Practice

Cole listened to her quietly as he did his work, able to shape and bend his tendrils to create structures on the inside of the stone, making a few rows of delicate strips facing a tube-shaped mouthpiece. The hollow stone, about the size of a human heart, had several holes along the top of it. Etched with Celtic designs, the work was impossibly detailed.

Cole smiled and rolled the work in his hands, slowly closing his eyes and blowing across the top of the piece. The resulting sound was a humming harmonic note, though it was a bit sharp. Sighing, he curled one of the invisible tendrils around it and flung it into the lake.

“With years of learning how to make a forcefield change shape.” He smiled weakly. To be honest, he did little. The forcefield itself moved how it willed, though he and it usually had the same intentions.

Turning his gaze to Beatrice next to him, he noticed the claws slipping in and out. Looking her over once more, he sighed as it clicked. “Ah. You know, you never did answer my question.” He said with a chuckle. “What separates you from the common people?” He asked, scooping up some dry sand and brushing away the stone flakes.

Cole smiled at her, a pulse of color emanating from where her tail struck. The forcefield had taken the blow, hugging close to his skin. Even if he considered her a friend, the field wouldn't take chances. She'd said it herself, the power wasn't normal. It was artificial, seemingly sentient, and could have other, unpredictable, effects.

The boy smiled at her, slipping his thumbs into his pockets. Tapping on his leg, he cocked his head. “How could anyone not like you?” He was conscious of the fact that he was trying to play her, to get her wrapped around his finger. Deep inside, he hated himself for trying, and wished that it was real.

“I mean, it's not as if it makes you look bad.” He grinned. “I mean look at you. You don't look like you've been stuck in a wheelchair for nigh on two years.” He laughed, honey brown eyes softening.

'Cole, you're an ass.

Cole noticed the change in her manner, once more becoming the snobbish, holier-than-thou sort most spoiled girls became. For a reason he couldn't consciously justify, he felt angry at her. He fought down a snarl, the corner of his mouth twitching downwards. The field slipped down, sending roots into the ground, keeping him from moving. He could lose control of it at times, but it wouldn't let him get into trouble.

Cole struggled invisibly against it for a moment before giving in, taking a couple of deep breaths. The invisible tendrils retreated, the field sinking back into his skin. His eyes took on a hard look, no longer the warm, beautiful color he'd been trying to get.

“I'm sure you haven't. Spoiled girl like you, no one's going to let you get a scratch, right?” He said, a smile spreading across his face, looking snake-like. He faintly regretted the words, but anger insulated against reason.

He was enjoying himself.

Cole gave a tiny smile. “I suppose I was wrong. Perhaps it's just that they don't know their job well.” He chuckled, amused. “Hell, I'm sure I could do a better job than they could.” He found himself enjoying his attitude. Perhaps he would indulge this side of himself more often. It gave him a sense of power, of control. He felt strong.

“Like me?” His smile twitched, an icy tingle drifting up his spine. “How so? A cripple? A nobody, with no family? No friends? Alone in this world, no one to talk to except himself?” He laughed humorlessly. “You have no idea who I am, what I am, and you never can.” He shuddered. “Maybe it would serve you well to have been paralyzed.” He muttered.

“Holes in the ground? If that's the assumption you want to make. Yes, I can make holes in the ground. Flesh, too.” He grimaced behind the thinly veiled threat.

The boy sneered. “And where are your protectors now? I see no one here but us two. There wouldn't be a sound...” He found himself thinking all too easily what could take place, running a scenario in his mind. Stiffening, he grew disgusted with himself, covering it with a weak smile. No matter how good it felt, it was wrong to indulge himself this way. This was why he couldn't keep friends.

Cole shook his head, smile melting away. “I won't be alone. I'll always have myself.” Cole remained still and silent a moment, placing a hand in his pocket, removing the plastic airplane there, pulling it out. Holding it clenched in his fist, hiding it best he could, he drew reassurance from the memento.

Turning towards the academy, he felt his chest hurt, throat growing tight and painful as he fought back emotion. “I don't know why i'm still here.” Cole squeezed out, starting to walk off, plane held limply in his hand.