Base

Philip shakes his head to answer that no, they hadn't finished introductions. He pulls a pen and notepad from a jacket pocket: his method of troubleshooting when it comes to people who might not know sign language, and scrawls on the page in a sort of hybrid between print and cursive. If it helps any, I think blue's a nice color for getting to sleep.

Philip shakes Jack's hand too, noting his missing arm and foot, as well as the fact that even as probably the second-tallest on the team, Jack doesn't come up to much above his shoulder. He sighs mentally and turns to his paper again, writing, You won't have to learn how to sign, at least. Just to understand it. As an afterthought, he adds, It would really be helpful.

He smiles bashfully at the compliment, shrugging lightly. So I've been told, he responds in ink. Philip can't quite remember the last time he's had to write this much for communication purposes. Usually it's just a sentence or two to taxi drivers or flight attendants. The sentences on the page are shoved close together in an attempt to save space, some words spilling into the margins and balancing desperately onto the edge of the paper, trying not to fall off. He should really brush up on his organizational skills.

Philip turns to greet her, accepting the handshake. Well, that was three down and two more to go. Vaguely, he wonders if they'll ask for a handshake too.

It looks as if his suspicions have come true. Philip grins at the thought, in spite of himself, and shakes Fernando's hand. Now, he writes on his notepad, I guess I should introduce myself? I know one of you—the tip of the pen hovers over the paper in hesitation and he glances up at the blond boy—Jack(?) has my files, so you probably know me already.

Philip hesitates, but eventually takes out a small pocketknife. It had been an extreme pain to get through customs, but he couldn't bear to part with it, the knife having been a gift from his grandfather in New Zealand and all. He glances up at everyone watching before letting out a huff of breath through his nose. Doing this doesn't usually give a good first impression. Carefully, Philip presses the blade into his palm, from which a steady stream of dark blood pours out. With a flick of his wrist, the viscous fluid flows from his hand and solidifies, forming a hefty broadsword.

Lauren's hand jumped to her mouth and she let out a shocked cry as he drew blood. Her eyes had widened in shock when he proceeded to stop it in its tracks, and she stared for quite some time before seeming to recover enough to speak. "That's..."

He only shrugs, but the satisfaction of their praise allows a smile to escape the grasp of his self control. Not too many people had ever told him his powers were cool or amazing. Even his parents were skeptical about it. The sword dissolves and the blood absorbs back into his palm. Philip produces a small roll of bandages from the same pocket the pen and notepad had come from and wraps his hand. Thank you. There's more I can do, but that's my main expertise, he explains on the paper.

Fernando yawned loudly. "Hey, not to be the party-pooper or anything, but I think I'm going to go to sleep. It's been a long day, you know? Do we have school tomorrow?"