"Oh, for the love of Jesus Christ and all his little children." Claude heaved out a huge sigh, actually having to walk away from Peter to calm himself down. Impossible. This was literally impossible. It was like beating a plastic spoon against the Hoover Dam and hoping to make a crack.
Returning to Peter, Claude rubbed his face with one hand and snorted a laugh. "Right. Okay. Let's start at the bloody beginning. Empaths don't just sympathize with people, Peter. They feel. They're psychically linked to the people around them. The more you care about a person, the closer you get to them, the more their moods affect you. Sure, you have your own feelings, too, but with someone as powerful as you, it all gets muddled up in your mind," he reached forward and tapped Peter's forehead sharply with one finger.
"You don't know how to control that. Takes time and effort and you've not put that in. But more importantly, you don't understand that. Listen, Peter, you keep thinking about your powers in terms of the individual things
( ... )
Even though his chair had been nudged back, Peter didn't move, he just watched Claude go back into the training room. Disgruntled, Peter heaved a sigh and pushed himself out of the chair.
He detoured to the bedroom, and ripped a piece of paper from his sketchpad, scribbling a quick message on it. Peter thought about trying to talk to Rachel, but he'd give her some time alone. So he just slipped the note under the bathroom door:
Sorry. Sometimes I wish I could muzzle him. Do you think they make muzzles for people? We should buy one, so he can still help but be quiet.
With that, Peter made his way into the training room, casting the occasional annoyed glance at Claude.
Ignoring the looks being sent his way - Claude didn't consider it a full day unless someone realized how much they hated him - Claude settled himself on the floor, sitting down, and nodded for Peter to do the same.
"Right, so, you're an empath," he started abruptly. "And that means you've got your sticky little fingers in everyone else's feelings. Which is a good thing, mostly, except you have no idea how to control it. So you're smearing everything all together and calling it your own and not doing a damn bit of good to anyone. So we're going to shove everything of you into a glass fishbowl in your brain, so that all your own emotions can swim about without getting lost in everyone else."
He paused. "Think you can handle that? Or should I get big brother in here to hold your hand?"
"I don't need people to hold my hand," Peter protested, sounding a lot more sulky than truly angry. At least it wasn't the untrained dog metaphors, he hated those ones.
After Claude finished his explanation, Peter relaxed in relief - good, no more powers today - and settled down into a sitting position. Should his joints really be cracking like that at his age? God, it had been a long day.
But this sounded okay; a lot more like meditation or something similar. Just a mental exercise. And he was beginning to trust more in Claude's methods. Even though being pushed certainly wasn't fun, it was helping.
"So, focusing my thoughts and emotions, I get it," Peter nodded. To his credit, he didn't crack a smirk when he continued, apparently quite seriously. "Is there going to be pilates as well? Do we need candles, or crystals? I think Rachel has herbs."
Returning to Peter, Claude rubbed his face with one hand and snorted a laugh. "Right. Okay. Let's start at the bloody beginning. Empaths don't just sympathize with people, Peter. They feel. They're psychically linked to the people around them. The more you care about a person, the closer you get to them, the more their moods affect you. Sure, you have your own feelings, too, but with someone as powerful as you, it all gets muddled up in your mind," he reached forward and tapped Peter's forehead sharply with one finger.
"You don't know how to control that. Takes time and effort and you've not put that in. But more importantly, you don't understand that. Listen, Peter, you keep thinking about your powers in terms of the individual things ( ... )
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He detoured to the bedroom, and ripped a piece of paper from his sketchpad, scribbling a quick message on it. Peter thought about trying to talk to Rachel, but he'd give her some time alone. So he just slipped the note under the bathroom door:
Sorry. Sometimes I wish I could muzzle him. Do you think they make muzzles for people? We should buy one, so he can still help but be quiet.
With that, Peter made his way into the training room, casting the occasional annoyed glance at Claude.
Reply
"Right, so, you're an empath," he started abruptly. "And that means you've got your sticky little fingers in everyone else's feelings. Which is a good thing, mostly, except you have no idea how to control it. So you're smearing everything all together and calling it your own and not doing a damn bit of good to anyone. So we're going to shove everything of you into a glass fishbowl in your brain, so that all your own emotions can swim about without getting lost in everyone else."
He paused. "Think you can handle that? Or should I get big brother in here to hold your hand?"
Reply
After Claude finished his explanation, Peter relaxed in relief - good, no more powers today - and settled down into a sitting position. Should his joints really be cracking like that at his age? God, it had been a long day.
But this sounded okay; a lot more like meditation or something similar. Just a mental exercise. And he was beginning to trust more in Claude's methods. Even though being pushed certainly wasn't fun, it was helping.
"So, focusing my thoughts and emotions, I get it," Peter nodded. To his credit, he didn't crack a smirk when he continued, apparently quite seriously. "Is there going to be pilates as well? Do we need candles, or crystals? I think Rachel has herbs."
Reply
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