Lucky? What a strange thing to say. Peter didn't count himself lucky at all, and to see such a boy wholeheartedly embracing his condition and saying things such as "being lucky", it was almost mind blowing. There he sat with a smile on his face, reaching his hand over the table for a handshake and saying the word "lucky". If only Peter was so embracing. Still, greeting him was a sentiment that would do no harm, something that Peter felt at least owed him. He hadn't found the answer yet. He had to owe him something for that. So Peter reciprocated the gesture and his long metallic arm reached over the table, the cold skin gripping the stranger's hand. At his touch, Christopher would feel his arm tingle and hair stand on end, like a wave starting from his hand and crawling all the way up to his shoulder. Peter released his grip and shook his head from side to side in denial.

"No," he said, his voice warped and echoed, as though the person talking was inside the metal shell - the pitch of his voice mildly fluctuating, "I am not a teacher."

Well, he didn't lie. He definitely wasn't a teacher here. But neither was he a student. This might be a good time to get the word around that he doesn't belong here, or at least, not in the position he currently held. His arm that rested on the table turned over, facing palm upwards as he explained himself.

He said, "My name is Peter Brooke." His voice still maintained the same resonance. "I am a doctor. A... 'system malfunction' appointed me here. As a stuu-[i]ouu-u...dent.[/i]"

His explanation was, unfortunately, interrupted by a shrieking speech impediment. Embarrassingly enough. Metal didn't speak in the natural environment, and he had to learn to speak by learning the sounds the more... [i]manipulable[/i] parts of his body made. It was something comparable to missing a note on an instrument. Regardless, he didn't think his conversational partner would be appreciative of the alarming sound he had just made. Hell, it even alarmed Peter. Who subsequently, after the impediment, curiously looked down at himself and banged on his chest a couple times with a clenched fist, as though he were trying to clear his throat. The sound that resulted from it was hollow, like heavily knocking on a metal box.

He tried to steer the topic away from what had happened, regardless if Chris believed his explanation or not. He felt echoes of voices from other tables. A pulse of electricity was emitted from his body and across the ground and crawled over tables and chairs and people and so on. The cafeteria was vivid. He heard bits of a conversation from a couple tables over.

[i]"...exhaust even the last bit of info you have and claim your prize. That's why I love the overly logical crap you made fun of... it gives me the edge. Now, go help yourself with the waffles and, if you still wish to make me your pet, let's talk some more..."[/i]

Peter was not above eavesdropping, even though he had little reason to do so around these parts, where there ought to be little more than gossip between children. But still, even though he got just a segment of what this boy said, it was enough to derive what was going on. He's explaining himself. Telling someone why he does something. Why he's better. It was almost humorous.

Almost as though Peter thought that Chris was on the same train of thought as him, he jabbed a thumb behind him, aiming at a table, and said out of the blue, "the problem with geniuses is that no one understands them. So they explain their plots and plans to others, even if it ruins them. Such is why you never hear of the perfect crime. No one ever finds out."

Perhaps the conversation was outside of his new acquaintance's range of hearing. And perhaps that is something Peter should have considered. But with his research out of reach, and an electrical addiction currently unable to be sated, there was little to be done - and there was something empowering about deconstructing others' behavior. Still, the stranger child he had deconstructed did allow for some self-reflection. Peter did not consider himself a genius, only hard-working. Genius was a label for others to place upon him, as it is subjective. But the root of his target's behavior did seem, even if just to a slight extent, familiar. 

"It seems that people go to absurd lengths to feel appreciated." He continued.