The Wake Residence ((Apartment))

James came home after a boring afternoon of doing little to nothing. The flourescent panels that hung loosely from the ceiling flickered on when James thrust the rusting the light switch into its "on" position. The lights bathed the small living space in a ghostly white light, and it felt like James was in the basement of a muggle labratory. He jumped onto the lumpy couch, wincing slightly as he landed on a loose spring. He tugged at it, finally resolving the matter by alchemizing the sofa back into... well, a sofa.

He leaped onto it, marveling at his quick fix. It never occurred to him that he was becoming increasingly dependent on his alchemic arm, or that alchemy was not a solution for everything. Unfortunately, his uncle would probably set him straight at some point. He did not enjoy the thought of his guardian's physical form of learning.

Alan walked into his apartment, his face passive as he entered the room. The lights were already on, but the brat was not using the lights properly. He sniffed the air, lightly. Surprising for a man of his height and weight, he slid across the floor. He smelled the scent of chlorine, a common waste element during transmutation. Extra mass had been siphoned off of a certain material in the room, but it did not matter much to the old man. He knew who to blame for the transmutation. Behind his glasses, the giant man's eyes focused on the young man relaxing on the couch. He slowly shook his head. Alan Wake tugged his sleeve away from his hand. A spark jumped from it, but the tv was enough to drown out the sound. He then approached the boy, the hand whipping a wand from his pocket. He purposefully inhaled loudly, raising his wand to attack.

James Wake leaped from the couch as the attack erupted from behind him. He had noticed Alan's approach from the light reflection on the tv, and had already clapped his hands as he planted his two feet firmly on the ground. As the couch splintered and exploded, James transformed his alchemic arm into it's usual battle form- a blade formed from his fake hand. He was not surprised that Alan attacked him. After nine years, he knew the old man never needed a reason to attack the boy. And Ace knew how to handle himself.

Still, Ace couldn't resist asking the mother of all questions: "What'd I do this time?"

The boy's elder did not bother with words. He cast another exploding spell at the boy before turning to his coffee maker. He hoped that the boy had learned a thing or two at that school, Hogwarts. Alan Wake was putting a considerable amount of money to maintain his charge's alibi while he was training. Of course, the boy had not learned a thing. James relied too heavily on Alchemy for all of his needs. Alan quickly drew a circle on his table and transmuted a large pot of coffee from the solid oak. He would need to replace the dent soon, but today he really needed a pick-me-up. If James was any kind of fighter, he was a melee fighter. Alan hated having to move, but the boy's style was fitting. Melee was his strong point. And melee was Alan's weakness.

All this could mean was the James Wake was a very rational thinker. He had pinpointed Alan's weaknesses and worked to take advantage of them. Alan really did not want to perform such menial tasks as training his nephew, but this boy was too promising a magician to waste. He needed more allies like James, though the only connection between the was familial. At least, it looked that way. Who knew what the boy thought. Alan chugged the whole pot and grunted slightly. He had once believed that enough hot coffee would create an immunity to the bad taste and burn of the first cup. So far, it had yet to work. He turned around to face the boy.

James rolled along the wood floor. He had always wondered how the neighbors managed to ignore these battles. It was simply beyond his comprehension how blasting walls and crunching windows could not be heard. It deafened the boy. But his eyes darted, swiftly analyzing the walls and wood. The condition of each items was carefully stored at the back his mind, though how he would utilize them would have to be advised on the fly. James planted his real five fingers on the floor, and hunched up on feet. With the force he could muster in that short amount of time, and he launched himself at Alan. The wood beneath the tips of his worn sneakers bent slightly as he dove toward his elder, blade-arm extended.