Ilad, Jean-Paul, Toby
"--significant areas of weakness," Jean-Paul says, the final words in a number outlining areas for Toby to work on. There are many. Lots, even. "If not for the usefulness of your mutation in the field, I would question adding you to the schedule." That said, he is leaning forward to do just that, sliding Toby in somewhere or other for the instructors to deal with. "But it is useful," he says as he leans back, expression tight.
Making a quiet entrance in the long slow fade of Sunday afternoon, Ilad is dressed in muted greys that look better suited to the gym than elsewhere, though it is certainly a familiar aspect that he presents. His hands folded neatly behind his back as he approaches, he hesitates with a flick of dark eyes between the other men as he marks Jean-Paul already occupied. Polite, he clears his throat.
Standing in front of Jean-Paul, Toby is quiet, lips tightened to a wide flat line as he nods in small but speedy motion. His eyes shift to the side, not looking directly at Jean Paul, posture somewhat similar to that of a puppy getting scolded for piddling on the living room carpet. "Right." He murmurs, turning his head to look slightly down to the one making the assessment. Damn that Carpenter! "Thanks."
Jean-Paul's expression eases somewhat when he notes Ilad. He shifts, greets him with a nod, and then invites him in by turning a hand toward Toby. "Newest student," he introduces Toby, who really doesn't need the introduction. "Ilad, if you had one piece of advice -- just one -- to give him to keep in mind when working on stealth, what would it be?" Is he cheating out of his teaching duties?!
Eyebrows twitching up where he stands, Ilad lifts his gaze from Toby to Jean-Paul with a slight cant to his head. What a cheater. Presenting to the room as he stands at a kind of modified parade rest, he suggests in his dry accented voice, "Being aware of your surroundings."
Having not noticed Ilad's cough, it is with Jean-Paul looking elsewhere that Toby turns his head as well, seeing the walking matchstick with lethal elbow attachment. His posture shifts, straightening a bit from the sad pup positioning to one a bit more alert, peppy, Toby-ish. Gee what a rebound! He glances back to Jean-Paul, listening to his introduction and then back to Ilad with the offered question but upon the answer coming, his lips tighten again. Oop. Right. Toby manages a quiet nod.
Jean-Paul snorts. Humor a subdued, dry thing, he gives Ilad an idle, sidelong glance. "Yeah," he says, "That will do. It's fair advice: awareness of your surroundings will keep you out of trouble and give you a base of study to work from when it comes to blending in. I want you to start spending your free time /out/ of your element, until you are comfortable. Got it?"
Smile slight and uncertain where it answers Jean-Paul's glance, Ilad's eyebrows draw together; then he turns his dark eyes, and surveys Toby with a glance, picking up details in an idly habitual study. "It is not a bad idea in general," he says, "whether you are trying to be stealthy or not."
Toby glances over to Jean-Paul at the demand. Lips start to open but they close shut as he reconsiders. He gives another slight nod, the corners of his lips twitching. "Ok." He replies, nod strengthening, "Out of my element..." He pauses as he considers what that would be.
"No. You're right. It's good in general," Jean-Paul agrees with Ilad. He deflects that uncertain furrow with an unchanging manner. He remains in his seat, unmoving as Toby thinks his way through the question. "I'll forward you some information on awareness exercises that you can do, as well."
Where Jean-Paul is all steady certainty, Ilad spends a moment watching Toby's apparent contemplation with a hint of deeper frown about his brow. He says, mild and helpful, "It is almost easier to be alert, in situations beyond your comfort zone. And good practice."
With the offered addition, Toby blinks, turning his head to look towards Ilad. His shoulders give a bit as Toby gives another nod, expression relaxing to allow for a bit of a small smile of thanks. He glances back towards Jean-Paul, hand squeezing tight. "Ok."
"Easier, certainly, but you need to be aware of how you are perceived," Jean-Paul not-quite-disagrees with Ilad. He glances at Toby briefly and shrugs, then looks back to Ilad. "But still, good practice."
"Well, without self-awareness, I do not know that all the situational awareness in the world will help you," Ilad says, with a turn of his hand outward in an acknowledging gesture. His eyebrow quirks as his gaze slides from Toby to Jean-Paul. He lifts his chin slightly. "Ah," he adds, "though I am here only as a student myself."
With Toby not having much to offer to the discussion, his attention ends up playing the role of the ball in a tennis match. From person to person he listens quietly, his clenched hand slides into his pocket as the other remains resting by his side, relaxed.
Jean-Paul tips his head to Ilad and glances to Toby in his prolonged silence. Eyebrows hitching upwards, he asks, "Did you have any further questions?"
Ilad takes his turn to stand quiet, glance flicked from Jean-Paul to Toby in turn.
With Jean-Paul's question directed at him, Toby's brows lift a bit as he gives a shake of his head. "Not at this second." He admits. He raises a finger in a holding manner as he adds to it, "But I'll probably have some later once I have time to mull over it." He pauses, "To be clear, what you want me to do is spend what free time I get out of my elements, correct?"
"To start. Pay more attention to people around you, learn to blend in where you normally wouldn't be," Jean-Paul says. He tips his head toward the empty building in general. "If you have questions, ask any of the basic stealth instructors."
Ilad narrows his eyes slightly at Toby's mangling of the colloquialism, and turns a long and level look at him, still holding his silence with eyebrows slightly lifted.
If Toby considered his repeating of the phrase as mangling, it does not show on his face. As he gives yet another nod. "Alright." He agrees to what Jean-Paul says, before giving a tilt of his head in question, "Is that it for now?"
"Unless you have something else," says Jean-Paul with a gesture that turns outward and releases Toby. "And you, Ilad: ready to run through a few exercises?"
"I believe so," Ilad says, but he pauses first to rub at his eyes with forefinger and thumb, as though clearing some gathering fog from vision or thought. Lowering his hand as he draws breath through his nose, he inclines his head to Jean-Paul.
With that, Toby turns to leave, his pace, although not running, is far from lingering.
As Toby withdraws, Jean-Paul transfers his attention to Ilad: "Let's move through a basic blind spot exercise first, if you're ready." What's the test? I don't know. A blind spot exercise, duh. He is all business, but not unfriendly about it; he is just focused.
Ilad takes a moment or two to come into his proper business focus, a trifle more uncertain in his wariness than his ordinary confidence would permit, but he is at least competent in practicing what he preaches as far as situational awareness as he runs through whatever this blind spot exercise is.
When the exercise has concluded and Ilad is certifiably still certified, Jean-Paul lapses quiet a moment as he updates schedules. He stirs, glances over at Ilad, and says, "Well, at least you aren't getting decertified. Doing fine."
Ilad claims a chair, not to sit in, but to brace his palm against the back of, taking the shift of his weight in a lean as he ducks his head. "Oh," he says, "good. If you had any advice on areas to improve," he adds, opening his other hand in a vague gesture. "Perhaps my injury totals would not be so high if I were better at hiding." Eyebrows quirking up, he says, "Though I suspect the difficulty has lain -- elsewhere."
"Your willingness to charge into the line of fire, maybe?" Jean-Paul suggests with a mild note of humor as he glances back to Ilad.
"Something like that," Ilad answers, humor answered in the upward turn of his mouth at one corner. He glances away again after a beat, any trace of smile fading from his expression as he studies an indeterminate point in the middle distance.
"Well, in that case, it's all in angles of approach. If you are going to be directly assaulting someone with an automatic weapon, it would be better to come at them from an angle they don't expect. Above, for example," speaks Jean-Paul from experience.
"Above, you say," Ilad answers. The ghost of his smile returns in an ephemeral flicker across his expression. He tips his head. "I imagine that would be quite effective."
"Effective enough." Jean-Paul's smile flits across his features, cramping with the intrusion of memory.
Ilad lifts his hand from the back of the chair, straightening away from it as he folds his hands behind him again. "You are experienced," he says, "with being aware of your surroundings. Even unusual angles. I suspect this makes it altogether more difficult to startle you, hm?"
"Even unusual angles," Jean-Paul echoes with a faint and crooked smile. "Well, difficult. But I'm certainly only human. The unexpected will always be ... unexpected."
"Only human, well -- yes." Ilad seems about to say more, and pauses on the cusp of it. The tip of his tongue flickers over his lips, moistening them, but he doesn't quite reach whatever he was going to say.
Jean-Paul corrects, "Mutant," like that is the joke that Ilad hesitated to make.
Ilad blinks, a little like his train of thought has been derailed. "Ah," he says. "Yes. That, too." His eyebrows quirk up. "Still but human, though. I don't believe there is a man among us who cannot be surprised."
"No. Lacking omniscience," Jean-Paul agrees. Finishing his current task he rises and snaps his laptop closed at his side.
Standing straight and still, with his hands still clasped close together behind him, Ilad says, "On the subject of the unexpected. Alden mentioned to me that you ... discovered." His sentence is missing a subject. It's probably because he is having an ESL day.
Jean-Paul draws still in his stir to leave. He shifts, leaning his hip against the table-and-or-counter's edge, and regards Ilad with more directed attention. His expression shifts from surprised to satisfied to surprised again and then bland. "Yes."
Ilad watches him, collecting the shifts of expression as tiny shavings of information as though they might be necessary clues to some later, vital puzzle. Throat working in a swallow, his gaze falls only to lift again. "Does it--" he starts to ask, and then stops, frown etching into his expression. This beginning doesn't lead to the right question; his uncertainty lingering, he says, "Are you ... bothered?" although this does not seem to be quite the right question either.
His eyebrows drawn into a startled arch, Jean-Paul is left to repeat, "Am I -- bothered? No, Ilad. I mean -- baffled, maybe. But I'm certainly not bothered."
Frown muted but lingering, Ilad nods once. He stands there like a man whose footing is uncertain, unsure of where to take a step next. "Baffled, you say," he says. "Well, that I suppose we ask for, do we not? He goes to lengths to make himself unpleasant."
"No. He goes to lengths to make himself impenetrable. He goes to lengths to make himself unknowable. He is not pleasant. He is obnoxiously, abrasively, vilely /pleasant/," Jean-Paul must disagree. "You are one of the most sincere people that I know. He is the most insincere."
Ilad is silent for a long moment, although he looks more thoughtful and contemplative than that he might be taking umbrage. "Jean-Paul," he says quietly, at length, "I do not disagree that he hides his face behind a mask. A number of them, perhaps. But so do you, and so do I. He simply misdirects where you or I might refuse to speak." The barest gleam of a smile lighting his dark eyes, he adds: "He has learned that it does not work on me."
Jean-Paul shakes his head. "Maybe. But it drives me nuts." He drags his fingers through his hair; just imagining dealing with Alden is obviously so stressful that he has to rub his temple. "I don't even really know what there is past the cover. You're a big boy, though. I wish you -- luck."
"I know," Ilad answers him quietly, but he does not go on to describe it in defense of the absent; perhaps he feels some pressure to hold close with Alden's so carefully guarded secrets. Watching Jean-Paul, he smiles: a slight, rueful turn of his mouth, paired with a quiet warmth in his dark eyes. Ducking his head slightly, he says: "Thank you, my friend. I think."
"You're welcome," Jean-Paul says in a tone more firm and more warm. He glances at Ilad and lifts his head in a brief nod. "You'll probably need the luck. Not even because it's Alden, but because of -- everything. Because of life. So I do wish you luck, and happiness. Although -- Alden, huh?"
Ilad exhales in a low laugh, more breath than voice to it, and loosens up from his stance enough to lift his hand and rub his knuckles along the curve of his jaw, shadowing along its line to dip through the neat scruff that darkens his chin. He says, turning out his other hand in an open gesture toward Jean-Paul, "Then I wish you all the same. Behatzlacha, Jean-Paul, and all good things." Shake of his head slight, he says: "There is much that we share, he and I. Beneath our -- covers, you might say." A little wry edge seeping into his voice, he adds: "It puzzles you that much?"
"Mm." Jean-Paul doesn't quite answer. He shakes his head and starts back toward the residence building. "There is not enough happiness in this life. Take what you can."
Ilad tips his head in acknowledgment, and says on a low sigh, "Wise advice, for a certainty." He lets Jean-Paul move off first, before trailing after him at a slower, measured pace.
Jean-Paul does not run off to find a little happiness of his own without first giving Ilad a nod and a gesture of farewell. Bye bye.
Ilad answers him with a little wave before they go their separate ways. Byee.
Training and advice (?).