Xaviers!

Basil laughed. "About your new found ability to be accidentally too truthy."

"Oh! I mentioned it. They didn't seem too concerned; they had more important things than me to worry about."

"Like what?"

"Fitting everyone in one room, and the potential long-term consequences of two of them being werewolves and one of them being an immortal pagan war goddess. Usual relationship stuff."

"Well... that is a lot, but I'm sure Sam would be worried about your problem too. Perhaps she didn't realize it wasn't just a new quirk?"

Will shrugged slightly. "Like I said, I'm not hurting anyone. I might go see ASHLIE and get a checkup there,"

"Maybe Dr.Terrance could be helpful? She seems nice."

"Maybe," Will agreed. "I spent a lot of time with psychiatrists back home; there's a lot to deal with and all."

"She's the only psychiatrist I've ever spoken to. Professionally that is.

... I should probably go and see her again."

"Why, what are you having problems with?"

"My ability.

No one can entirely pinpoint why I can't control it, but Sam speculated and Dr.Terrance confirmed that there is some telepathic element to it."

"THat....doesn't make sense to me? Like, what, you're telepathically figuring out if...other people want to see you?" Will asked, confused.

"Kind of?" Basil replied. " It sounds as if they both believe I've some kind of hang up that's causing me not to fully connect with my ability. When I'm seen, I'm sending off a signal even they can barely distinguish."

"Oh, man, that sounds familiar. Hangups suck. I feel for you."

"The worst part is the response isn't consistent, so trying to recreate the response seems impossible to me."

"Is there anything you can do to practice? Like, training a muscle?"

" Maybe, if we could figure out a trigger. We haven't.

Admittedly I haven't gone back to Dr.Terrence."

"Now, when I needed to figure out a trigger, I usually subjected myself to a lot of trouble to figure it out. This is probably not a good idea in your case."

"Mmm. I'm not you or Madame. I'd like to think I can take a bit more abuse than a normal person, but it's not my..." Basil paused for several long moments. "' mutation."

Will took a moment and looked at Basil. "I think I get what you're saying, there."

"Hmm?" Basil replied in a confused tone.

"Taking more abuse than the normal person, right? If it's not your mutation, it's..."

Basil paused for an inordinately long amount of time.

" CIPA?"

"Oh, no, that's not what I thought. I'm sorry to hear that!

I thought you just enjoyed it or something."

"I don't have CIPA." He replied, neither confirming or denying Will's other potential observation.

"That makes two of us!"

Basil wasn't sure if he was making some kind of omission or what, but he decided not to press it and instead made it into a joke.

"Can you even get illnesses?"

"I caught a computer virus once, and then turned into a real virus when I shifted back.

I used to catch colds and things, but that was a long time ago."

"Before the change?"

"Oh, no, longer than that.

I didn't use to be a clay. I used to be a real boy. I'm like a reverse Pinocchio," Will joked.

"... How old are you?"

"That's not the sort of question you ask a lady," Will joked.

"Four, 39, 70-something or roughly 4.8 billion, depending on what you count. But I'm young at heart."

"Annddd you're letting people think they own you? "

"I mean, they have the paperwork and everything. It's all legal and proper."

"Sure. But if I was nearly shy of five billion, pretty sure I'd have my head wedged in my ass firmly enough from my own immortality that I'd be pretty pissy about someone claiming me.

Props to you." He said, finishing his Pimm's Cup.

"Well, think about it.

Here, at least, I have no birth certificate. I have no visa, I have no forms of identification to speak of. There is no record of my existence, there is no one who knows me outside of the university. I can't apply for citizenship here nor there, as I do not, from the terms of bureaucracy, exist. The only records of me that I do exist here are the purchase record the headmistress has, as well as whatever secret information the US military has on me. It's between being owned, and being nothing, and I'll tell you which one is preferable.

Also, there are far worse fates, though I do think the school has been...negligent in ways."

The suit shrugged.

"You're a better person than I." He replied, sounding sincere in tone.

"I would at least like to have a say in whom owned me.

How have they been negligent?"

Will stirred his drink for a moment, contemplating his next words.

"I don't have a real purpose here, which is frustrating. You made that quip about the mop bucket, but you're not wrong; it has a function and a job to do, and I don't, despite being able to do a better job at it. You might have an old pair of shoes you never wear anymore, or a phone that's two generations out of date. Leaving them in the back of a drawer to gather dust is, well, a little negligent. At least, if they have feelings, which the jury is still out on.

Back home, you know? We don't own a vacuum cleaner. When Sara -- that's my wife, you know -- when she wanted to vacuum, she just came and grabbed me. When Sam and Nailah's drain inevitably clogged -- fur isn't fun, apparently - they knew they could just come get me and send me down the drain to fix things. I enjoyed that; I enjoyed helping out when needed to help out.

It took a long time to get there, of course. Sara broke up with me on a couple of different occasions because, you know, I'm weird. But eventually, we found our happy medium. On days when I was just overloaded, or depressed, or just needed to unwind, I could spend it as a chair or a tattoo or a television without being judged. And she would treat me as both her husband and that television, which is a very...difficult skill to learn.

Like, let's say that you, for some reason, wanted to serve as your...madame's chair," Will said, being careful with his terminology. "She probably would be very careful when sitting down, trying to make sure she didn't put all her weight on you, asking if you were OK on a regular basis, and so on and so forth. All of which is super nice and polite for most people, but for me, it's missing out on some of the, you know, primary experience. And, conversely, if I were to just disguise myself as a chair and have people sit on me unknowingly, they would be much more normal in how they sat down or dragged me to a different table or whathaveyou -- but they also wouldn't ask me about how my day was, or joke about the guys at school or talk about what to have for dinner.

I'm selfish, and want the best of both worlds, all at the same time. And, short of the impossibility of going home, I wish that I could recreate that vibe here. Our headmistress, of course, only has digital feelings and is fine with me just standing off to the side gathering dust. So I guess that's what I mean by that.

The fact that I've felt less like a person since I've been here probably does not make that any easier."

Basil was quiet for a long period as he did frequently, lost in thought.

"I... think I understand." He replied. "As much as one can without being in that situation."

"It's a weird situation, and the only guy who might really understand is saying that I should be embarrassed and humiliated by it, so you know. That's fun.

But, what was it you said? We shouldn't be embarrassed by our thoughts?"