Jordan watched the headmaster start teaching, having opened his eyes when Hargor began speaking to the student. He watched the waters from currents which flowed around him and he got a slight chill even in the warm baths. He supposed it was no different than if Jordan had come across somebody totally submersed in sand, or earth in general. Of course, most people you came across submerged in sand were already dead. As opposed to all people living and breathing, having their bodies composed of a large percentage of water.

Still, as far as Jordan knew, no elementalist alive could control their elements inside another person's body. At least, he'd never been brave enough to check whether such a thing were possible, even during his days as a spec ops agent. It was plenty dangerous being near an elementalist, or any stripe, regardless of one's environment. If Manilow could contribute anything to Shizen's tutelage, it would probably undercut Hargor's authority, and he probably wouldn't take too kindly to that. So, after taking a long moment to soak, feeling the waters still flowing around him, Manilow got up.

Taking his towel, Jordan dried off, and said a muttered farewell to the teacher and pupil. He was still wearing the "sand boxers" he'd fixed for himself in the water, and he swiped up his clothes and headed for the change-room. A shower to freshen up couldn't hurt.

[hr]

[@Zelosse]

Jordan was sitting in the gym, foil sheathed, trainers tied, and stretches completed. Now, as he sat, the teacher sipped at a water bottle, shrugged his shoulders, and hummed a song.

[i]This kid was bold enough to leave a note, now he'd better damn well show up.[/i] Jordan thought, his knees cracking as he adjusted his position. He'd had more than a few good duels in his time, and his weapon of choice was polished, sharpened, and ready for a tussle. As for the man who had to use the weapon, similar things could be said. Of course, there was the grain in his shoulder, still faintly aching even after the hot springs, as well as the heartache he was nursing, and the wariness of this kid who had seemed so explosive yesterday. Nevertheless, the gym teacher planned to give him a lesson, and he hoped it would be one of humility, and not one of mercy...

[hr]

Manilow really tried to be patient. He really did. He was so patient in fact, that he patiently waited for the lady at the service desk to retrieve the list of dorm numbers for the students. He patiently searched said list for the Punk-In-Question's dorm number. And he patiently waited for the elevator to make his way to the top floor.

He lost his patience halfway down the hall from Felix's room.

Stomping loudly through the hall, foil still belted at his waist, shoulder creaking like a bitchy ex-girlfriend, Jordan came to a heated stop outside the punk's door. Making a fist, he slammed the door repeatedly with such force that the hinges squealed, and if such a violent action could be jokingly called a knock, then he knocked three times.

"Hey tough guy! I thought you were itching for a scrap? What, did your girlfriend tire you out? Come on muchacho, there's a score to be settled, and I don't have time to waste!"

Jordan was mostly blowing air out his ass with these comments, but he channeled his best drill sergeant brogue, and this same voice had made grown men tremble in other contexts. Namely, contexts where an assault rifle was also associated with the voice. Manilow had nearly brought it, but had decided that this particular dispute didn't require full-metal jackets or extended magazines. Or, well, guns. 

The Gym teacher also had plenty of time to waste, given that his teaching slot was during the period the Academy had waived for the day following the Night Run, but anything that put a spring in the boy's step was worth a shot. He half-hoped that Felix would burn the door to ash and come out swinging. At least Jordan was ready, for once.