Setting Up a Lesson

Who: Hunt and Tad
Where: over the the phone
When: Evening

After seeing Porter out, Tad retreated back to his room. He'd paced the length of it, twirled about in his chair a little and then finally sat down on his bed to inspect the knives and wrist sheaths. They were comfortable against his skin, easily adjustable to fit his scrawny forearms and easy enough to hide under his hoodie sleeves. He was wary about trying on the armored sweatshirt, and ended up tucking the knives, sheaths and mask back into the front pocket and storing the shirt in the desk drawer he'd stored Porter's laptop in.

It was another three full minutes where he sat in his desk chair, staring at the drawer and debating what he should do next before he picked up is phone. Hunt hadn't said anything about meeting up again when Tad had left his place, but it hadn't seemed like the lessons were done. Hunt seemed like he might still have more to teach Tad. Punching the number for his mentor's phone he waited while listening to the rings on the other end.

"Yeah?" The phone connected on the second ring and Hunt's voice came across, short and gruff. He didn't give his name - anyone who wanted to call him should already know who they were talking to, after all. And if they didn't, well, then they had no business calling him and he wasn't going to help them out with information. it was far from the friendlist of greetings.

"It's Tad," Tad said, not bothering to ask if he'd gotten the right person or not. He was a little nervous that Hunt seemed less than thrilled to be getting a phone call, but plowed ahead anyway. "I know you didn't say anything about meeting up again, to go over more fighting stuff, but I was thinking if you were available or something we could get together again. I have some stuff I want to ask about and um, what do you know about throwing knives?"

"They've never been my preferred weapon, but I learned to use them growing up - I could probably remember enough to help you out if you're interested in learning," Hunt told the teen immediately. His parents had been steadfast about him learning a whole range of weaponry, so he'd learned. He figured it had been well over a decade, getting on for maybe fifteen years since he last remembered using them, but he remembered the technique, in theory at least.

Tad was digging out the knives again, holding them in his hand. "Yea that'd be great," he said, only half registering the comment about using them growing up. Actually he'd stopped trying to make what Hunt said fit with the picture Tad had already put together of the man. It just didn't work out properly. "What is your preferred weapon if you don't mind me asking?"

"That all depends on what I'm facing," Hunt admitted. "I like a knife - but not the kind you throw. I've never been too keen on guns - they're noisy, obvious and they don't kill everything. And then, of course, there's magic - that usually does the trick," he added, almost as an afterthough, coolly. He turned his palm upwards as he did so, even though Tad wouldn't be able to see it, forming a small ball of crackling lightning out of the air, just for a moment, feeling the familiar pull of the magic coursing through him. It was such a rush.

Tad nodded as if the explanation seemed logical even though he'd never heard anything like it before. "Huh, guess that works." Leaning back in the chair again he continued to turn the knife over in his hand. "How'd you learn magic?"

"My parents taught me when I was growing up," Hunt told him. They'd been big on his learning things like that - how to fight, how to win, how to use whatever would help him do that. That had been all that had been important to them, and Hunt could completely understand that - after all, what else was there?

"Lucky," Tad answered. What had his parents taught him anyway? How to cut and run on him when he needed them? He hated feeling like they'd abandoned him, but he couldn't get the thought out of his head after having it put there. "So if I want to learn, you're willing to teach me? About the knives mostly." Tad left the question somewhat open ended. Porter's comments had made Tad wonder, and it had left him with pondering the plausibility of learning more than he'd originally intended from Hunt.

"I can teach you what I know," Hunt confirmed. "Though I'm gonna be a bit rusty, so it might be an amount of learning together, if that doesn't bother you too much." Hunt, as a rule, didn't admit weakness where he could avoid it, but here, it couldn't be avoided - he'd been serious when he'd told the teen to neither over nor under-estimate himself. And Hunt wouldn't do that - he wouldn't promise to teach something to a standard he couldn't achieve, and allowing the boy to know he wasn't perfectly skilled in that area wouldn't be exposing himself too much. There was a time and a place, after all.

"That's fine." Rusty knowledge was still in a better place than where Tad was which was no knowledge. Although to the knife did seem far more comfortable in his hand than he'd expected. "When's good for you?"

Hunt looked out of the window into the darkness. Tonight wouldn't be a good time. The teen would have to come over here, and he wasn't going to suggest that he went out in the dark. There were all sorts of things out there that weren't safe, and if the kid didn't even know his knife skills, then he really couldn't defend himself against them. "How about tomorrow?" he asked, not giving a single thought to the fact that Tad was in school.

Tad ran through his schedule for the day tomorrow, which as usual was lacking. There was an issue with meeting up with Hunt after school might not work. Today Grams had been out when he got out of school, but tomorrow was her short day and she'd be home before he got home, which meant if he stayed out before dinner she'd know. Worse than that he wasn't sure if he was actually in trouble from the other night or not. "If I can cut class does during the day work?"

"Just call me when you're on your way," Hunt agreed, again, not at all fazed by his erstwhile student skipping classes. Of course, this side of Hunt didn't actually remember anything about being a teacher, and there was no reason for him to be concerned. All that was important to this Hunt was what he was - was the hunt. And so helping the boy be ready to fight what was out there - that was important. Much more important than learning about dry subjects which had no practical use in the world they lived in, that was for sure.

Tad nodded, already planning he'd duck out of math, just after lunch, and finish out his school day at Hunt's. His thought process was similar to Hunt's, considering there were far more important things than pre-calculus and English. Actually, the sad part was, no one would probably even notice he was gone. He'd text Kaysen in case she was looking for him probably Porter too, but Porter might be skipping again tomorrow. "Sounds like a plan."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow," Hunt agreed, considering the night sky through his ssecure and toughened windows. He gave serious thought to heading out, maybe honing some of his knife skills before tomorrow's lesson. That would probably be a good plan. Yeah, he'd do that. There weren't any better ways to spend a night, after all.

"Tomorrow then," Tad said, nodding with it even though Hunt couldn't see him nod. He hung up without a goodbye and tossed the phone on his bed. The knife was still in his hand and he considered tossing it towards the wall across from him, but changed his mind, sliding it back into the sheath and tucking the sheaths and extra knives in his backpack so he wouldn't forget them in the morning.