Training Time [Feos]

A grin formed in Brandon's lips and he nodded in approval at Mason's train of thought. "To stop the summons, attack the summoner. A basic tactic, but a very good one. Of course, competent summoners also know that and have planned in advance, and since your opponent is a professor of the subject, you can expect I'm quite prepared. In such a case, is it truly better to go for the summoner and find yourself facing a counter-attack by him, and also the attack of his servant, instead of trying to get rid of the servant first?" he spoke out loud, more so that Mason could listen and become familiar with the entire thought process behind strategic and tactical planning during combat.

"It depends, really. You'll have to figure out enough information to decide...or, if you can't do that, follow your instinct." he concluded, nodding again. At Mason's cheeky invitation, Brandon's fingers twitched, as if they were about to tighten into fists for a single moment, but it was only that. Brandon knew that even if he would have enjoyed some excercise, it wouldn't help Mason much at this stage.

"Kiddo...if you're really serious about becoming competent, and wish to work with me. You need to have theory to work on, and apply in our classes. For that, go to your professor Kalevere. She's very good with her instinct and judgement alike, and a very strong woman." Brandon said with a nod, his tone showing professional respect. "If you want to learn more about your powers and figure things out more...then search for Ignatius Jones. That guy....he's a bit of an oddity, the way he works. But if you can do what he asks from you, he'll give you quite a few things to work on during our sessions. Heh!" Brandon finished with a chuckle, then waved his big hand.

"Class dismissed for now, kiddo. For the whereabouts of either professor....Professor Kalevere, she can be found in her office sometimes, or outdoors. As for Jones..." he said, and perhaps one could notice he wasn't addressing him as professor "...perhaps in the library, or the roof." he finally concluded.

    It's been almost a month since Cross's and Mason's first lesson; two and a half weeks since Mason's exposure to Piqua. This new art form was far from mastered it only being a few weeks since introduction, but still, Mason had learned to sharpen his wind slashes. They were more precise, but less powerful, a trade off Mason decided on. In his eyes, form was more important than pure strength. Strength would come with practice; for now, accuracy.
 
    Mason checked the watch on his left wrist. 20:35. "Now who's late?" Mason said under his breath, still a bit sour from Cross's comment a few weeks ago. He rolled his shoulders and looked up to the darkening orange sky. He had debated if their late lesson was because of Cross's busy schedule, or because he wanted to make Mason's lift more difficult. It's easier fighting in the light of day, than the darkness of a cloudy night. The sun lingered in the sky, refusing to sleep just yet, and he knew that Cross's lesson would begin in light, and gradually grow darker.

    He looked around, surveying the land a few more times while there was still a good amount of (dying) light. Mason twirled his hand absentmindedly, spinning the staff around his hand, not even paying attention. He was trying to project a casual presence, but internally Mason's heart was beating fairly fast. Despite the excitement, he was worried to what Cross had planned for tonight. He jumped a couple times in place, trying to keep himself from psyching himself out.

    "He's not going to kill me," he whispered to himself, though there was a small part of him that believed there was that possibility. He looked at the castle now, starring at the entrance he expected Cross to come from. At the same time, he listened intently to the growing sounds of the outside world, should his crazed professor decide to sucker punch him. The choirs of crickets started to build and a very distant howl reached Mason's ear, emanating from deep inside the dense forest, though he wasn't convinced it was a just a wolf. 

From behind Mason, the opposite side of the forest, the sound of a lighter clicking open was heard, signaling the arrival of the professor. Cross wasn't in a particularly good mood. From the day he had that lesson with Mason, a true class as he wished to teach it, the theoretical classes he was holding felt much more mundane and boring to him. He was itching for some action, days now.

That's why he had gone to find Jones the other day, to ask why the hell it was taking so long for his student to return, and to see if Jones was truly competent. Fired up and with a lot of pent up energy, he had left Jones no other choice than a direct challenge, a "friendly" spar as he had named it. That time, that man had surprised him with tactics he hadn't expected, and even if he couldn't help but respect the man and tip his hat at those tricks used, deciding the battle in an instant, he also couldn't help but feel a bit angry, wishing to fight the man again.

"Took you long enough, eh? It's been a month, kiddo. I hope you have something good to show, that justifies all this wait." he said, taking in a deep breath of smoke from his fresh lit cigarette. "Or have you been slacking all this time?" he asked, raising the eyebrow over his good eye.

    Minutes seemed like hours as Mason waited for his instructor. The combination of nerves and excitement didn't help the time move either. Despite waiting a month, the moments before his next instruction seemed the longest. Previously he could send his time distracting himself with homework or training, or even with friends. But now, he was a subject to time, and the more eager he got, the slower it went.

    As the deep orange sky started to turn purple, he heard the sound of a lighter clicking behind him. Mason efficiently spun on his feet, to face the noise positioned behind him. "Can't just make a normal entrance, can he?" he joked to himself as he watched his professor head towards him casually, the end of the cigarette burning brightly as he inhaled.

    The tone of Cross sat unpleasantly with Mason, and it was clear he seemed upset, or at the very least, then irritable. "Jones' has taught me a thing or two," he said proudly though not boastfully. His voice head move confident than he felt, and in the presence of his teacher suddenly felt ill prepared. 

    Mason didn't move closer to Cross as he was sure that the lesson had already begun, but relaxed his stance, providing for a move efficient and effective escape should there be a sudden attack. "I think your golem should watch his back, unless he wants to end up my new punching bag," he said, slightly out of character, as if to impress his teacher with a bold face.

As he approached, Cross could feel that his student was being wary of him and cautious, and this pleased him. It showed that Mason was taking the lessons seriously, and that since he didn't yet know how far Cross could go, he was being extra careful. That was good, and Cross almost grinned a bit. Almost. 

"I see, I see. That's why I sent you to that man, so that he gives you something to work on with me." he confirmed, taking in a deep breath from his cig. "On the other hand, with strength comes weakness at first, Mason. Weakness of not knowing how to use that strength properly, making you show openings. Weakness of overestimating your power, feeling bolder than you should. It's only after some polishing that such weakness, one that came with new strength, is expelled from your system. If you survive until then." he added in the end, in a grim tone. "It's a luxury, you see, and one is most vulnerable when they have only half-learned something new." he continued, passing down valuable truths of true battle to his student.

"And if my golem should be watching its back, as you said, have you been watching yours?" he finally added. As he said that, a whooshing, threatening sound was heard from behind and a bit above Mason. As he was speaking, purposefully saying deep and important things that could captivate Mason's attention, he had been creating his earth elemental behind Mason, more slowly than usual, but also quietly. The whooshing sound was a big, heavy hook punch, aimed directly towards the back of Mason's head.

    A lump grew in Mason's throat as Cross continued to make his way towards Mason, and he tried to swallow it down to no avail. The excitement slowly drained from him and the nerves started to take over. The exhaled intently, trying to calm himself, telling himself that ultimately, these lessons were extremely valuable. He did ask for them after all. As Cross spoke, his words didn't seem hostile, which comforted him a tad. He kept his eyes fixated on his teacher as he spoke, dropping valuable tidbits of information to Mason, which he prompted listened to. Occasionally he would check Cross's hands, but they never faulted, which gave Mason a (false) sense of security. Cross had touched the ground to create his golem previously, so it stood to reason that he would have to do it again.

    It wasn't until Cross mentioned checking his own back that he heard the sound of rushing air and felt the gentle flex of the air current around him. At the realization of his error, Mason's eyes widened, and he ducked. The swinging arm of the golem missed his head by millimeters. If it's arm had been a blade, it would have sliced some hairs off his head. "Fuck," he gasped out loud. "He was baiting me, directing my attention," he finished the though in his head. 

    With the duck, Mason continued his momentum and spun to standing, positioning himself between both Cross and the golem. He stood, hesitating. What Cross had said about a new skill instilled new fear in him, and he was suddenly afraid to test out his technique on the powerful opponent.

    By the time Mason focused, the golem had recovered and he had missed his first chance to attack. Growling at himself, Mason charged in for an attack, trying to regain his courage. The golem swung his arm again, which Mason easily dodged, but the golem was faster then it previously was. As Mason prepped for an attack, the golem followed up with his first attacked. Too late to dodge, Mason tried to soften the blow, but with no strength behind his defence, the golem easily punched through his air blast, connecting with his sternum.

    There was a distinctive cracking sound as Mason went flying backwards, landing hard on the ground and rolling to a stop. Mason screamed from the fracture, and he coughed up a bit of blood. The air blast had at least softened the blow and prevented the golems attack from doing major harm. Mason laid there for a moment or two, allowing his body to heal itself before getting back up. He wiped his chin and starred at the golem. "Come on!!" he shouted, rage quickly boiling in him. As the golem charged; Mason prepped himself, swinging his arms to build momentum. 

    Instead of attacking head on though, Mason jumped out of the range of the punch, keeping his momentum. As he flew through the air, he sliced his arms towards the golem, sending two almost invisible and sharp air blades towards the golems arm. The first one landed, creating a gash in the defending arm, the second one, intended for the same spots at the first, missed it mark, hitting beside the first slice. He intended to slice the arm off, but only created to deep cuts along its arm. He landed gently on his feet, and stay focused. He wouldn't be off guard again.

Cross watched intently as his earth elemental waged battle against Mason, under his control. His body was itching, and he felt the urge to get into the fight himself, but he knew this was, above all, a lesson for Mason, one that would help him improve his skills, instincts and combat sense. As such, there was a certain pace to be followed, a very delicate and difficult one to grasp and implement, and a great teacher was one who could manage that. 

He didn't see a big difference in how Mason moved, but then, the expected new technique came, and Cross nodded. He had seen that technique once more, on that rooftop. Back then, Jones had displayed that for him, catching him by surprise and dispelling his air elemental, cutting it in half. This was the case with Jones, he always caught the opponent by surprise, and it was the perpetual nature of it that showed not luck, but a fearsome intelligence. And yet, it also provoked Cross, who was becoming even more insistent to see the time when Jones could play no tricks and would lose to him!

Cross could also easily tell that the air slashes Mason had performed were both superior to the one Jones had displayed that day. It was obvious that Mason had trained on that technique a bit, and Cross thought it was useful and fitting, providing the boy with a cutting technique, adding offensive variation.

Now it was up to him to help Mason make the technique his own, and enable him to make it useful in real combat situation. The earth elemental paused its advance, and then, the ground shook very slightly. Lumps of ground could be seen, rolling up the elemental's left leg, up the side of its body, and then to the cut arm. They didn't "heal" the wound, they kept accumulating, expanding outwards, and soon enough, a shield was formed, "worn" over the elemental's forearm.

"See if you can cut this, kiddo." Cross simply said, as the elemental once more charged towards him in a flurry of blows, not hesitating to use the shield offensively as well, cleaving as if wielding a blunt axe, but also prepared to have the shield take the air blades if they came. The shield was made so that it was tougher than the elemental's arm, but it was not indestructible or immune to the damage the air slices could inflict.

    Mason panted heavily, not because he was exhausted, but because he was trying to control his anger. The level Cross was challenging him was unbelievably high, higher than he expected for a while. He as also angry at himself, thinking himself better than he was he. He had become complacent and it showed, but most apparently to himself. In the distance Mason could hear Cross say something, but his attention was to the earth golem, who was growing by collecting the ground around him. It crawled up his body and covered the gashes Mason had created, with a large shield now resting on its forearm. "Great," Mason panted. He glanced at Cross and spat. "Prick," he said to Cross, though it was barely audible.

    His attention was quick to move back to the golem as it bounded towards him. Despite the collection of new earth on it, it didn't seem to lose speed, which made the fight all the more difficult. Mason jumped back, ducked, and spun out of the ever coming attacks on the golem. It worked for a bit, but it was clear that Mason wasn't the only one analyzing his opponent. Spinning from an attack, Mason turned to see the shield swinging towards his face. He threw up his arm, crossing over themselves to protect his face and chest. The golem's shield was denser than his body, and the blow sent Mason flying through the air, landing hard on his back. The shield had broke his forearms, and he screamed in pain, but mostly anger as he laid on his back.

    His cursing echoed through the meadow, grunting as he felt his bones painfully mend themselves. This time, however, the golem didn't give him time to recover, and Mason felt the ground beneath him shaking as the creature charged. He rolled out of the way and flipped onto his feet, refraining from using his healing arms. He would have liked his staff to get away to think in the air, but the golem's first punch to his chest had knocked the staff out of his hand, and it laid closer to Cross then him.

    "Enough!" he roared, his face red. Planting his feet on the ground, Mason twisted his arms over his head before shooting his ride arm out towards the golem. The air shot forward, hitting its shield as it hide behind his cover. Taking his chance, Mason charged forward, light on his feet towards the golem. The beast defended itself, but Mason danced around it, weaving through its defences, quiet differently than before. Strategically, Mason swiped his arms up and across, creating smaller but more accurate gashes across the golem, weaken it.

    Satisfied with the large number of cuts across his opponent, Mason jumped out of his way. He panted now, from exhaustion, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, his body covered in a layer of perspiration. He couldn't stop now though. As the golem ran towards Mason, he jumped straight up, directly overhead where he was on the ground. He gathered air and as he fell back down, kicked his legs out to send a powerful air blast towards the golem. The sound of rushing wind could be heard quite loudly, and it audibly hit the golem's shield, who brought it up to protect itself.

    Normally, the shield would take the damage, although, the number of cuts and gashes across the golem's body proved its downfall. Between the weight of the creature, and the force of Mason's attack, the golem couldn't hold its form, and crumbled.

    The downfall of his opponent didn't please displace his rage, and Mason landed hard on the mound of his once opponent. Rage still filled him, and he directed his confusion towards Cross. He purposefully walked towards Cross, not taking attention off his teacher. He walked past his staff but didn't stop to pick it up. Instead he threw his right arm out and pulled it towards him with air, catching it.

    "You're mental!" he declared. "If you're trying to kill me, you don't have to wait until our lessons to do it mate. Just do it now!" he said. As he walked, he spun, swiping his staff across the air. This caused an air slash to fly towards Cross, but it was not the sharp slashes Jones had taught him. It was a dull slash that didn't cut, but upon impact would force its target back, or in this case, of his feet.

Cross watched carefully, having total and fine control over his earth elemental, dancing the very thin and ever shifting line of making it extremely formidable for his student, but not outlandishly out of reach. It was the test of a good teacher, in Cross's mind. To beat it, Mason would have to grow during this fight. Bit by bit, with every blow, dodge and step, he'd have to grow. 

For a few moments, Cross wondered if Mason could really do it. He was getting hit, quite a bit, and it didn't seem like he could find a way to bypass that shield. But then, Cross noticed the change in how the boy moved. How he put flaws in the elemental's defenses and structure, showing patience and determination, the ability to keep his wits even under such immense pressure. And he grinned, until his lip was burnt, making him flinch. He had been so absorbed in Mason's fight that he had forgotten about his lit cigarette!

When he saw Mason flying and then destroying the elemental, a small part of him wanted to cheer loudly. Very well done, and Mason had shown so many good elements during that fight. He had grown! But of course, Cross wouldn't react like that, especially with that angry mutt walking closer, and even daring to attack him!

Furrowing his eyebrows, he reached out with his right hand, and with a whooshing sound, it seemed as if a condensed tornado formed around his forearm. It split, almost invisible but clearly discernible as the fast spinning air was, into the form of a hand, that reached out and squeezed the incoming air slash until it dissipated. It was like the arm and hand of an Air Elemental, but there was none, it formed around Cross's arm.

"If I wanted to kill you, kiddo, you'd be dead. And if you were dead, you wouldn't be so loud and insolent!" Cross shot back, his tone of voice deep and irritated. "What do you want, do you want me to babysit you? Do you want me to give you target dummies? When the battle began, that Earth Elemental was stronger than you, and more powerful. Now, it's shattered on the ground and you've got your legs and arms and head on you to be cheeky with me. That's growth, kiddo, and that's what we're here to do. Either you'll grow during each fight, in order to catch up and surpass a superior opponent, or you'll lose! Victory or defeat is up to you, not me!" Cross said, and the more he spoke, the more angry he got. "And I hope it will never come down to this, I hope that you'll live a long, peaceful life kiddo. But if the time comes, and you find yourself defeating a stronger foe, you'll think "It's that old son of a bitch who taught me that, and now i'm alive. I should have given him a bit more credit!". And at that time, I'll be flipping you off from the grave most likely, kiddo, if I ever get one!" he shouted.

He had gotten much more emotional than he had originally expected or wished, but looking into his one good eye and seeing how the spinning air around his arm had become more violent and unstable, one could understand the man was speaking with his soul, not hiding or holding back a single thought during that moment.

    Mason's breath was not under control like it should have been. His adrenaline was coursing through him, his blood pumping, his exhales heavy and audible. He stood with his arm extended after swiping it through the air. There was a brief pause in his rage as air enveloped his arm to counter Mason's attack. Curiosity crept into his head for a second. "Air too?" It was a brief pause, but he made note of it, quickly reverting back to his anger.

    A number of times Mason tried interrupting Cross' growing rant, and it wasn't long before the two men were close to each other, veins popping out of their foreheads. "You think kicking the shit out of me his helpful?" he roared, with the aid of his air abilities, over Cross' voice. "If I couldn't heal, I'll have two broken arms and a fractured sternum. How can I grow if I'm constantly worrying about my life?! You push too hard! You're pushing your dreams on me!" he his voice reaching to a crescendo.

    It was in that moment that Mason's consciousness split. Half of him cooled, realizing that he was angry not at Cross, but at his father. Suddenly their teaching was practically identical, and his frustration was born from that. On the other hand though, he could not completely rationalize that realization and angry grew as he thought about all the time his father spend on Mason to train him and the guilt he had for his mothers death.

    He turned away from Cross and screamed, slashing his right arm across the air, sending a powerful blade through the air and slicing deeply into the thick trunk of the ancient tree in the meadow. It would have been deeper, potentially even cut through it, had Mason had momentum behind his strike.

    From over his shoulder, he starred at Cross, suddenly determined to grow in strength. "Again," he practically demanded. "Another fight. Two opponents, I don't care." he faced Cross and got into a fighting stance. "Again!"

Τhe older man was looking at Mason with a mix of pure anger and hidden confusion, because in Cross's ear, nothing that Mason said made sense. How could he ever grow if he wasn't worried for his life? Why would he ever consider the "if I couldn't heal" scenario, when he could heal and his teacher was taking that into account? It was no dreams that Cross was pushing onto him....but perhaps, it was his nightmares as Cross then thought, during the more quiet moment between the two, and he took in a few breaths, trying to also calm himself.

And calmer he became, but the fire in his chest, the ringing in his ears, it did was not quelled. This clash between the two, and what they considered the "proper" method, and they way each faced inner demons without the other knowing....Cross couldn't put it in words and proper thoughts at that point, but his heart knew the truth: They had to duke it out, like proper men. For Cross had decided to try and look at Mason like a real man, even if those teenage outbursts were quite bothersome.

"One opponent." Cross corrected, starting to walk closer. "A darn good one though." he added. As he walked, the ground he stepped on moved, starting to crawl onto his legs. A layer of ground covered the top of his feet, like a foot guard, and kept crawling, encasing his shins and the knees, allowing the knees and ankle to rotate and bend freely. A thin line of ground crawled up the back of each thigh, and they converged where the spine started, continuing up along it at a straight, thin line of ground. A few times, it split to follow the shape of ribs, but it only stopped crawling upon reaching the back of Cross' neck. More ground kept going up, following the trails described above, so that two more "paths" were created, over Cross's shoulders that were almost entirely covered, then thin lines along the man's triceps, and ending up in thick, full encases of Cross's forearms and fists.

"You should stop thinking about dying. I know what I'm doin' kiddo. You might feel pain in our lessons, but you won't die." he grunted, and even if he thought this was counter-productive, a more reasonable part of him won that moment, and he told Mason that. "Now, let's brawl this out, kiddo." he finally said, a grin full of eagerness and determination forming in his face. Essentially, controlling the ground attached to his body would allow Cross very powerful strikes, comparable to the Earth Elemental's, and a very solid protection, the ground around his forearms and shins being even more sturdy than the previous shield. Normally, that much ground weighed a lot, but Cross controlled it, and his body, like an elemental's, instead increasing his speed drastically.

"Here I come then, kiddo!" he said, pushing forth powerfully with one leg, and upon reaching over, starting with a flying knee towards Mason's chest, his forearms connecting with each other in front of his tucked in face and head to protect him.

    Mason was seeing red, and Cross' face blurred to that of his fathers. He shook it away, focusing on his opponent. He had expected an elemental, but was just as content with fighting Cross himself. He watched as the earth around Cross climbed up him and covered various parts of his body. He needed this. Even if he didn't know it, Mason needed this. If he was to move forward, he needed to deal with this guilt and rage he as been harbouring since childhood, and in absence of his father, Cross would have to do. He twirled his staff, debating it he needed it's help, or if he was proud enough to fight his teacher with his bare hands.

    As Cross bounded towards Mason, it was clear to him that it was better to has his weapon then not. Despite the heavy armour he put around it body, it was clear it did not limit his movements, and he moved just as faster, maybe faster, than if he had no amour on at all. As angry as he was, the combat side of him, that had been beaten into him, quickly took control, and he knew that he would use his anger as he needed, and no more.

    Mason focused on the man flying through the air to attack him. He side stepped Cross, placing his open palm on the outside of Cross's knee and pushed away, side stepping and easily evading the attack. He paused for a moment. This was the same move that Cross' earth golem used against Mason previously. Perhaps the golem didn't have his own sense of self that he had previously thought, but was, completely and utterly under the control of Cross. This would make their fighting style the same, at least until Cross demonstrated a different kind of style, which he didn't put past him.

    He starred at Cross as he landed, his heart beating hard and fast, audible in his ears and felt against his chest. With Cross' back now towards him, Mason ran and jumped high into the air, spinning as he reached its apex. He kicked his right foot out, tucking his left into him, and he shot a powerful air blast towards his back. He knew that Cross would recover before his attack would land, and thus he could defend himself, but he kept pressure on him, not wanting to give Cross a chance for the upper hand.

    As he landed, his feet barely touched the ground and he rolled over his shoulder to standing, keeping the momentum going, and jumped, punching forward, intending to knock Cross on his back with an air blast.

It was a powerful, emotional battle that was waged at the meadow that evening. Cross fought similarly to the Earth Elemental the entire time, and if Mason could discern it, he could perhaps realize Cross fought using a style very close to Muay Thai, focusing on knees, elbows, low kicks and powerful punches. Cross didn't offer an inch of space, unyielding as a mountain, using his armored and more bulky parts -mostly forearms- to block incoming strikes, and utilizing the armor's weight to keep his ground against air blasts, sometimes even allowing the ground over his feet to "hook" with the earth and anchor himself.

Still, he got hit a lot, and he hit a lot himself as well, though his fists were deliberately not strong enough to crush Mason's bones or knock him out. It was a drawn out, manly brawl, where emotions were put into fists, where eyes glared, no facade or pretense, two fiery souls blazing and facing not only each other, but their own demons as well. Each pain suffered was a small purification, each pain inflicted was an outlet and worth a hundred words.

And soon, the brawl came to an end, with both combatants covered in sweat, panting heavily. Cross's skin was glistening with sweat, and his clothes had been torn and ruffled in so many places. His hair was a mess, and he allowed the solid ground around his body to crumble and fall. 

Unbeknownst to Mason, another man was observing the fight from a distance. He could feel the intensity, and thinking hard, he had an idea. After fixing his glasses, he vanished with a puff of smoke from where he had been hidden. A few seconds later, two bottles of beer appeared next to Cross, who blinked, surprised, but then furrowed his eyebrows and grunted at the swift realization of what had happened. Still, he grabbed the beers and held one out to Mason.

"Here kiddo. Just this once, and don't tell anyone." he offered, his tone calm again even if he was panting. He had decided to treat Mason like a man and adult this time.

ooc - sorry mate. I haven't much time recently!

ic -
    The fight lasted for what felt like hours to Mason. He had at one point intended to seriously hurt Cross, but as the fight carried on, he realized who exactly he was fight, and why. From then on, he fought not to hurt, but to prove to himself that he was worth more then what he expected. The difference between their skill level was staggering, and despite the fight Mason put up, it was clear that if Cross had fought with his complete skill, Mason wouldn't last two minutes. He had managed to land some powerful punches, catching him off guard at time, and knocking him off balance, but ultimately it was Cross who had the upper hand. No matter how often he tried to go on the offensive, Cross was one step a head of him, casing him to do his best to defend himself.

    Mason landed on his back hard, the wind knocked out of him as Cross finished the fight in a definitive blow. He laid there for a moment, gasping to bring the air back into his lungs, before he slowly stood up. He was covered in sweat, exhausted, dried blood on his mouth, chin, and chest from a broke nose Cross has given him, though it had healed since. Mason starred at Cross, swallowing to try and clear his dry mouth. "Sorry," he panted, ashamed for his previous actions. 

    He looked down, scratching his healed nose, making sure it had healed properly. When he focused, Cross was holding out a beer for him. Mason hesitated, before grabbing the drink and drinking, the taste pleasant though unfamiliar. After the fight, the sudden appearance of the beer didn't concern him, and gratefully accepted it. "Thanks," he muttered. If anything, it would help with his dry mouth.

    There was a silence as the two men drank, not so much awkward, but slightly uncomfortable. Mason cleared his throat, trying to figure out the words to say. Another silence. "You reminded me of my father," he said out loud finally, unable to look Cross in the eye as he spoke. "He spent the most part of my childhood training me. He works for the government as a scientist researching the 'other worldly'. When he found out what I'd be, he made it his... life mission to prepare me for the world." Another pause, Mason took another drink of the beer. This was the first time he spoke about his past to someone.

    "So when we started training," he continued. "Your brutal approach reminded me of him. Constantly expecting the best from me. Which works I guess. He just..." he stopped himself, rubbing his eye as it started to water. He was determined to keep himself from crying, but now that his anger had been beaten out of him, his thoughts drifted to his dead mother.
    

Cross finished his beer quickly, and then took out his lighter and lit a cigarette. Taking in a deep breath, he listened quietly to Mason's words and nodded a few times. He knew these feelings all too well, though not having experienced them in an identical way.

"People expecting too much from you. People pushing their hopes, fears and wishes on you, their view of the world. A view you don't necessarily share, because you haven't lived the same way as they, haven't had their experiences, and you're not even the same person. And yet, you are asked to adapt to that, to perform and reach goals and standards." Cross said, his tone of voice still deep and masculine, but a bit softer and less focused, as if he was daydreaming.

"It's the truth of this world, kiddo. It doesn't have to do with having a special power and what not. One can be a farmer or a company owner's son, and they'll still have a burden pushed upon them. Why?" Cross asked, and then paused for a bit.

"At least, it's not because the pushing person wants to use the other. It's out of...care and affection, I'd imagine. They think that's what's best for the other, and directly get them there, or try to, instead of allowing them to figure it out themselves with experience. Faster? Yes, but it can create other problems...." Cross continued talking, looking into the horizon.

"At least," Cross repeated "it's not like they would want to use you. It's some form of affection, I would guess." Cross said, shaking his shoulders and taking out another cigarette. He was talking about this stuff from an almost philosophical angle, and deep in thought. This time, the flame of the lighter slowly took shape, and while it didn't grow much bigger, it assumed the form of a wisp-like woman with long, fiery hair, who touched her hands on the cigarette and lit it, before the lighter was shut again.

( Sorry for the long wait! )