Jordan shrugged, realizing he was talking to thin air. Seemed only one thing got through to this kid, with the possible exception of this mystery girl. He truly had to wonder how she'd got through to him. He followed, closing the door gently behind him, gymward-bound.

[hr]

Jordan arrived at the gym, and saw that Felix was waiting. The youngster gave a throwaway piece of smack-talk which made Jordan want to ask why he even bothered, considering he wouldn't even listen to his target's response. But the gym teacher sighed in resigned determination to at least tire this kid out, give him some exertion. He shrugged off his shirt, revealing what was undeniably a muscular frame. Lean, but riddled with scars, Manilow's body was an unspoken testament to his years of service. Here, a line of stitch-marks from where shrapnel had entered his side. There, a strange patch of stippled pale spots from where he'd once had acid dripped on his skin, as a means of torture. And lastly and most prominently, a long and dark scar ran all the way from the right edge of Jordan's collarbone, in a deep and jagged line down past his belt near his right hip. That particular scar was the makings of no armed conflict, but rather... Something else entirely.

Still, Jordan kept in good shape. By the very nature of his current occupation, and elemental power, he demanded excellent physical health from himself. In his pockets, he carried his element with him, in bags of sand, open and ready for use. An additional, less obvious source of his element was present. Early every morning, Jordan entered the gym with some of the dustiest carpets lying around the dorms, and beat them clean. Consequentially, even though the dust had settled, there was always a thin patina of earth all about the room. Too thin to see, at least until Jordan decided to use it. If he needed to use it. He doubted he would.

Unsheathing his rapier from his belt, Jordan took up his stance, and in a fit of adolescent pettiness, and perhaps frustration at being so thoroughly ignored, he decided to pluck a nerve. 

"You don't deserve her," Jordan muttered, in a stage-whisper. And then his stance locked in place, muscles tensed to spring, every sense focused in on the fight itself. He felt his breath slow, and his heartbeat grow sluggish. [i]It's just a friendly spar,[/i] Jordan thought to himself.

[i]Since when is it ever just a friendly spar with you?[/i] His mind responded in answer.

[@Zelosse]