They're was the smallest flicker of something, doubt maybe, but he pushed on. "Fine, but what about the rest? If you wanted this, if he's such a bad person, why didn't you just take it and leave? Why did you need me?"

"Well, then I'd be on my own." He was still looking over Tucker's head, though, instead of down at his face. "How long until that car gets here?"

Not am answer.

No matter what he asked, or how many times, he never got a straight answer. Not now, not before. It pulled a frustrated sound from the young man, empty hand closing into a fist before he reached into his pocket for his phone again. "Two minutes."

He dragged his focus back down onto Tucker, then, and schooled his expression into something very serious. "What was I going to do, go to a shelter?"

Tucker blinked, leaning back a little from that serious expression. "I don't know. Don't you have family, or friends?" Maybe not, with as big a dick ad he could be...

"Where are you going now?" Brows creased more. Tucker had a bad feeling he knew the answer.

"I don't know yet." But his eyes darted down to the hairpin as he asked, with that same hungry edge.

Another exasperated, frustrated noise, but he lifted his head to look towards the front of the house. "They're going to be here in a minute, where are we going?"

"I don't know." He looked up again, and then caught Tucker's arm to pull him toward the front of the house, like they'd just come out.

"We have to tell themsomething." And now, as he was beginning pulled along, he looked up at the house they'd just left, the smoke coming from the inside, and Tucker actually paled. "They're going to see the fire. They can place of leaving the scene." He felt sick inside, his feet dragging.

Rabi thought about that, looking Tucker over. "I can handle that much. We can go to the school."

"You can ha-" he scoffed, but there was a faint edge of hysteria to it. The situation sinking in in full, the consequences. The idea that he'd basically just flushed his life down the drain over what? Extra credit he hadn't even needed. "What do you mean you can handle that much? It's a fucking fire that were very obviously running away from."

"No, we're the neighbors, and the fire is somewhat surprising. Alarming, even." He nodded as their car approached.

"That doesn't make any sense," he hissed back, snappish, as he watched their Uber pull up, the driver's attention on the smoke.

"Do you want to argue about it, or do you want to get out of here?" It was smooth, and even as he asked, he pushed Tucker toward the car.

He didn't know what he wanted to do, or even what he should do, but that indecision made it easy to push him towards the car and he slid into the back seat--right up against the opposite door--without another word.

"Can you believe what's happening next door?" The sensation would be strange, as Rabi climbed in: because while Tucker knew it was him, he'd also get the sense of a slim blonde with resting bitch face, her voice lyrical, climbing in. He leaned forward a little, and the uber driver watched him through the rear view mirror.

"Yeah...nuts. I almost cancelled."

It had the effect of tearing Tucker's attention away from the window he'd resolutely decided to stare at throughout the whole of the ride, and back onto the other man, a puzzled expression baked on his young face.

"I'm grateful you didn't, at least." Rabi flirted expertly with the driver, still leaning into the passenger's seat while he chatted him up. It was friendly, and comfortable -- well, maybe not comfortable for Tucker -- but it'd hopefully keep them from being remembered as anything but attractive and concerned.

Tucker continued to stare a moment longer beforehand it got entirely too weird. "We should probably move before the firetrucks get here, we'll be in the way."

It was worse when he spoke: because the driver eased into motion, but also his voice came out wrong, a little deeper, rumbly. It was his own voice, but also someone else's.

He clamed up quick after that, eyes a little wide, and shot a questioning look at Mahar.

The blonde, overlayed; and then himself again, leaning into the back of the seat, absently chatting up the uber driver as he got them there.

Tuck started quiet the rest of the drive, hands folded between his knees with the hat pin pressed between them. He alternated looking between the window, the driver, and Mahar.

Rabi didn't so much as cast him a glance until the car had stopped and they climbed out -- and that second image was shaken away easily. Then he gave Tucker a sideways look. "My office might not be wise."

The glamor, or overlay, or whatever it was fading came as a comfort and Tuck let out a little sigh as he let himself out of the Uber and back into the sun. No smoke, no fire, no sirens. Just the familiar view of his dorm building and the campus laid out around it.

He half expected the other man to grab his arm again once they got out of the car, and he glanced back at him, waiting as the Uber drove off.

"If that's the case probably the class room, too?" Now that they were away from the house the adrenaline was fading, he felt drained. "My dorms probably safe, I guess. I don't have a roommate "

Rabi tipped his chin up to consider Tucker's expression -- and then nodded, agreeing. Still calculating. "Might be wiser."

He didn't like it. Mahar still wasn't telling him shit, and Tucker really didn't trust him, had not reason to, but it seemed like a better idea to stick together.

Leveling another sigh Tucker started up the path to the front entrance, the hand with the hat pin sinking into his pocket.

Rabi still had a half finished piece under his arm, and Tucker's work in the other -- his eyes twitching sideways to the pin as he followed.

There's was a keypad beside the front doors. Tucker pinched in a code and opened the door for both of them and then headed for the stairs. How dorm was on the second floor, about mid way down the hall. He finished his keys out and unlocked it, holding it open for for the other man.

The dorm itself was clean, if a bit chaotic. It was clear Tucker didn't spend much time there, but the time he did was spent at his desk. It was pulled with text books, of course, notbooks from his classes, but they're was also alot of sketchbooks, pencils, loose sketches and more polished drawings. By the door, soccor equipment; cleats, ball, shinguards, gymbag.

Rabi took quick looks around the place: flicks of his eyes to take things in -- and then set Tucker's project down on the edge of the desk, on top of everything else. He was still barefoot, but he didn't complain. Didn't seem bothered by it.

The door was closed behind them and Tucker leaned back against it, eyes half narrowed as he watched Mahar look over his room before setting his project on the desk. Which is when he realized the other man had sacrificed grabbing something else of is own to grab that.

"Ok, we're here now. I think you owe me some kind of explanation." A hand came up to cut off whatever smooth answer the other man might have tossed back at him. "A real one this time. No more counter questions, no more skirting around the truth."

Rabu rumbles, still not meeting tuckers eyes while he considered. "If I gave you five honest answers, would you hand over the pin?"

Tucker's and crossed. "That depends on the answers. I don't like being used, and this goes a hell of a lot farther than just being used."

"It's over, isn't it?" He shrugged a little bit, with a twitch of attention down to Tucker's pocket. "I wad planning on leaving town. Everything you wanted."

"Eh..Everything I wanted?" He'd leaned forward,head tilting. Like of he got anew angle on the other man what he was saying might start making sense. "I didn't want this. I didn't want to steal anything or be complicate in arsine." Folded arms loosened, have coming up to comb fingers neck through his hair and away from his face. Frustrated.

"I just wanted you to lay off a little in class."

"if I leave, you get a new teacher." He sounded patient - kind of. In a condescending way. "Maybe one who cares about sports."

Pale eyes narrowed at that and Tucker pushed away from the door, past where the other man was standing near the desk, and over to the bed. It wasn't a large room, so it wasn't like he could really escape, but he could ignore him.

Try to.

Which he did, not bothering to acknowledge that observation, and instead turned his attention to kicking off his shoes.

Rabi rolled his shoulders out and turned his own work in his hand -- considering it, with his head cocked to the side and his expression just a bit flat.

Shoes off and set neatly to one side Tucker straightened up again and have the front of his shirt a small sniff. It smelled faintly of smoke, enough that he noticed it but not overwhelming, which he supposed was fine.

When he looked to again Mahar was looking at his own art and for a long moment Tucker just watched him do it, trying to...read him, his face, anything that might help him understand what the fuck was going on.

It was impossible to read him, right now: his strange eyes, too gold now for sure, were distant and distracted. His hair seemed redder in this light, a low sheen under it. And his mouth didn't even pull down into its customary frown. After a moment, he looked up at Tucker, one eyebrow raised.

"Your eyes are different." He didn't sound entire sure, it'd been a hell of an afternoon and it wasn't as if Tucker had been in the habit of starting the man in the eyes before. But... They didn't look quite as natural now. Brighter, different. "And your hair."

Rabu blinked at him, and like that, they muted back down to something more natural. "Are they?"

It could do easily have been passed off as a truck off the light, and maybe if the hair hadn't changed, and the strangeness in the Uber hadn't happened, and they hadn't made the instant jump from one room to another back at the house Tucker would have just accepted that.

"They were." Pale eyes flicked up to his hair again. "Hairs still different."

Rabi flashed him a little smile, teeth white, and tipped his head. It made that seem more muted, too. "I think you maybe need to sit for a bit. Drink some water."

Tucker huffed, his head shaking as he swung his legs up to half recline against the mound of pillows at the head of his bed. Taking to the other man was like trying to talk at a wall. It didn't get him anywhere.

So instead he slipped his fingers into his pocket to hook the hatpin, pulling it free so he could look it over now that the excitement was over.

Even if Rabi hadn't been looking at him, it seemed like that would have caught his attention: snapped his eyes back onto Tucker immediately, attentively, almost hungrily. He watched it turn in Tucker's hand.

Rabi's office was in one of the gallery spaces -- in one of the art buildings nestled back and out of the way, a place with high ceilings that echoed hollowly when people walked through. After hours, the effect was spooky, intimidating, perhaps intentionally.. Usually it was also quiet, perhaps with the occasional faraway echo of someone's pandora running while they worked.

Today, instead, as Tucker approached, there was the quiet sound of a whispered conversation in the distance.

It had taken a fair amount of talking himself into going to see Mahar after hours to discuss...everything. it wasn't just being embarrassed in the middle of class, it wasn't just the critism, and it wasn't just the grading. It was a combination of all of it, with the marked down grade on his last project being the breaking point. He was indignant, he was frustrated, and he was angry, and that had gotten him into the building and through the majority of it before Tuck even noticed how fucking eerie the place was when no one else was there.

But he was already there and if he backed down now he might as well just resign himself to enduring the unfair treatment the rest of the semester.

Reminding himself of ask the reasons he was there the young man pushed forward, deeper until the back of the building towards his teacher's office and the sound of voices.

Oh great, an audience...

Maybe not exactly what he expected, because it seemed that in reality Tucker was the audience. As he got closer, he'd be able to take in the terse tone of the discussion coming from the direction of Rabi's office: the voices were low but sharp, and he could hear bits and pieces of someone who was definitely not his teacher rising above the other:

"...what I say..."

Mumbles and murmurs and sharp returns were swallowed by the distance, the door only cracked.
"...take it away...."

Tucker slowed as he got closer, heard snippets of the conversation, and knew immediately that it wasn't anything that he should be privvy to. It sounded like the sort of conversation that'd load him in a heap of shit if he were discovered easedropoing on it.

The logical, cautious side of him suggested he get the fuck out of there. The still angry, wreckless side was very curious and the indecision kepr him frozen in place just shy of the door.

Whose voice is that? It wasn't Mahar's. Tucker didn't know who it was.

He sounded -- well, like someone in charge, who was used to people listening to him. Arrogant and pissed off, and his voice raising based on whatever Rabi was saying in response. It made it a bit clearer to make out:

"...belong to me, and I don't see why you always have to push back so fucking hard." Maybe not that in charge, considering how waspish and sharp he sounded. There was a beat of silence, a breath of air out, and then he sounded calmer, if still sharp.

"Just do it. I don't care how." As he said this, the door cracked a bit more, his voice carrying down the hall.

Even with the longer fragments of conversation Tucker still want sure what they were talking about, or who was going the talking. The only thing he could really parse from what he could hear was that the louder in was pissed. That they wanted something and want getting it.

Then the door moved and Tucker swallowed a startled noise as he took a few very hasty steps back. Retreating as far as he could manage before the opening of the door stopped him. He didn't want to look like what was actually happening, and instead started forward again, like he'd only just arrived.

And if his eyes were a little too wide hopefully they would assume he'd just been startled by the door opening.

The good news was twice over: first, that the man who stepped out into the hall was not Rabi. Instead he was tall and fair with swept back hair and eyes that were very pale behind fine metal glasses. He looked a bit like a GQ model, unfairly attractive, in a clean-cut kind of way. In an indistinctive way.

The second was that he barely spared Tucker a look as he continued down the hall, frowning flatly with a tense muscle in his jaw, sucking on the side of his thumb like he'd cut himself.

The bad news was that Rabi had been behind him -- shoulders hunched, looking a bit small, with his own jaw set -- and his eyes locked immediately on Tucker. For once, though, for just the moment, he was silent.

Pale eyes watched the stenager as he passed, but when he didn't so much as look at the student Tucker turned his attention to his teacher instead who most certainly was. And all at once Tucker realised he should have gotten the hell out of there before anyone had seen him. That confronting his teacher after a heated discussion was a ridiculously stupid idea.

It made him hesitate at the open door, looking back at the older man warily. "Sorry, I wanted to see if you had a moment to talk, but if it's a bad time..." And he licked his thumb over his shoulder as much as to say I can get the fuck out of here.

"Mr. Williams." His voice was still thick; he had to swallow to get it back to its indifference, rolling his shoulders and working to school his expression ."I only have about twenty minutes left in my office hours."

He didn't sound like his usual self, and that kept Tucker livering in the doorway, chewing thoughtfully at the inside of one cheek before he took a step inside.

Now or never. Just say it.what he'd come there intending to say had been angry, even a little self righteous. Demanding to know what exactly The teacher had against him. What came out instead lacked most of that angry heat, but still managed to retain the frustration

"Did I do something, or say something, in the first few days of the semester paint a target on my back, sir?" He didn't wait for an answer, plowing through to get it all out. "The critism, the grades, the comments, and this last incident with the phone...it all feels very personal."

There was more silence as he took a step back into the space -- and Rabi's office really was more than an office. He had his own work going here, a massive mixed media project of his own, set up in one corner. He was working with tissue paper, oils and a palette knife, and the result was a three-dimensional field of flowers that felt...surreal. On fire, maybe.

He sat beside it, slowly, stripping out of his jacket and down to that worn-thin t-shirt, almost thin enough to see through. "My cell phone policy has been clear since day one."

He kept waiting for something snide, something biting and cruel and the lack of it was unsettling. He flicked a look up at the project, taking just a second or two to appreciate the effect the older man was able to obtain, a moment to think about his response.

"It is, but I wasnt using it. I didn't even have it sitting on the table. I didn't realize I'd forgotten to turn notifications off, and I just wanted to silence it so it wouldn't disrupt things further. It's the first time you've had to speak with me about it at all, and honestly it felt like you were much harder on me than other people in class that you've caught texting or worse." Dark brows creased, a heavy breath escaping through his nose.

There wasn't an audience here: maybe that was the difference. Or maybe the argument had taken it out of him. But Rabi was watching Tucker in a thoughtful sort of way, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Are you used to people giving you an easier time due to your status in soccer?"

Tucker blinked, taken aback Mahar's question and shook his head. "No sir, and I don't expect special treatment. Only fair treatment." And what Mahar had been putting him through, in his opinion and his experience, was not fair.

"You think my grades are unfair?" He stretched his legs out, slowly, relaxing into the chair -- and watching Tucker in an intense kind of way. Calculating. His color looked better.

Mahar was answering comments with leading questions, avoiding what Tucker was saying to steer the conversation. Tucker frowned as he watched him stretch his legs out, feeling out of place and uncomfortable.

"I don't know, you always give me the same grade. It's not bad grade, but it's always the same. Regardless of effort, or time, or any other factor I can think to apply." The anger he'd walked in with had all but disipated, talked under a sudden weary wave of exhaustion.

Rabi leaned back a bit more, rolling his shoulders and watching Tucker with narrowed eyes. "I don't think you put a particularly large amount of yourself into your work."

The frown deepened, almost puzzled now. It was clear the older man was recovering from the discussion he'd been having previously, but he was still being...mellow. In a sense. It was weird.

"Why?" It wasn't the first time Mahar had said something similar, and Tucker had tried adjusting things, changing methods, stepping outside the comfort zone of pencil on paper.

"Because there's more to art than technical proficiency." He looked up at his own work as he said it -- frowning just a little bit, with a prickle around his shoulders.

The longer they talked the less Tucker felt they were getting anywhere. He want quite sure what he'd been expecting in the first place, only that he'd reached the point where he'd needed to say something. Now he just felt tired and drained and like coming here had been a huge mistake.

If he'd had a target on his neck before, what would it be like going forward?

He was quiet for a moment, gaze skirting around the room as he tried to figure out what to do or say. Finally he took in a deep breath and let it out, looking back to the older man. "Fine." They weren't getting anywhere.

"Do you want extra credit?" His eyes snapped back onto Tucker immediately, and he smiled -- which was an intimidating smile, a little too flat. Dangerous, maybe.

That caught him off guard, and he couldn't keep the surprise off his face. "Ah.." Did he? He didn't strictly need it. As much as the unchanging grades bothered him they're weren't bad. He was passing.

Still. If it would help things...

"Yes?"

Rabi brushed at his lower lip, attention sliding back up onto the painting, and finally there was that spark back into his expression. "Help me pull a prank on my partner."

He blinked, eyes widening a touch. "Partner?" The tall, upset guy? Maybe.

As it sank in the young man frowned, not entirely sure he'd heard right. "You want to prank your partner...what kind of prank?"

He blinked back into focus on Tucker and tried not to look too thrilled by the idea. "He carries this stupid vintage hairpin around with him. Sometimes he leaves it in his desk."

"Y-yeah?" He want sure he looked where this was leading. "This isn't going to get me in trouble, is it? I don't want to chance a suspension or expulsion just for s little extra credit."

"If you get in trouble you can just say it was my idea." He shrugged a little, arms shifting across his chest.

"You're going to give it back later, right?" He didn't want to hello with anything malicious. "It's just all in fun?”

"I live in the house too. You can come over for..." He hesitated, musing on that. "Come over and I'll show you more of my work. And bring your last project and we can discuss adding passion."

Probably not a business partner, then...

He took a moment to chew that over, what Mahar wanted, weighing out if it was worth it or not. In the entire time he'd been in the other man's class this was problem the least snide conversation they'd had. If doing this one small thing could maybe fix things, make the rest of the semester more tolerable, that's be worth it. He thought.

And is he had second thoughts, that was fine, he'd just go home.

"When?"

Hi flicked a look sideways, calculating -- attention turned over his work again -- before they flicked back onto Tucker and he smiled again. "Saturday? Lunchtime."

The smile was unnerving in how unaggressive it was.

"Okay." He still sounded a little unsure, but he didn't seem to be backing out. "What's he address?" He assumed Mahar would tell him which room, what the pin looked like, and anything else he'd need the day of.

He rolled up to stand, fishing around behind his desk for a sheet of paper -- and wrote down the address for Tucker in his slanting handwriting.

Tuck waited, resisting the urge to shuffle his feet, and when he was offered the paper he stepped back towards the still open door. "Thanks. Okay, I'm gunna go. I think it's been over twenty minutes anyways."

"Turn your phone off in class." He was definitely -- it was definitely different, now, at least. For bettor or worse.

The paper was folded and tucked into his pocket. "Yes sir."

As he excused himself he was left feeling unsettled, a bit confused, and anxious. And he couldn't help thinking back to the snippets of conversation he heard when he'd arrived.

"Great... maybe I can use it to get some people to study." He mumbled.

"You probably could. Just not me. I'm...warded." It was a carefully chosen word. He shrugged a little, crookedly.

He glanced at the tattoo bad back, arching his eyebrows. "... not that I think  anything as simple as that could convince you to study anyhow." He murmured.

"When you're exceptionally talented, there's not much point." It was dry again, but his eyes had gone hard behind the smile.

"Until now..." He said crinkling his nose. "...I hate that you're right in a way... I'm just putting that out there. But I will still try and help you."

"It's a hiccup. Once it's sorted out, I'll be back in business." He breathed out, flexing his hand while he thought it over. "Including the econ and marketing?"

"I... Including the Econ and Marketing, conditionally, that you at least -try- and teach me everything."

"Sure. And you'll write some papers." He tilted his head while he thought it over. "I can teach you some tricks to help with that."

"Help...I said I'd help write some papers. You should still try," He pointed out.  "Besides, it will sound more ...authentic if you Help."

"I will help." He stood, all at once, stretching in his pajamas and scratching at his jaw. "I'll teach you some tricks."

"That's not the..." He made a dissatisfied sound. "You should contribute words... saying you'll teach me some tricks is like me offering to teach you to... to... do some improvised nonsense that you probably have a more complicated but effective way to do."

He cocked his head a little bit. "I'll teach you to write papers exactly the way I used to write papers."

"Did that involve knowing the subjects you're writing about?"

"It involved a page of notes on the subject, and five to ten papers I've written previously. On anything." He shrugged, but he seemed more upbeat, now.

"I'm guessing they weren't your notes." He said tippng his head to one side, then added after a moment. "But, that's...clever all the same"

He shrugged, shifting where he stood. "When? We probably shouldn't do it in public."

He hesitated, rubbing at his eyes again. "I um... I work tonight... we can exchange contact information, or um... I think I have tomorrow off if no one calls out sick."

"Do you have a roommate?" It was a little impatient, gesturing.

"n...no.... but I'm still, working."

"I didn't ask if you were still working." He stretched his shoulders. "I'll come by at this time tomorrow. Where do you live?"

"Ah... " He said hesitating. "Little... apartment off campus, this old lady rents out a thing over her garage."

"And does it have an address or do I go knocking on every door?" It came with a genuine roll of his eyes.

"... knocking." He said scowling but followed up with an address.

"Uh huh." Just a beat, and then he fished out his phone to take a note. "I'll bring coffee."

He almost protested that, but free coffee was free-ish coffee. “Fine, see you then.”

He saluted a little and slid out, still pajamad and slouchy but -- maybe he seemed just a bit more optimistic.

"... my mother is going to loose her mind." He said softly to the empty room, because somehow she always knew... though honestly he didn't want her to.  He sighed again heavily and let his head fall forward to rest on the desk. 
No surprise perhaps that he slept through his normal alarms the next day, and found himself rushing to try and clean his apartment, preparing for the inevitable judgement of thin, office grade carpeting and constantly stuffy living quarters.

There was a hundred percent chance he'd complain about that, yes; showing up about twenty minutes late with fancy coffee. At least he was dressed today, in low slung pants and a paper thin shirt with a scarf over it, even if he was still unshaven and out of sorts. He knocked and waited, leaning against the doorframe.

There was a general, if painful sounding thump from inside, a curse, a few softer thumps as things were stuffed into a closet, and -then- the door was answered, a slightly flushed, disheveled Zac, who still looked like sleep wasn't high on his list of priorities.   He wasn't about to complain about late, not today... "...come on in." He said standing aside.

"If I must." It was dry, disapproving, looking around the place as he stepped in -- and shoved the cups of coffee toward Zac.

"If you have a better idea for next time I'm open to suggestions." He said through gritted teeth, fumbling for the cups and taking them with, blessedly no spillage onto his hands.

"My place is off limits." He grimaced, though, his head tipped to one side.

"Well we can't all afford places that shouldn't be contaminated by the likes of me." He mumbled, kicking the door shut. "The seats are clean, they won't stain your clothes."

He looked down at the chair,too, like maybe he didn't entirely believe it.

"Would you like to bring your own -seat next time?" he might be a little exhasperated

"I might just, at that." He'd pick a wooden chair, to perch on the edge of it -- legs stretched out and the hem of his shirt riding up just a bit.

He set the drinks down on a table and rubbed his temples, though he somehow still managed to almost miss.
"Right... " He sighed and sat down on the closest chair, and probably on top of a book, which was removed as an after thought. "... right... so I uh...I made a lesson plan last night, for your .... classes."

He swung a bag off of his shoulder to drop it at his feet -- and then looked down like he regretted it. It was touching that carpet. He sighed. "Sure."

"it's...clean, I steam cleaned it... it's just cheep." He sighed.

"You can't clean cheap things that well." He shrugged and bent to fish out a binder.

"Ok... short of wrapping yourself in plastic wrap as a protective shield... unless you have a better idea of where to meet, this is... this is where I live, so... " He trailed off. "Laptop...damn, one moment."

"Uh huh." He opened the notebook across his knees and raised his eyebrows at Zac.

He returned with the laptop, scowling a little and opened it.  "Alright... so... starting with the elective... and then you can teach me something, and then we move to the next subject... alright?"

"Uh huh. We should probably start with remote writing." He cracked open the book in search of a particular page.

"...why that in particular?" He asked cautiously, eyeing the coffee.   ---'PrrrrmMau?' said something else, before a leggy white cat launched for the table top, threatening to spill everything on it.

"Because --" he looked to the cat, dismissively, and then back -- "Because how are you going to write papers, otherwise?"

A small sigh. "Of course, fine." he caught a coffee before it tipped over, the cat in turn stepped onto the lap top and sat down.

His attention flicked up around the place again, thoughtfully. "Just how much training do you actually have."

"I, it's, a mixed bag. I don't have the luxury of devoting myself to it, not the way I'd like." He admitted. It was at least half excuse and he knew it.

"And how much talent do you have?" He shrugged again, with a flash of attention onto the cat.

"That seems to depend on who you ask." He said, a brief glance at the cat, and then hastily away.

"... You're probably right, It's probably...not much."

He made just a small sound while he thought it over. "Well, let's see what you can do. Give me an idea."

He hesitated, picked up the cat, who turned into a cat pancake the second hands were laid on it, draped it over his shoulders and distractedly told it to 'stay', the cat looked melted.  He then some simple gestures, and made made a quick flick of his fingers at a coffee mug that had about 3/4 of a handle.  a fine line appeared and it then slid into two pieces.

brb dog walk

"Not terrible." He tilted his head, though, thinking it over a bit. "Basic. Physical."

"It's very useful when cooking..." He shrugged. "Since, the knives I can afford are kinda shit."

"Can you dice vegetables too?" He did a similar little movement, except -- ratcheted up. It was like what Zac had done but twenty times as complicated, and the amount of focus it would take was definitely outside of the talents of most people.

"Well yes... but..." He stammered watching the hand movements  like he was trying to divine the secrets of the universe. ... not... like...that?" He said hesitating. "o...one sec." He got up and fetched a carrot from the fridge.

The way he threw it around was so careless it was -- well, it was entitled. And if it worked, it'd be impressive. But it didn't. He couldn't have made a sheet of paper move. So he sat and just watched Zac, skeptical.

"Shit... I think I didn't get..." he made a small distressed sound trying to remember the moves and then tried. He still lacked the -flow- that someone more entitled had, still science over art.

"Terrible." It was unapologetically judgmental. "We'll have to work with little charms, then."

"I could try again!' He protested. "Working from one viewing of...of a more complex hand motion than I've... rrgh... I'll keep practicing that."

He glanced at his schedule, - Tutoring, Introduction to Philosophy, and sighed shaking his head. Some freshmen probably, who didn’t pay attention to a damned thing, and now he’d have to try and beat it into their heads.
He flipped out his notes on the intro classes and set them on the desk, setting up a new document in his cheep-end, if somewhat abused laptop so he could set up notes on the parts they weren’t getting, though lord only knew that if it was anything like his last session it would be ‘all of it.’

He super needed a coffee, or an energy drink or…  just something. He was too damned tired. At least this was his last scheduled tutoring for the day; he could get something to wake him up before he picked up a shift at his other job.

They were well into the semester: by this point, students were either sinking or swimming. This *particular* student wasn't some dumb freshman but instead looked in his mid twenties. Zac would maybe recognize him: he'd come to class once or twice, at most, and in the past he'd been there in expensive clothes, with perfect hair.

Today was different. As he rolled into his tutoring section a good half an hour later, it looked like Beau was still in his pajamas, even down to the slippers. His hair was lank and loose around his face, and his eyes looked a little bit sunken, tired. His attention raked around the room instead of settling right onto Zac.

He did a double take at the Pajamas, his face a grim line as he looked down to find slippers to boot, and sighed.
Not a freshmen, but clearly, lacking in any kind of give a damn. This was going to be ‘great’.

He sighed, not even trying to hide the vague level of consternation.
“… Intro to Philosophy tutoring?” He offered, so many were ‘unsure’ if they were in the right room, or had ‘lost’ the room number and so on, and so forth.

He leaned back and rubbed at his eyes, at least he was less worried now that he probably looked like he hadn’t slept recently. Hell, he probably looked more like a freshman because of that.

“Have a seat.” He waved to the chair across from him trying not to let the idea of ‘how nice pajamas’ would be just at the moment sink in enough to trigger a yawn.

A couple days since he shaved, too; he scratched at his jaw as he sad down opposite Zac and finally really looked at him. His voice went wry, maybe a bit mocking. "Who'd you piss off to land this?"

"... I get paid to do this, I didn't piss off anyone." He shook his head, making a small face at the idea that he'd pissed someone off. "So... what is it that isn't making sense in class?"  He swapped directly to the more 'comfortable' subject of class work. Class work was much more structured than people, in so far as the information went at least. Presenting it so that the professors approved was sometimes the trick that had to be battled but that was all.

He blew a breath out through his nose and his attention wandered around the room again. Idly, Beau scratched at the inside of one wrist, where ink curled out from the hem of his shirt. "It's not that it doesn't make sense so much as it's really boring."

A small, croaking sound escaped the tired tutor. "....I... w... you're here to be tutored, because, it's boring?" He asked half strangled.

"I'm here to be tutored because they told me I had to have a tutor." He stretched his legs out into Zac's space, and hiked his shoulders up a little. And then he went assessing. "How much are they paying you?"

*he rubbed at the side of his nose* "In this moment? Not enough..." He quipped without checking himself, and then looked abashed to have said it at all. "I...mean..."

"I had a hunch." His eyes raked over Zac's clothes again, assessing, before rising back to his face. "I can probably pay better."

That earned not only a suspicious glance but a look down at his own clothing and back, wondering what kind of judgement he had just received. "To...do what, and besides you don't know how much they pay."

"Uh huh. To write all the papers and shit." He gestured, vaguely, still lounging where he was. "Put my name on them. Get this over with."

"no." The answer was curt. "That's...that's not the point of -being- here. It's... just no! Is this, is someone recording this? This is a joke, right?"

He looked around, as if maybe someone would come out -- but no one did. Instead he refocused on Zac. "I have a lot of money."

"T-that's not the point either!" He said flustered. "The point is to learn the... I mean why would you pay to not do a class you're going to have it on your record that you did?"

"It'll be on my record that I did it." He said it smoothly, gesturing at Zac. "That's the part that matters."

"No! No that isn't the point at all! You're supposed to learn, learning is the point!"

"This is a filler class to complete my degree." He dug a thumb into his eye like talking to Zac was painful. "The point is to have taken it."

"But they give you filler for a /reason/ It's to broaden your horizons, it... it's the whole principle of exploring things that...and besides the fact that I'd be fired, and that would go on my record and your record...and"

"I'm very good at broadening my own horizons." There was that dry tone again, teasing. "And only if you got caught."

"Noooo..." He said shaking his head slowly from side to side. "No, just...no, I will help tutor you but...just no..." Clearly the idea was somewhere along the same lines of palatability as suggesting that he superglue his nostrils shut or some equally ridiculous suggestion.

And the returned look was completely uncomprehending. "It'd probably be less work, though. Plus I'd pay you."

"It's not about less work, it's about learning it though, doing it, I mean you can't... I mean you can but you shouldn't take credit for something you didn't do! It's the responsibility of it... "

"So you think the point of this is to make everyone's life harder for the sake of some lesson learned." He made it sound -- dumb, the way he said it. Fighting back a yawn.

"Life isn't easy is a lesson you learn because life is harder sometimes." He sputtered. "W-why wouldn't you want to -learn- something? You might find something interesting, just because it seems boring now dosen't mean there isn;t anything of value."

Gesture Magicians: Gesture magicians don't actually require any physical components to work their spells, and as such, they have to have some inherent ability. You are either born with this ability or you're not. Sometimes it's strong, and sometimes it's weak. The stronger you are, the more complicated a spell you can do; for example, it's the difference between being able to make one magical knife cut versus making a very fine dice.

All spells done by gesture magicians are made up of hand gestures and movements, done in a precise way. It's as much art as science and science as art. Many magicians have books of spells written in shorthand, that explain the basics of the gestures they have to do.

Gesture magicians also, like many magic users, have a tendency to make technology act up. The stronger their magic, the more haywire tech gets around them. Strong spells can fry cell phones, TVs, or even electric lights.

RUDE

"...simply putting the most interesting thing in the center might seem like a solution but - "

Rabi's lecture on the golden ratio was cropped short by the sudden sound of a phone going off -- and when it did, he went silent, attention raking over the class until he found the source. Of *course*. It wasn't the first time a phone had rung in his class, but it was the first time Tucker's had. His reaction was always sharp, but this one was enough to cut.

"Mr. Williams. Is that an emergency, or are you just special enough to have social events during class?" Each word was spat, short.

@Beejoux

ESSENTIALS
Name: Cooper Cole
Nickname: There are no nicknames. It's all or nothing. He goes by "Cooper Cole". Nothing else is sufficient.
Apparent Age: Thirty, maybe thirty three.
Occupation: Actor and well-known playboy.

APPEARANCE
Faceclaim: Sebastian Stan

He looks the perfect, eccentric beauty of a character actor: high cheekbones, lean frame, fine skin. He is tall, but not towering, under 6'. His smile is white, easy, well-rehearsed; his eyes are blue-green and lined faintly with lashes. His hair is a carefully, deliberately messy tumble of dark golden girls, kept cropped short enough to keep out of his face.

Depending on how he's dressed, he can seem angelic or demonic, but certainly has an otherworldly quality that appeals to the masses.

Mostly, he wears designer clothing, simple pieces that photograph well and make him stand out in a crowd. Everything is conspicuously expensive, because he likes it that way. It's all tailored to fit exactly.

His preference is, of course, somewhat eccentric -- old fashioned, gaslight, victorian without the steam, tending toward pocket watches and top hats -- and the media simply eats it up.

PERSONALITY
Cooper Cole's life is a public one: after starring in numerous action films, many of them Sci Fi, and several  moderately successful wanders into a period piece romance, he has an extensive fan following that ventures also into his more private affairs.

His home, a billion-dollar townhouse in the oldest part of the city, has been on numerous television shows. He's friends with several fashion designers, funding many of their projects, including collaborating several times. He dines out, almost every day, gracing only the best -- or most interesting -- restaurants with his presence.

He's also openly gay. The kids love him. The teens love him. The parents hate him.

One on one, he tends to be cocky, domineering, but carelessly so. He's spent so long in the spotlight that he just assumes it will always be on him. he assumes people will know who he is, and will be impressed by it. He has a lot pride, easily prickled.

IMPRESSIONS
He gives off a lot of heat, both literal and metaphoric. He'd make panties drop if he were into ladies.