least. It was just math, which he was also good at. Memorize the equations, do the problem, move on. But, as his science teachers had mentioned to him, others didn't quite move as quickly through this sort of thing as he did. He pursed his lips, offering her a small smile and a shrugged when she inquired to how he had passed the class with ease.

"'s just math..." His voice was very quiet, barely over a whisper. His words trained and said slowly, he continued to flip through the text book. Humming, he looked back up at the pretty brunette, "Which section are you on?" He had an accent, most people didn't know. He was born in Canada, lived there for most of his life until he went to Hammel. There was more emphasis on his vowels, a cute, subtle sort of accent that most Western Canadians had. He paused, his dark eyes glancing over the words written in the textbook, glancing at the pictures of cells and molecules and other random things. Another few flips, the model of a Hydrogen atom. Another couple flips, examples of sulfur. He pursed his lips, the nostalgia of the class coming back to him.

He remembered sitting with a boy who slept all the time - who's name he couldn't quite place. He remembered his tired eyes, and how by the end of each class, his head would be down on the table, the light snores coming from his bowed head. The teacher never much bothered them, which he was thankful of. She rarely asked him to answer questions, and she would just happily give him the good marks at the end of the period after completing worksheets and experiments and not blowing up the classroom. Oliver snapped out of his flashback, glancing back up at Fifi who was flumped gracelessly on the couch, a look of particular annoyance mixed with boredom on the angled features. He looked back to the book, then to her. "Or... rather... What d'you have the most trouble with?" Tilting his head to the side, this really had to be the most he had spoken to the girl... ever.

[Fifi Hart]

Seeing Oliver smile was a pretty rare sight, like laying eyes on a beluga whale in the wild or something. Oliver kept mostly to himself, and when he didn’t he just was sort of…there. He didn’t smile. He didn’t pout or anything, but he certainly wasn’t ever engaging like he was sorta-kinda being now.

But hearing Oliver talk? That was like seeing a fuck damn unicorn. Oliver rarely spoke to anyone, making Fifi wonder just how he’d been recruited to MSAD in the first place. Well, she already had some hazy details about where he’d come from, but that was just because she was a nosy brat and her father told her most of everything. That was why when Oliver did speak, Fifi hung on his words. Not because they were interesting, but just because the sound of his voice was so knew.

Fifi snorted and pushed her short hair away from her forehead. “Just math? Just math?” Fifi’s voice sounded like a shout compared to his, though she was actually speaking in a rather hushed tone. She was in a library after all…however it wasn’t guaranteed that she would stay that quiet for long. Fifi craved her attention, so naturally her voice saught its highest acceptable volume. “Some of us are English minded, Sparky. None of this numbers, Bullshit.” She sighed, wishing she could just get to her English homework…no such luck. “We’re balancing equations.” She grimaced. “I can get the little ones…its not like its hard. But I can’t keep track of the bigger equations.” Flopping back melodramatically, she peered sideways at Oliver. “I know how. I just can’t.”

Sure. That made sense.

Really it was just that Fifi didn’t want to. She’d much rather read a book (shocker), or even better…she’d much rather listen to Oliver talk some more. Smiling impishly, she bit her lip. “Y’know it’s a shame you don’t talk more. Your little accent is real cute.” She sat up and crossed her legs leaning forward and shaking her shoulders as she thought. “Canada? Right?”

[Oliver Wells]

The girl's sudden spike of tone caught the elder teen off guard, causing him to startle slightly in the plush chair and send her a forlorn sort of look. Oliver blinked as she strained his previous comment about math, which he thought was a perfectly regular statement. Math was math - it was all equations and numbers and things that fit together logically. Chemistry was just like that, just swirl in the periodic table of elements and a dash of explosions here and there and it was a science. He tilted his head to the side, the wavy locks of blondish brown hair falling into his face. English was her game, was it? Oliver hadn't ever really excelled in that class - he wasn't bad at it, he was like a sponge. He retained information. But his teachers always wanted something written from the heart, a really raw sort of style, which he didn't possess. He locked away those sort of things, making himself a seemingly empty shell.

Balancing equations - easy. Again, it was just a matter of numbers, and when broken down, it was easily seen as basic multiplication. The blonde scratched the side of his head, studying Fifi for a moment before looking back down at the book and flipping through it until he reached the chapter on balancing equations. Reaching forward on the table, past the cup of barely steaming tea, he plucked a piece of forgotten paper and a regular pencil, scribbling nearly immediately on it. Taking the problem from the book, he broke down the equation and the steps to balancing it. Like a guide that could be used for other similar problems. Technically, it wasn't doing the work for her... sort of. It was helping her out tremendously, but in the end, all she had to do was pass the class. Fifi didn't seem like she was immersed in the subject, so he didn't bother trying to make her interested.

He startled and tensed when she asked him about his accent. People rarely noticed it, mainly because he rarely spoke. But it was still odd to be complimented on it. "Winnipeg," He responded quietly, still scribbling away on the piece of paper, his mind reeling quickly through the problem with absolute ease. He didn't like talking about Canada. Humming momentarily as he sat back, he studied the paper now covered in numbers and arrows and markings. He handed the sheet to her, the steps clearing circled in which order she was to go in. He tilted his head again, in an almost questioning way, nearly to ask if that would suffice to help her. He caught eye of the large Great Dane lingering still in the room, returning to his seat to finally pick up the tea again and sip it quietly.

[Fifi Hart]

Winnipeg.”

Fifi waited expectantly for more. After a short silence, he handed her the paper silently. She raised her eyebrows expectantly at him, moving her head in a circle to try to encourage him to say more. “Winnipeg…You…gotta help me out, Oliver.” She said with a little incredulous laugh. Fifi set the paper next to her on the couch and clasped her hands together, leaning her cheek against them playfully. “Can’t say I’ve memorized the world map. What part of Canada is that in? Is it close?” Oliver didn’t like talking about Canada? Too bad. He was stuck with Fifi by this point, and she planned to get as many words out of him as she could manage. Though she supposed if he stuck to his one-word bit she’d have to work a lot harder. Fifi wondered if Oli spent a good time thinking about his answers, consolidating his thoughts into one-word summaries just to keep from interacting with the world.

After another bit of silence, Fifi snorted and actually looked at the paper. For a moment it all looked like stray marks to her. No real numbers, letters, or solutions…just a bunch of lines. Slowly, as she stared angrily at the paper, the lines formed themselves into recognizable symbols. Fifi tilted her head and squinted, holding the paper away from her at arms length. “Is there a way to keep track of all the math? Like…I dunno a shorthand or something?” She looked skeptically at Oliver. She doubted that he’d ever needed to use any kind of pneumonic device, cheat sheet, or shortcut. He just got it. In fact, Oliver often seemed to get everything, soaking it all in like it was no problem. Still slightly frustrated, Fifi sulked and put the paper back on the table between them for the blond to take again if he so desired.

Sinking back against the couch cushions, Fifi decided she’d make a point to get Oliver to talk about Canada. She’d never heard him mention it really, hell she’d rarely heard him start a conversation period, and she wondered if there was an interesting bit of gossip behind all that. Everyone in M.S.A.D had their interesting little tidbits…some more than others. What was Oliver hiding, Fifi wondered? “Soooo~…How come I didn’t know you were from Winnipeg? You don’t talk much about anything, especially not where you’re from.” She prodded with faux innocence.

[Oliver Wells]

Fifi was... prodding. It was making the the blonde very uncomfortable, causing him to shift awkwardly in the seat, his dark eyes going up the scan the wide bookcase that took up the entire wall next to them. Thousands of books inhabited the compound, not just in the library. They laid in stacks in random rooms, on the desk in members' chambers, in the kitchen, the sitting room. Books were all over the place, and the blonde wondered aimlessly if anyone had actually read every book in the house before. He wouldn't doubt that Gabe had - the man was smart, everyone had to admit that. But the man was always busy it seemed, going places, meeting people, being their fearless leader. Did he have the time to read all this stuff? As the girl continued to try and pry more information out of the electricity manipulator, he became increasingly more uncomfortable. There were a lot of memories in Canada that he would really rather not relive. But... he didn't want to seem rude to the girl, who was just harmlessly trying to know more about him. Oliver knew he was standoffish, but really, he hated talking.

Pursing his lips, he stood and wandered toward the large bookcase, fingers running very lightly over the covers until he reached the title he was looking for. A world atlas, one of the biggest books in the entire room. The blonde put it down on the table in front of Fifi, bending over to open the huge cover and flip through the worn pages until he reached the page spread on North America. Dark eyes scanning the familiar map momentarily before one finger was placed on a dot on the map reading "Winnipeg" in small letters. That wasn't rude, right? He nodded at her, and grabbed the piece of paper she had tossed back onto the table. It was a bit frustrating, but the boy never showed it. These numbers made sense in his head, and not other people's, he had to accept that and move on. Humming, he began to scratch on the paper again, moving the pencil along and circling specific areas. He actually wrote down the steps this time, clearly, instead of just leaving the numbers floating on the sea of white paper. His handwriting was scratchy and uneven, but legible to say the least. Writing the steps, he hoped that was simple enough, mainly because it was. All one had to do was keep track of the numbers and multiply. He handed the paper back to the girl, raising his eyebrows in a hopeful way.

Unfortunately, the map wasn't the end of the brunette's nosiness as she continued to ask about his past in Canada. Oliver picked up the chemistry book again and began to flip through the pages, momentarily scanning each section, the knowledge of math and science returning in nostalgic waves. But again, the blonde didn't want to be rude... but... Fifi was actually making him significantly not want to be there anymore. "Uhm... Please... stop?" He requested in a quiet tone, looking up at her with an unusual, unreadable expression on his face. He twitched and went back to reading the textbook, hoping she would leave it alone.

[Fifi Hart]

Fifi liked books. Books with words, believe it or not. She liked the stories contained in pages that smelt like imagination and old. She liked the leather bindings. What she did not like, were chemistry books and atlases. Books were meant to be fun. This information bit was bull, which was why her chemistry homework sat forgotten where Oli left it. What use was there for textbooks when people were full of information? People like Oliver. However, if Oliver wasn’t going to talk, she’d just have to humor him. Sighing she leaned over the large atlas and glared moodily at the eight small letters that marked Oliver’s place of origin. “Winnipeg isn’t a dot on a map, Sparky.” She said with exasperation. “It’s a place. A place full of living, breathing, fucking people. People who talk.” She tacked on the last bit with a measured amount of frustration. Oliver had literally just gone out of his way to not speak to Fifi. It wasn’t exactly rude, but Fifi couldn’t help but feel slighted (though I suppose her sense of entitlement probably didn’t help much to that effect).

“Stop what?” Fifi replied stupidly, her lashes batting over her large eyes innocently. Fifi was neither stupid nor innocent. She knew exactly what Oliver was talking about, but she didn’t care. Her curiosity was enough reason for her to disregard any discomfort Oliver might have. She wanted to know and she would know, even if she had to pin Oli down and pinch his cheeks to get him to talk. The look on his face and his nervous, twitching movements clued her in that she’d touched a nerve. Clearly something went on in Canada, and if he didn’t want to talk about it so badly then it must be good.

Tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes a bit, Fifi was barely able to keep the devilish smile from her face. Instead her lips only twitched a bit as she drew up her legs, crossing them and leaning against her ankle. “…Something happened there, didn’t it?” She asked, managing an awfully convincing expression of remorse and horror. “That’s why you don’t talk?” She added, at least giving him the opportunity not to speak if he didn’t want to… a courtesy Fifi probably wouldn’t ever give again.

[Oliver Wells]

Why had he honestly thought that would work? He had known Fifi long enough to know that she wouldn't let something rest until she got her way. Which really didn't bother the energy manipulator before, mainly because she hadn't turned her sights on him. But for some reason, lately, she seemed more inclined to look at him, talk to him, ask him things. He'd taken to giving her incredulous looks and slipping away when she was distracted by something else (food, books, other people, etc.) But there was no escaping this. He was stuck here until she understood Chemistry, which could be the next year for all he knew. Looking up as she haughtily explained that his creative way of answering without speaking was unacceptable. Looking from her, to the atlas, then back to her, Oliver just tilted his head to the side. Unsure of what to say. For all he was concerned, Winnipeg was just was a dot on the map. One of the millions of dots that made up this planet, and one of the dots he really didn't plan on going back to anytime soon.

He looked back at the book suddenly, the growing suspicion that this was going to turn bad pretty soon plaguing him with the thought of he just really needed to get out of there. Grabbing a piece of paper off the table, he suddenly started scratching across it, dark eyes moving quickly from the pages in the book, back to the paper where he would scrawl something, and then look back to the book. Numbers danced in his head - this is why the blonde couldn't understand Fifi's dilemma. Numbers were comforting to him. They were absolute, never changed, made sense. They fit together like a puzzle. His mind worked like a calculator, computing numbers, moving things around. Because when all else failed, math still worked perfectly.

Oliver could practically hear the ulterior motive in the tone lying beneath the false sweetness. He had never really viewed Fifi as conniving before, but this experience was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable for him. He tensed suddenly as she questioned away, hitting far too close to the target for his liking. The pencil moved faster across the paper, scrawling out numbers and symbols almost impossibly fast. A clenching feeling in his stomach, he really wanted to let her know that this was a very private subject - very, very few people knew the full story of his traumatic life in Canada, and he liked to keep it that way. He didn't like reliving the memories. He didn't like the pity he got from people afterwards. And he didn't like talking. One last mark, Oliver suddenly shoved the paper at Fifi, and stood, closing the book and placing down where he had previously been sitting. He grabbed his lukewarm tea and was at the door in a matter of seconds. "I'm sorry, but I'd... rather not talk about this." he said, his voice still barely above a whisper, truly apologetic because he hated to be mean to the girl, but she was pushing too much for his liking.

If the brunette girl looked down at the paper, she'd see that he had done the entire page of homework in less than ten minutes. He didn't know which questions she was assigned, so he just did them all. The blonde had known from the moment Gabriel told him to help her with Chemistry, that would he would more than likely end up doing all the work. But now he had done it just to get out. His hand resting on the door handle, prepared to open it and slip out of the room.

[Fifi Hart]

Fifi had done basically all of the damage that she could think to do. Oliver was known for being immovable when it came to social situations. She couldn’t think of a time she hadn’t seen him sulking against a wall in a room full of more than one other person. Fifi had always figured it was just the way he was, but with the way he was reacting to discussion of his past? Well maybe there was something back there in the tomes of history that was to blame for Oli’s clammed up nature. And if there was? Fifi was damn sure going to try her hardest to find out.

It was when Oli suddenly moved again that Fifi’s mind (quickly becoming bored with her came) began to picture the energy manipulator as a tiny forest-type creature. The way he expressed himself--a tilt of the head, a subtle tick in his face-- and the quick, sudden movements as he began to realize danger were all behaviors attributable to dear, and more like rabbits, squirrels, and chipmunks, Maybe he needed to be nurtured and coddled to become affectionate--in this case talkative-- towards Fifi. Like the unruly brunette was ready for anything like that. She’d beat it out of him if the need arose.

It didn’t (yet). Oliver shoved a paper at her and Fifi jumped slightly at the force behind it. Wow. He really didn’t want to talk about Winnipeg. She watched his movements with a skeptically amused half-smile, trailing him around the room as a cat might watch a bird flit about.

She did look down at the paper, a triumphant grin breaking her face. The sound that issued from her lips was probably something that could be heard in a nightmare: a tinkling, impish giggle whose mock joy belied its positively hateful glee. “Well then get gone I guess, Sparky.” She said with a heavy sigh. “No use in making you talk if you don’t want to.” She said, rolling her eyes. As he got up, Fifi’s large blue eyes watched him move. He was already mostly opening the door when she threw one arm over the back of the couch and fixed a predatory gaze on him. “But someday we’ll just have to chat about Canada, kay?” she chirped, knowing that was the last thing he wanted. Adding a smidgeon of insult to the threat, she winked slightly and waved, sliding down to lay on her belly on the couch. With a smug satisfaction she laid her completed homework on top of her closed chemistry book. Mission almost accomplished. She wondered how talkative a tipsy Oliver could be…