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                                          Calimero Maciel Valerian is in the gym with Professor Berkovic and company and feeling a bit bitter.


                                          Parting was such sweet sorrow. Or, well, it was really only sorrow when you had a class with Berkovic to dash to. More appropriately—if you were anything other than human and had a class with Berkovic to dash to. Calimero wished he didn’t fall into that category. Why hire a Professor who was clearly racist to aid in an integration effort? It boggled the blond, though all he could do was shake his head and deal with it. It wasn’t as if he could just write a quick note about his hardships to make them go away, no matter how much he wished Berkovic could stop being a part of his life. This was just another obstacle he’d have to suffer through. And, with hope, he’d come out not too worse for wear. Things would get better, after all. Just being at the Aevum School was something to be thankful for in and of itself.

                                          And, hey, maybe today wouldn’t be so bad, after all. That was the first thought that crossed Calimero’s mind, anyway, when it didn’t appear as if the Combat class was going to actually be graced with the honor of their Professor’s crotchety, bitter presence. It would’ve been a nice change of pace after getting his injection, inadvertently being rejected by Elodie, getting his bag switched, then having to run around in the rain just enough to get uncomfortably wet. Such miracles didn’t happen, apparently, and it wasn’t much longer before Berkovic’s familiar snarl rang out. Cal sighed. At least because the Professor had been late, Cal had no way of being marked tardy due to his detour (not that he had been more than a minute late).

                                          The atmosphere, which had been surprisingly relaxed (Calimero himself had been exchanging some words and smiles with a few of his fellow students in the meantime), was obliterated as if someone had dropped a grenade. Not that anyone dared make their displeasure vocal.

                                          “Absolutely, Professor,” Calimero replied when he was addressed, falling to the ground to get to his exercises. He didn’t even bother to mask his sarcasm as he added “but why not make it five?”

                                          Physical exertion didn’t scare him, after all, as tedious as it could be at times, and he was self-aware enough to know he could handle the extra workload just fine. When Berkovic extended the punishment to the rest of the Malakhim present, however, a pang of guilt rang through him. It was selfish of him to have mouthed off when he knew the man’s tendency to victimize others. p***k. Glaring at the ground, Calimero did his push-ups without another word.

                                          He didn’t talk again, in fact, until the man released them to the shooting range. Having fought in a war, it wasn’t as if firearms were exactly unfamiliar objects to him. It was uncomfortable, holding one again, chilling in how easily he readjusted to having the weight of it in his grip—but there was something undeniably nice in knowing that he was going to be more than proficient in an area of study.

                                          As if study was a good word to call anything that this class had to throw at them.

                                          Although Calimero was still rolling his eyes about the pick-up line comment (as if Berkovic had more game than him), he tried to savor the few moments of peace that the class had as they made their way to the range and he stayed behind. Smart. He had, after all, pulled a gun on a shedim and then given said shedim a gun shortly thereafter. As much as he sometimes wanted to pull a gun on the Professor, himself, Cal was glad to shove such mental images into the back of his mind in favor of giving Hazel a supportive smile as she fell in line next to him.

                                          “You’ll do great,” he promised.

                                          She didn’t, but that’s why this was a class. They were there to learn—or at least some of them, were. The vampire he had run into earlier when he had chased after Elodie—the one who never seemed to be in anything other than a foul mood—was struggling almost as much, and she didn’t seem to even be interested in learning. He couldn’t exactly blame her for her frustration; Cal didn’t envy supersensitive hearing as a superpower in the least. But, at least Hazel could be comforted in the fact that no matter how poorly she did, she was still human.

                                          He and Vittoria weren’t safe from getting stuck with cleanup duty like she was. Even given the fact that Cal shot his target as if it were something he’d been doing his entire life. Granted, it was exactly that, though that was even more reason for him to feel a sour taste on his mouth at the thought. He could very likely be the one missing out on his free time due to being held back for a punishment he didn’t deserve and an attitude that none of the other staff probably cared to address in Berkovic.

                                          As the class wore on, Cal supposed he’d just have to wait and see.



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Maybe it was because she was no politician, not yet anyway; but, Elodie Beth Chase had a preternaturally difficult time remaining unaffected by her perception of Lucille Jennings’ shift in personality. Finding out she was a malakhim, her unpleasant run-ins with Vittoria and the degree of animosity towards shedim and malakhim alike? Those she could handle. Watching Professor Jennings interact with her students, however, made the soft lines of Elodie’s mouth gape ever so slightly. Cheeks flaring, the blonde would try to soften the older woman’s biting witticisms with a reassuring smile towards her peers but there was little to be done about the awkward silences that followed what (she was sure) were jokes. Ignoring these and the dribble of ectoplasm on the grass immediately beneath the instructor, Elodie put away the now unnecessary umbrella and did her best to keep up with the plans that had been explained to her during the interruption-ridden walk through Aevum’s halls. Doing the jobs that the phantom’s intangible state disallowed her, Elodie promptly began handing out the rankings that were nestled haphazardly inside the briefcase she’d lugged along for her fellow blonde’s sake. A few people she didn’t recognize took them with mixed levels of enthusiasm. Sam’s familiar face was a relief to reach and she inclined her head in greeting when she did. Less amiable was Astor Dulani, whose unnerving stare made her stammer as she mumbled a quiet, “Hi.” Before skirting off to the next person in line. Evelyn too set her roommate on edge with her distant nature and total lack of acknowledgement.

Given that at least half of the shedim and even some of the malakhim were indeed staring at the handout in confusion, Elodie wondered if Professor Jenning’s quip about illiteracy had not in fact hit too close to home. Rather than review the single sheet left over after the ghostly professor floated her own towards the outlines of her transparent hands, Elodie waited for the results to be read aloud out of solidarity. And while it was quite a surprise that she had been included by Nurse Reed, who had apparently guessed with Professor Jennings would do with her without having to ask, the results were initially unremarkable. The usual amount of competitive energy joined the chill of the air as people glanced around at those whom they outranked and those that outranked them. She blushed prettily at her “Intelligence” ranking – wondering if maybe she shouldn’t mention it in her first letter to her mother. Astor Dulani’s consistent beating-out of others in the class drew the occasional glare but he was as inscrutable as always to Elodie’s eyes. She’d assumed he was around her age, but his score in experience was well beyond that of even the most seasoned malakhim in the class. Ignoring her thoughts on ‘how many wars did it take to make someone so serious?’ she rededicated herself to listening long enough to hear her name at the top of the list once more...In the strength category. A giggle, nervous and clipped left her lips. It was the most ludicrous thing she’d encountered at Aevum thus far and yet she had begun to realize there was much about herself she did not know. The second reading of her name, at the end of the list, made much more sense and Elodie tried to brush it off as a harried nurse’s runaway mind.

Tug of war?

“S…sure, Professor Jennings.” She answered dutifully, swayed into participation only by the possibility of leaving a classmate without a partner. It was just a game and she doubted Sam would use his full strength against her when their differences in size were so pronounced. This, despite the phantom’s comment about his being “positively average.” He seemed plenty big to Elodie and for a split second she reconsidered. What if her mother found out? It’s not as if there’s really any way for her to know… I mean…what’s the worst that could happen? Elodie thought with a self-assured nod. There was nothing to worry about. Right? Somewhere in the distance, a lone shot rang out and Elodie felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Stopping mid-stride, she found it was suddenly necessary to take a deep breath. Her stomach lurched, heart-shaped face growing pale. Rather than dwell on the odd sense of unease, Elodie shrugged it off as a questionable lunch and continued forward. She made smalltalk as the two of them spaced themselves out and grabbed their respective ends of the strangely metallic 'rope.' Elodie didn’t notice the heavy indentation it left on the ground where it had rested, or the difficulty Albert Wiley was having picking it up to begin with. “Go easy on me!” The small, slightly shivering blonde laughed. But as it so happened, it would have been much more to Samuel Corinx’s benefit to have done anything but. For, nearly as soon as they had started to tug halfheartedly, a succession of gunshots sounded in the air – one after the other nearly without stopping. Shrieking loudly, Elodie yanked the rope forward, too frightened to think to drop it in her desperate attempt to pull her arms in and make herself small. The noise was close, too close. It was so fast and loud that if the little malakhim had been anywhere but the open space of the field it would have been her greatest joy to throw herself behind something and cower there until the sounds ended.

Unfortunately, this was not an option. Because in the brief lapse between bullets being fired she looked up and saw that Sam’s body was being hurled in her direction by his own hold on the rope. Even once he’d let it go, the momentum kept him moving forward. “I was only trying to stop him…” Was her uncertain whimper, after the surge of adrenaline had lowered and her heart stopped beating at a hummingbird pace. Her actions had achieved quite the opposite effect, however. Small, slim hands raised to shield herself and perhaps lessen the blow of the werewolf’s form crashing into hers had pushed forward slightly…so slightly that she questioned having moved them at all. But the force behind that infinitesimal movement did more than stop Sam. Instead, his body was thrust backwards, grinding sickeningly against the ground as he flew backwards across the field, deep into the forest that bordered it before finding the thick trunk of a massive willow. The rain had stopped, but the crack of the wood was so like thunder that it could have been heard halfway across campus. Less loud were the tiny pops of Elodie’s wrists as they sprained themselves in perfect sync. A dull ache followed but Elodie had already begun to follow the path Sam’s form had cut across the field as it was shoved backwards, by what she did not wish to think of. “Sam?” Elodie called out tearfully, old memories rustling uncertainly in her head only to fall back down and leave particle-dust hints in their place. The initial feeling of dread and that surge of power that felt as if it did not belong in her slender arms felt too familiar. She could see him, just a few yards away but her feet had planted to a stop and quivered like jelly whenever she willed them to move. A dry heave shook her as someone moved past her, who she was not sure. “Is he okay?” Elodie asked, fearing the answer.

Situated...: The Field / The Woods

Interacting With...:
Hanna Ananas

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One flying Sam, per our agreement.

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Wearing...: This

Feeling...: Terrified, Confused

OOC...: ((Whoops?))

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☁` ` ` ☽☽☽ - - - ▻ Samuel L Corinx ◅ - - - ☾☾☾ ` ` `☁

who i'm with: Everyone in Dueling! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxwhere we are: Outside.. or maybe the Afterlife.

how am i feeling: Don't even ******** ask me that.
/-------------------------------------------------o-------------------------------------------------


Aw.. Where had Meier went? She was a cheery one, a good disposition.. and she let them run a lot, which Samuel always enjoyed. Still, at least it was now with Jennings-and she seemed rather nice enough. Well, sort of. The ectoplasmic incarnation of an irritated professor seemed preferable to the tightly wadded paper of racist ramblings that was Professor Berkovic, still, so Sam kept his cheery disposition up for the moment. He was still a little bit miffed about some of the classes earlier in the day, but at least some good exercise could help pound it out of him-there was nothing that feet hitting the dirt and the wind on one’s face couldn’t solve.

Er.. Or.. tug of war? That too, he guessed. Somewhere deep inside of him, that little part of one’s mind that could make and laugh at horrid racist jokes, a voice chuckled as he stared at the rope, imagining himself tugging one side.

Welp.

Broken from his thoughts by the piping voice of the ghostly teacher, his amber eyes flicked off the ropes and to her face as she began to explain what the lists held in her hand were. They’d been.. ranked? The thought irked him a little bit, but he again bit his tongue as he stared through the ghost, folding his arms loosely over his chest while he listened to her trail on and on, wondering where he’d rank up. Hopefully he’d make something, at least. As they began to list the categories, his mouth dropped further and further into a frown. Well, uh. At least he made it past the halfway mark in a couple of them.. at least he thought he did, if he was counting right. So there was that. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Positively average, for a werewolf. Well, excuse him. He didn’t realize that Dueling was going to turn into being ‘positively average’ or below that in every single category available, making him look positively stunted in comparison to everyone else at the damn area. Like it was his fault that he didn’t want to gorge himself on all the food that he ever wanted and he didn’t want to work out twenty-three hours a day. A little bit sour at hearing his ranking, he didn’t bother writing any of them down past the one right before and right after, to know who he’d potentially be working against.

The fact that he was pulling a rope against Elodie Chase made him frown quite openly. She certainly didn’t look very powerful-sure, there were some petite folk who looked like they could pull a rope, but Elodie? She was high in the Intelligence category, certainly didn’t look like she belonged in Strength. Nevertheless, what the professor said went, so he plodded over in the mud, sinking his heels down into it as he hunched over, scooping up the rope in his hands and lifting it up. He braced his weight against the ground beneath him to make sure that he didn’t slip, feeling his claws attempt to grip purchase in the ‘rope’, and he began to pull, really only exerting enough force to make sure it didn’t drop too far from their side. God, what were they thinking? He could have toppled Elodie over with a hard pull backwards, an-
Bang!
The first gunshot in the distance startled Sam, his sensitive ears twitching for a moment as he tugged reflexively on the rope, pulling it slightly towards their side before he calmed himself down, a low pulsating in his ears reminding him that the sound brought him on edge. He didn’t like hearing gunfire that he wasn’t responsible for-the idea of a bullet whizzing out of nowhere to strike him in the skull struck him as an eerie hybridization of war and hunting, and he had to swallow down a sour taste in his mouth as Elodie’s words piped up again in his mind. Go easy on her. Right. His arms slackened a bit on the rope but he continued to apply pressure backwards, mainly through just leaning his weight backwards on the thing, gingerly pulling with his arms. The air seemed to vibrate with energy , making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end before another round of gunshots exploded out through the air.

This time, the feeling of flying was not because of any sensory overload. No, the lycanthrope had a moment of perfect clarity in which his shoes lifted up off of the ground, his brows furrowing in confusion as, reflexively, his arms held onto the rope. When he registered exactly what was happening, enough to let the thing go, he was already flying with tremendous momentum.. right at Elodie Chase. She couldn’t possibly have done that. Some part of him, dull and not realizing what was happening in what felt like slow motion all around him, thought for a second he should try to prevent hurting her when he collided.

Unfortunately for him, she was not the one that was getting hurt when they struck each other. She braced herself and slammed into him, tremendous force buckling his arms in against his torso, bending him in half with sheer force as he flew backwards, landing hard on his back and gouging out the damp earth beneath him as he skidded in it, his hands desperately hitting the floor for leverage, clods of dirt catching under his claws, the grass and rough weeds cutting up the flesh of his forearms and torso badly, his shirt ripping and catching on rocks as he skidded, leaving a trail of blood on the last foot or so from the basically shredded skin on his arms and lower back before, in a horrible finale, his semi curled-up body slammed against the base of a thick willow tree so hard he could hear the splinter of the wood and feel his body snap against it.

He didn’t even want to move, everything hurt so badly. The adrenaline from the throw itself quickly wore off, leaving the lycanthrope feeling sick-as he tried to open his mouth to speak, to say that he was alright-when he most certainly wasn’t-he immediately began coughing, even spitting out a portion of one of his teeth amidst a good outpouring of blood, the thing having snapped from the concussive impact of his head striking the trunk, like the tips of some of his claws as they frantically dug through the ground and were hit at tremendous speeds by rocks and roots, the base of one of those claws even bleeding. Thankfully, it was his back that hit it first, not his skull. Well.. theoretically, it was thankful, but at the moment, his ribcage feeling more like a cage of semi-broken celery stalks, he sort of wished his head had hit it first so that his neck would have snapped and he would have died, being put out of his horrid misery.

So much as moving his jaw or any other part of his body hurt, so he just managed to curl his body up a little bit more, a small, shaking groan slipping from between his fangs as his body hunched, looking a bit pitiful on the ground as the angry, bloody red of his forearms stood out to the stark contrast of the tree, ground, and even his clothes.

A sudden wave of fatigue overwhelmed him, and the pain dulled to a repeated throbbing as his brain began to close off consciousness to prevent him from experiencing so much pain and going into shock or something, his eyes lidding before his head hit the ground again with a dull thud, his slightly bleeding mouth parted a bit.

“Go easy on me,” she had said.


((so very late, I am so sorry :c but here it is.))
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L u c i ℓ ℓ εxxxxɪ.xxxxJ ε η η i n g s
Ғormεrℓy Humąη

╬══→ | wer: miss chase, mister corinx, & satan herself | wo: infirmary | musik:♫ ♬ |


We give and take a little more,
Eternal game of tug and war.


xxxxBy the time her class had reached its conclusion, Lucille Jennings felt she had a firm grasp on how her students compared against one another. The vampire Astor Dulani was – unsurprisingly – faster than most of his peers. The werewolf Wiley was stronger than the petite fairy named Glimmerwing. Anyone could have predicted such results – even a complete dunderhead like Avery. What they could not have predicted, however, was the accident that had both prematurely dismissed the class and sent Lucille soaring into Nurse Reed’s office with a triggered malakhim and an unconscious canine in tow.

Due to some cosmic miracle or another, Elodie Chase had knocked Samuel Corinx out cold. Lucille hadn’t been looking while it happened; her attention had been caught by a gunshot from elsewhere. It was only later, when she heard a high-pitched shriek from Glimmerwing, that she turned to see a chunk of tooth falling onto the grass, aided by a rather frightening glob of blood. The ghost had lost all composure at the sight. Hopefully no students would complain to their parents about a professor screaming at them to “get the hell inside” unless they wanted Corinx’s blood “seasoning the food in the mess hall.”

It wasn’t Lucille’s fault that she had snapped, though. It was the school nurse’s. If Reed hadn’t been such a pretentious pain-in-the-a** every time the ghost had stopped in for ectoplasm dissolver, her notes wouldn’t have been questioned in the first place. At least, that’s what Lucille had planned on telling her superiors if they ever inquired about the incident. And that was a big if. The ghost had bigger problems to deal with right now – problems currently donning a rather horrid pair of orthopedic slip-ons.

“Professor Jennings? Is there a reason you persist in hovering over my shoulder? I was under the presumption that you were to be instructing students at this hour.”

If Reed made an effort to hide the smugness in her voice, Lucille certainly didn’t acknowledge it. She just floated in cold silence, waiting for the beep of confirmation that meant both Chase and Corinx were properly sedated. When it finally echoed through the white-tiled infirmary, she motioned for her coworker to have a seat. No such action was taken. Instead, the two women eyed each other like competing predators would over a fresh carcass.

Seconds passed, then minutes. Weeks might have gone by without movement, were it not for the bell that would soon dismiss malakhim to get their afternoon doses of suppressant. With that tone in mind, Lucille quickly unleashed the first of what would be many (verbal) attacks that day.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Reed?”

---

As she left the infirmary, defeated, Lucille couldn’t help but wish for the solid bone and muscle that would have allowed her to slam the door behind her instead of passing pathetically through it. In the short period of nine minutes, Reed had managed to make the tricentenarian feel like a foolish and childish excuse for a professional. She had known exactly where to hit, exactly what words to use… If Lucille hadn’t known any better, she would have assumed Reed had been the one that murdered her.

Now that she was free of that terrible woman, however, all the ghost needed to do was refrain from breaking down in tears as students walked through her in their rush to their clubs and activities. She was just as human as the rest of them, no matter what the laws of physics and anatomy said. Slumped against -- or through -- the wall of the main hallway, the ghost resolved to fight harder the next time the occasion arose. Alive or not, she deserved to know why potentially lifesaving information was being withheld from her.

At least Student Council doesn’t meet today. Thank God for small blessings.


Q u o t i n gxxxx the xxxx g o d s :
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                                        The light breeze on the field made the hair on his arms stand up and a shiver run down the spine of the malakhim. Even being outside on a field like this made him think of the time before he'd come here - his time serving as just another government weapon, a thing, never a person. It made him grit his teeth. The professor at the head of the group rattled off a list of names and categories. He was forced to look up when he heard his name called. A look of obvious dissatisfaction passed across his features. He was to race in one of the first groups against some person named Dulani. Stepping forward, the freckled malakhim faced his opponent and tensed almost instantly. The red-rimmed irises of his classmate almost forced a snarl from the lips of the boy. He was lucky that, at least for now, he was able to manage composure. A vampire. He was racing against a vampire - the scum of the earth. And not just that, he was one of those damned Ancient ones - probably related to the one who had talked his mother into doing what she had. His resentment burned up inside of him, threatening to spill out in a more violent way, but he was quick to turn his aggression to something more practical; running. Following the instructions of the professor, Charlie made his way to the track, keeping a fair distance between himself and the other students, especially from the vampire. His fingers were curled into fists all the while.

                                        Standing at the starting line, Charlie stretched himself out, prepared for whatever was to come. The entitled vampire may have won high rankings in all of the categories that they were being tested on, but he was convinced that today he would put the bloodsucker into his place. A sly, satisfied smile settled on his lips at the very thought of beating him. It would be a grand victory. He turned to one of the boys who was supposed to be timing and recording the race and nodded to signal that he was ready. He ignored any sort of civilized sportsmanship, brushing off a cordial good luck that should have been shared between the pair, and crouched down into a running stance, his palms pressed firmly against the dirt of the running track. For a moment, the retired soldier shut his eyes and took in a long, deep breath. He hadn't run in days, his muscles ached for the straining feeling that would come in just moments, the pain in his chest from his aching lungs. The very thought was exhilarating.

                                        From his left he heard someone speaking; "Ready, set -- Go!"

                                        The word had hardly escaped the lips of whoever had been speaking when Charlie threw himself forward, lunging into a full out run, his feet moving him quickly. For a second or two, he wasn't even in a race, he was simply running. A true smile broke out across his features for the first time since he'd placed foot on the campus of the school. A whoop of joy nearly escaped his lips, but before the sound could fully build in his throat, Charlie caught sight of the vampire in his peripheral vision, only a few paces behind him and catching up fast. Reminded of this situation at hand, and more importantly, of his own personal vendetta, he pushed himself further, his feet pounding away at the ground. His lungs screamed for air, but his mind reminded him of his mother, of the people who had damned him to this life, to this miserable existence. A snarl tore through his chest and escaped his lips, barely audible between his even breaths. A few minutes ticked by and Charlie swore he could taste victory. Astor was hot on his heels, but he was no challenge. He was golden.

                                        A gunshot broke the peaceful silence that had settled over Charlie. In a moment of sheer terror, he was suddenly back on the battlefield. A thousand images flew past his eyes - guns, blood, bodies. Horrified, he let out a cry, trying to defend himself as best he could by recoiling away from the sound. His legs stopped moving and he stumbled, nearly throwing himself to the ground to hide from any stray fire. His head whipped up, his body trembling violently. He was going to trigger if he didn't get out of there. He looked up in time to catch sight of little blonde Elodie Chase trembling in fear while Samuel Cornix flew through the air at a terrifying speed, presumably thrown by Elodie, and crashed to the ground. Professor Jennings, startled herself and alarmed by what had happened between her students, was prompt to dismiss class and hurried off in the opposite direction of Charlie.

                                        "S-s**t." he stammered, dragging himself to his feet, his body still quivering. "Gotta... G-get... Out."

                                        Afraid for his own safety, and that of everyone else, for that matter, he began staggering in the general direction of the infirmary after Jennings. He'd need another dose - another suppressant to keep him from going off and harming someone. Careful not to get too close to any of his classmates lest he trigger and have a severe attack, the war torn soldier made his way across the field and retraced his steps from an hour ago back to the clinic, where the school's infirmary resided. As he entered the building, Jennings was leaving with a huff, ignoring her student, but she seemed flustered, and for that reason alone Charlie didn't question her. He knew better than to attempt to, even if he'd only just met her. He made his way down the hall and through the doors, coming upon a rather interesting sight. Elodie sat by the Nurse, who had a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm. Sam was unconscious on a cot across the room. The nurse glanced at his trembling body and nodded at him to sit on one of the empty beds. He decidedly sat next to Elodie, curious as to what had happened. When the nurse turned away to prepare the large needle next to the blonde, he glanced over at her.

                                        "How's the human football doing?" he asked with a rather grim smile, glancing over at Sam, who looked like he was in pretty rough shape. "You'd think a malakhim like you would know better than to throw her classmates." he murmured, glancing at the gemstone earrings that peeked from beneath her blonde hair. Obviously she was one of the better off malakhim. He stiffened at the very idea and averted his gaze, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths while he waited for his own dosage.

                                        His little joke didn't seem to sit well with her - she paled and seemed to be visibly shaken up by the implications. The nurse turned rather quickly, injecting Elodie with her dose and moving to Charlie's side. "Mister Miller, I suggest you don't antagonize other students," she said sharply, digging the needle into the side of his leg. Unprepared for the injection, he visibly winced and clenched his teeth. "What happens in class is to stay in class, you and your classmates would be wise to keep that in mind." she added before withdrawing the needle. He simply gave the nurse an irritated look and a curt nod. He pushed himself off the table and glanced to Elodie.

                                        "I will, Nurse Reed." he grunted, holding the blonde's gaze for a moment before turning away and moving toward the door.

                                        As he exited the area, making his way to the door, the nurse's soothing voice startled him. He slowed his pace, just out of sight, and listened closely. "I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. Given that you only just found out you're a malakhim, Miss. Chase," she was saying, her voice sounding like she was practically sneering at the girl. He narrowed his eyes at the very mention of the subject. That was why she was so unlike other malakhim here - she didn't even give off the vibe like the others had. Until now, he'd almost been convinced she was human. "I would have expected a great deal more of incidents with these....shedim."

                                        Disgusted by the conversation, Charlie stormed from the infirmary, the door slamming shut behind him. He seethed with anger for no real reason - the events of the day and his near triggering had him more on edge than he'd been in quite awhile now. Rather than even attempting to wander to archery club, he resolved to make his way back to the dormitories. He would be left to his own devices, away from people, as he'd always been, just as he preferred.

                                        OOC
                                        FINALLY! sorry guys xoxo

                                        Charlie is currently headed to his dorm and is entirely alone at the moment, feeling a bit unstable.
                                        AvalonWitch

                                        BlackAndWhiteIsClassic

                                        Hanna Ananas

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                                                location? German, Archery, Library | with? German Class, Archery class, no one | feeling? weirdos

                                                Lucille Jennings was by far the most tolerable teacher in this establishment. She was a straight to the point, no-nonsense type of ghost-woman that Astor favored a great deal over all the other instructors, though he wasn’t always positive as to why, apart from the fact that she’d already rewarded him with one chocolate bar. Perhaps it was because she was dead too. Regardless, her class blew by at an incredible pace, despite the bulk of information she had prepared to teach them. Astor wrote diligently, making sure to include each and every accent mark there was and mentally remembering the sound they made. He couldn’t help the small flicker of pride he felt upon being recognized for improvement. Such pride was slightly wounded upon facing the notion that Vittoria, the other female vampire, was a deal better than he and therefore got to completely skip the homework assignment. Perhaps the ghost was just being nice to Vittoria because she didn’t get any chocolate. That had to be it. When the class was dismissed, Astor snatched up a book as quickly as he could, only slightly amused (and a tad bit irritated) to find several of the students were trying to figure out what the stories were so they could simply summarize them. Astor knew for a fact that he had never heard of a single one of the books in Jenning’s collection and therefore didn’t give a damn which one he happened to now be in possession of. Just as he reached the doorframe he was met with a rather odd scene, but nothing very intriguing at all. Vittoria’s fingers had just uncurled from Elodie’s jacket, dropping the already clumsy blonde back onto her quaking feet. Pathetic, how unbalanced humans were. Regardless the situation was none of his business and the moment he could step around the blonde and the teacher, he did, hardly sparing a nod of parting. On to dueling, then.

                                                Now this was more like it. The weather was absolutely gorgeous and he was (for once) genuinely pleased to have class outside. He glided easily across the field, hood up over his head—from what he’d gathered it was usually frowned upon to sulk around with wet hair. He didn’t quite understand where the indecently lay but if he was to integrate with these mongrals he might as well consider their bizarre customs. As he approached the small cluster of students gathered, his nostrils flared. Even rain was not enough to distract him from that god-awful stench of two terribly ugly malakhim. As if the wet dogs weren't filthy enough. He hadn't encountered these two before--not that Astor had tried or cared much to meet up with all the malakhim in the school. It wasn’t exactly one of his priorities, especially due to their horrid smell and annoying natures. However, with the old dueling instructor gone -for reasons unbeknownst to him-, changes were expected, and if he had to put up with more nuisances, then so be it. He took his time to observe them while comfortably shaded by his hood. Both were brunette, one with an obnoxious amount of freckles splattered all across his face. His eyebrows looked like bushy caterpillars. As much as he wanted to separate himself from them, he was between a rock and an awkward place. On his right were the two malakhim, on his left….what in Lucifer's name were those fairies doing anyways? Nonetheless, he didn't want to associate himself with any of the lot, so he remained perfectly silent, waiting for Jennings to appear.

                                                Speaking of, there she was, hovering over the grounds with…why, surely Elodie wasn’t in dueling class. The child could hardly stand on her own two feet. To wield a blade? To even throw a fist? Impossible. She was too…too…feeble? Puny? Cowardly. Yet there she was, looking around, standing beside that ghost as if Jennings were a shield. Astor realized he’d been staring at her, which was quite silly since a blade of grass was more interesting than both her and the dueling class in its entirety. When Jennings began he turned to her, hoping that she would at least bring some excitement to this class. Ah, statistics. As if those weren’t entertaining enough. Admittedly the vampire expected to be the fastest, strongest, smartest, and most experienced. Such expectations were doused with an abrupt and disturbing. First, the intelligence. Perhaps the blonde bimbo was better at German than he but overall? He could learn things far quicker than she, absorb tactics and skills at a rate no human could. His memory was precise and he was perfectly calculating. Upon the declaration that he was the most experienced, such perturbed thoughts were nearly forgotten. He knew better than to smirk or straighten his spine. It was obvious that he was better than these weaklings. There wasn’t any competition. They weren’t even worth his time, weren’t even worth being on that list underneath his name. But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

                                                He couldn’t help the way his eyes snapped fiercely towards the small blonde when her name was listed before his. Why, he could smash her skull right now, just to prove his strength! Elodie?! She tripped! She probably cried a river just over stubbing her toe! She was a baby. He, on the other hand, was a warrior. A proud master of destruction who could destroy his enemies with a mere flick of his wrist or snap of his razor sharp teeth. It was a mistake, that’s all. Jennings was old and probably got some ectoplasm stuck in her eye, or something. Yes, that was it. A mistake. He was the strongest. Yes. He would prove it to her. And see? She was marked as the weakest person as well so clearly there had been a typo and her name had accidently been put down at the beginning when it was only supposed to have been at the end. Astor settled with this, hardly paying much more attention at all as he drifted to the track Jennings had commanded him to. A race? Hah! This was going to be a slaughter. He could run three miles before they could even process the idea of it. He didn’t even care that the weird freckly stink bomb was lining up next to him, nor did he notice the way his fists tightened or the glare he was sending in Astor’s way. He was too wrapped up in the idea of the smallest most obnoxious creature he had ever come across beating him in an arm wrestle. Even after Jennings’ loud call to begin, Astor hardly put much effort to his ‘race’ and more into how it was physically possible for someone so small to be stronger than a vampire.

                                                The only thing that brought his attention to his little jog was the atrocious sounds that the weirdo malakhim was making in front of him. Wait a minute, in front of him!? Astor frowned and began to put in at least some effort, just to challenge the silly boy’s thoughts of victory. This was hilarious, the boy was snarling like some kind of mentally distorted werewolf. Perhaps no one else had heard it, but Astor had. He heard each crunch of the microscopic grains beneath the boy’s feet, heard his breaths tear through his lungs. Moron. A scene off to his left caused Astor to become momentarily distracted. Did his eyes deceive him? Surely not. But had the little blonde really just tossed the dog like that? It was even more hilarious than the dope still running for all it was worth ahead of him. Sweet Lucifer, malakhim really were dumb. As much as the dog-throwing surprised him, it amused him even more. Like an ironic game of fetch. Had Sam done that on purpose to make Elodie feel better? …Or not, since it didn’t sound like wolf-boy was doing too well. One gunshot and crippled malakhim later, Astor found that the three miles were nearly up. Feeling smug he pranced to the finish line, making a point to step over the pathetic malakhim that seriously thought he could beat a vampire.

                                                The class ended after that. Whatever had happened to Sam must have been a big deal. It clearly affected that stupid Charlie kid since he’d sputtered and went off. Astor found himself standing alone in the rain where his class had been only moments before. How curious things were around here. Briefly he wondered if all human schools functioned like this. If they did, how on earth did anything get done? There were incidents happening left and right, and very rarely did a class end because the time was up. More like because someone had a meltdown and needed to be escorted to the infirmary. Apparently one of the few who hadn’t had some kind of issue, Astor breezed across the field and back inside, planning to find a nice quiet area, drink a bit of blood and then go to archery. His day was nearly finished, apart from that thrilling study session he was scheduled to have with the same girl who just hurled a wolf through the air. She could cancel. She probably would cancel. Based of her heartbeat it wouldn’t serve her well to be around him for more than five minutes. For reasons unbeknownst to him (that was a lie, he knew he terrified her and he loved it), the girl’s heart rate sped up a great deal whenever he was around her. Not so cruel, Astor never pointed it out to her or bluntly addressed it while she was amongst her peers. He was not Vittoria. His take on revenge was a completely different method entirely.

                                                The halls were quite quiet only because many classes were still in session, making it a great deal easier for Astor to find a nice spot to sit down in and swallow a sample of blood. How odd this school was. Nothing ever seemed to go right and he found it remarkably strange that the humans thought that by passing this school you somehow became worthy of more rights than one who hadn’t attended. It didn’t make a bit of sense to Astor so he quit trying to understand it. At last he came around a corner and found his staircase, which thankfully was abandoned, just how he liked it. After seating himself he took one of the small pockets of blood from his bag and downed it in a second. Nurse Reed’s demands for blood intake were absurd. Not even the oldest vampires required as much blood as he was required to drink to be considered a ‘stable’ vampire at this school. Not that he minded, but it was silly to think that he’d spent so long trying to wane himself away from a large diet in preparation for school, only to be put on one. Some time later the bell rung and he made his way back to the field.

                                                Archery was another disappointment. Berkovic showed up just to bail. The club sulked back to their dorms, grumbling about being wet and yet again Astor stayed out in the rain. He didn’t really understand why humans didn’t like the rain. It was so soothing, so calm, and so perfect for disguising one’s steps. It was fresh and cleansing too. Now he was in quite a bind. He wasn’t hungry at all..he’d just drank. He’d just go to the library…after all, he was meeting that blonde malakhim there eventually. Would she come? She’d made quite a scene during dueling. The creature was easily shaken, knowing her as little as he did she would probably flee to her room and weep profusely. He did not mind. He could manage the work by himself then and..they’d sign off their papers in class. That would work just fine. Determined now he went to the library, which barely had a soul in it, yet he still curled up in the most lonesome corner he could find. Now to start on Jennings’ homework. He pulled the aging book out of his bag and started on the first page, scribbling down the English translation and musing at how foolish the mortal tale was.

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                                                AvalonWitch

                                                Hanna Ananas

                                                pontmercies


                                                OUT OF CHARACTER IM SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER SORRY

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            ♩♪ Set the Scene! {Gives You Hell} ♫♬
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            Where? The Range / The Field / The Damn Range Again / The Infirmary
            With who? Bunch of idiot children, Nurse Reed
            Feeling? Excited (non-sexually)
            Only Other Conniption {Berk is the most-caringest teacher in the land~}

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            ➣tabAdam Berkovic was a dreamer; which was not to suggest that he was some dunderheaded moron with his head in the clouds. But if it was the hallmark of a hopeless romantic to see opportunity where others only saw squalor well then who better fit the bill than the man who had put the trash of the Earth back in their places? The efforts that had consumed the bulk of his adult life were, ultimately, in vain. Not for a lack of success but for the pitiless stripping away of his due reward. What did it all earn him? Three cold stone walls closed off by a uniform arrangement of bars in some piss-stained prison, the same meals fed to the other “war criminals” he had helped to put away through his innovations and nearly all of his profits sucked up by the government vacuum. For what? Winning the war for humanity? Putting the ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’-less brats of the world to work? Crushing the pathetic beasts that had dared to challenge his clearly superior species? No it must have been that whole saving-humanity schtick that landed him there. Now here he was with a fiendish bloodsucker for a warden, Harry Potter, a 'rainbow-glitter' on the Kinsey scale and the World’s most transparent German for peers (among a dwindling number - he had to note), the closest thing to acceptable company in the form of a dilettante geneticist of a nurse and these...things to herd around like the property they very literally had been just a few short years ago. With some admirable exceptions, Adam consented as he gazed for what passed as fondly at the scattered humans humans, the bulk of his class was comprised of morons and none more so than the golden boy himself Calimero Valerian. The Berk had warned the idiots in charge that slapping any of the freak’s faces on a poster would cause their stunted minds to think too much of themselves. But wars needed funds and for funds one had to have propaganda. Now that it was all over - the Israeli would have preferred to lock that empty blonde noggin in a cage and gassed the place. The irony of this was, rather easily, ignored. Instead here he was watching with a considerable degree of pleasure as Valerian’s fellow malakhim shot him dirty looks between ups and downs. It would do for now. They couldn’t all be like earnest, well-behaved Miss. Hammond now could they?

            Speaking of whom... "Admirable effort." He complimented the human girl proudly, noting her admirable struggle against the adversity of being in a class with an assortment of monsters and circus acts. Sure, her shots were lacking a little in accuracy but she hadn’t simply thrown in the towel or taken the easy way out and for that he was willing to overlook for utter failure to hit the bulls-eye once. By comparison, Adam's irritated "Stop showing off." was promptly directed to one Miss. Lane - who was acting as if her technically better shots constituted something worthy of praise. There was a slight tremble to her sickly white form and under the guise of “Demonstrating proper technique.” He fired several more rounds into her target, making sure to give the vampire no reprieve from the (one could only hope) ear-splitting blasts. As it so often did, luck landed on the side of the abbed-wonder himself. Just as Berkovic's eyes were turning to train on Calimero’s somewhat-perfect target, something of far greater interest to the older male came up. Far more interesting. “You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine…” he chanted off without so much as glancing at the other student’s targets. Shedim, malakhim and human all rendered immediately irrelevant in the face of overwhelmingly sweet hope. A combined natural talent for arrogance and the self-assurance that came with his belief in his own general superiority temporarily relieved him of any qualms he might have about shoving one malakhim aside to get a better look. But the rain and fog made it too difficult to make much of anything out. He’d have to get closer.

            “Class dismissed.” He barked, his eyes scanning the distance for the patch of field that the ectoplasm-drip of a woman they dared to call “Professor” would be instructing in. As he jogged towards said spot, Adam remembered his previous promise of cleanup duty and lamented that such thrills had to be left for another day. “Valerian and Sterling.” He decided out-loud, speaking to no one but his own fine self, would receive the unpleasant surprise of such duties during their next class. Valerian for being a smartass and Sterling for having the gall to show up late to one of his classes - inconceivable. Nevermind that. He quickly thought upon reaching the groove carved into the field from a seemingly random spot straight into the trees. Clearly, pacing a 10x10 room had affected his jogging speed by a slight amount but Berkovic had hoped there would be somewhere there to tell the tale of the tree that looked as if it’d had one too many drinks and stumbled onto a train track. Whatever it was that had happened, the damage had apparently been sufficient to convince Jennings to dismiss her class. Or perhaps she’d finally crossed over to the other side and clung to one of the students as the tractor-pull of a white light dragged her off the Earth she shouldn’t have been on in the first place. Again, the Israeli dared to dream but not before checking out one last thing. After dealing with a little inconvenience that is

            Had he not been so single-minded in his goal, it might have been far more efficient to assign Dulani and Sterling to clean up the empty shell casings and re-arrange Aevum's mishmash of weapons than risk Dar...Lady Falkenberg’s ire at leaving the shooting range in such a state. Nevermind that the former didn't even belong to his Combats & Weapons class and that one Mr. Miller had thought it prudent to ditch Archery altogether. Granted, that was precisely what Berkovic himself was about to do. Wet, some shaking and others (pale, creepy-looking others) acting as if they weren’t soaked through to the bone - the bulk of the club began to gripe at his announcement that Archery was to be cancelled for the day. Began because he didn’t care to hear any of it and strode off towards the infirmary after snatching the umbrella from some unsuspecting fairy’s hands. Weren’t they all about nature, anyway?

            By the time he did make it to the infirmary it was empty save for the student who had been mauled by a werewolf earlier that week and fido himself looking like he’d chased after a ball on the wrong street. Fingers drumming together with excitement, he turned towards Nurse Reed’s expectant eyes and received a shake of her head. A rare smirt crawled its way onto his features but that was as far as his expression made it, for it was very quickly transformed into a scowl as he wrestled a phone out of aforementioned woman’s hands. “Are you crazy or just stupid?” He whispered harshly. “You can’t report every boo-boo and bruise these sacks of s**t get. The UN Dogs are hounding us day and night and there’s not a damn thing to give them in exchange for keeping this place open. Gonna shut this down before it even gets off the ground?” That seemed to calm her down, at least enough that the phone was set back on the dock and her attentions turned to the file on her desk. “Now, what happened?”

            Of course. Of course Jennings would have been the Professor who witnessed what Berkovic considered to be a most pleasant sort of development. Certain...legal intricacies made it difficult for him to gather what information he wanted direct from the source which meant she was his next closest bet. It was bad enough being in her presence, like standing next to a sticky, gloopy mass of congealed ice. But the thought of seeking her out was damn near laughable. Maybe if she’d been a little more tangible and her skirt about five inches shorter...her bust another three or four bigger…ahem. Then he remembered. “That damnable dinner!” Adam grumbled, startling a passing witch who promptly spilt all her magic beans or whatever they were all over the floor outside the Dining Hall. He would have to go now. Just ********. It was the last thing he wanted but an unavoidable appointment if stomach churning one. The sacrifices he had to make for science.

            The Berk kicked the idiot witch’s bag out of his way in an attempt to grab some the nourishment he would surely need for the task ahead of him. Of course, it exploded in a colorful array of pops and sparkles - no decent, human bag would have done that. “Whoops.” He shrugged casually before grabbing a plate and making a beeline for the front of the soup line; all the while wondering just what kind of dinner Jennings could have without a physical stomach to stuff.


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Nurse Reed
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What I'm wearing: xxxxHow I'm feeling: Hoboy. English. Woooooo.

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God, this ******** sucked! What idiot at the school thought it was a good idea to put shedim and humans in the same class together when it came to things like this? Clearly they were good at archery and s**t. Firearms, it seemed, were today’s subject. Mirai had held a rifle before-just once, in her life, and when it had gone off it knocked her on her a** and bruised her shoulder.

She was four.

The heels of her boots pressed into the rain-soaked mud beneath her, giving her a less-than steady stance as she picked up the handgun from the stand next to her, the thing already loaded but with the safety on. As it progressed, she learned how to unload and reload it, turn the safety on and off, and stand, legs spread slightly, both hands holding the gun as she pointed towards a target near the end of the ‘range’ that they were working on. She felt like a goddamn police officer. She regretted the fact that she was not wearing unnecessary shades in the rain and saying cheesy, punny lines at the bad guys they were capturing.

Looks like you’re headin’ to... the pound. Mentally she pulled off her sunglasses and cast a smouldering look to the camera, lips pouty, as the handcuffed werewolf baddy writhed below her boot on the ground.

Her finger rapidly squeezed off four shots, not even caring that she was probably adding to the migraine of the vampiric b***h that was standing right next to her. God, she looked snotty. Her shots were far from accurate, the first two landing in the ring right outside of the bullseye, the last two scattering slightly further from it.

The gig’s up, Senator.. No more bleeding this city dry. Again, she pulled off her mental sunglasses in the exact same motion, an almost Photoshop-similar transposition of a stereotypical vampire in a suit under her boot this time, handcuffed and thrashing about ineffectively.

Two more shots blew from the muzzle of her gun, one landing in the upward area of the bullseye, the other one following the recoil of the pistol and landing a few inches above it, in the next outward concentric ring. Overall, she was not doing too badly, at least she thought. A self-satisfied grin spread over her lips as she looked at some of the other students. Well.. At least lots of them were doing a lot worse than she was. Beginners’ luck on her part, likely, but hey. She couldn’t expect to be up there with the bloodsuckers.

She lowered the firearm, looking around the other kids for a few moments before peering over her shoulder at some of the other people, further down the field. Was something happening down there? She couldn’t tell. The rest of the class went without incident for the most part, Mirai ignoring the other people in her class as she finished things up. She emptied her gun, putting it back down and staring, bored, around the place. God, guns were boring. This entire class was boring. This man was an a*****e and all she wanted to do was head back to her dorm.

Wait, she had a club today, didn’t she? She signed up for.. Oh, right. Equestrian training. Son of a b***h. Was that still even on? Teachers were dropping like flies here at Aevum, falling down on the festering s**t-pile that was the university.

In a way, it was sort of creepy.

Hm.

Her boots squished quietly in the mud as she walked back towards the gym and the university proper, wondering who she could ask if Equestrian was still a thing.



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Most disturbing of the varied events that occurred that particular afternoon Dueling class was the indifference. Some of her fellow students had reasonable reactions: the fairies shrieking loudly and seeming to disappear into the forest, those running for the safety of the school and the boy cowering on the tracks who would not be coaxed out of the security of his self-made cocoon, for instance. However, the vast majority went about the business of departing from the abruptly-ended lesson with such nonchalance that it briefly made Elodie question whether what had happened, had happened. Any comfort she might have sought from an authority figure, in this case Professor Jennings, was nowhere to be found as the ghost howled and generally set the malakhim’s frayed nerves on their tips of their breaking points. If it had been a matter of sheer numbers Elodie would have concluded that it was she who was acting out of sorts by being in a panicked state. There was no disguising her terror; no understanding her fellow teens and their glossed-over gazes. Were these sorts of things everyday occurrences? Did werewolves always fly into centuries-old plant life in a sickening imitation of leaves on a breeze this time of year? How could anyone be so used to such a thing that they did not bat an eye at the gruesome sight that had once been Samuel Corinx?

First in strength…and last. It hadn’t made any sense of the time and Elodie had been quick to dismiss it as a typographical error but now the rank stood out as the first of the many signs that something was amiss well before things actually became so. Astor Dulani’s oddly critical and assessing stare at that rank, the ease with which she’d lifted the ‘rope’ that had fallen with a heavy thud upon being released, and that strange impulse she had felt to run and hide long before she’d sent her partner flying. Had she obeyed it the circumstances might have been different but she had not and instead stood now, stupefied and shaking as she took in her surroundings with waterlogged eyes. Everyone had scattered, save for a few of the students. If any of them shot looks her way, or Sam’s, the heavy rainfall helped blur them out. Helpful, if not gentle, two of the guards that constantly roamed the school’s premises lifted Sam at the transparent instructor’s request while another several surrounded her. “Just making sure no one gets hurt.” One of them replied in a hushed tone when Elodie managed the task asking between hiccups and sniffles. Surely Sam was in no condition to do her any harm yet they remained by her side; only leaving when the two students were secured safely within the sterilized walls of the infirmary. There they, as well as Professor Jennings, were told to wait outside while Elodie and Sam were left alone with only a less than amiable medical practitioner and the same unconscious student from before for company.

Nearly as soon as she’d sat down Elodie was up again and bolting for the nearest waste bin to empty her churning stomach. A clashing of instruments sounded behind her and through the veil of her hair she could see that the movement had startled Nurse Reed and sent her against the wall away from her previous spot tending to the injured werewolf. There was the fear the girl been expecting earlier - directed, not at a situation but, at her. Thankfully, no barked orders or shrieks followed. Instead Elodie was allowed a semblance of privacy while the woman dealt with the more pressing matter of Sam. He was alive; making too many noises and soft grunts of pain to be otherwise. Thank goodness. For all her other qualities, it was clear that Nurse Reed knew exactly what she was doing. By the time the malakhim felt ready to stand, her fellow classmate’s wounds had been cleaned, some of the larger gashes stitched up and a number of monitoring devices hooked up to him. A needle, no bigger than the one she’d seen Cal be injected with earlier that day, was prodded into the boy’s arm and rather quickly the hysterical ‘beep, beep, beep’ of his vitals began to slow. The steady rhythm did little to ease her guilt. It was her fault he was like this, body scraped and beaten – somehow, it was her fault. She stared for so long that eventually Sam’s head lifted to look at her. He might have said any number of things but there was no chance for as soon as he opened his mouth Nurse Reed stuffed it with gauze and instructed him to “Bite down gently as you can.” in what barely passed for a bedside tone. Forgiveness was a familiar sight to her and she saw it in the werewolf’s eyes then, but that only made her feel worse.

Perhaps favoring interruptions, the apology about to cross Elodie’s lips was cut short by a harsh tug on her arm from Nurse Reed. Almost as an afterthought, the woman drew the privacy curtains around Sam to give the quivering malakhim a semblance of modesty before she directed her to a bed, out of a sweater and unzipped the back of her dress. The frosty metal kiss of the stethoscope drew one final hiccup out of Elodie and finally breathing became less of a struggle. Soaked through to the bone and puffy-eyed maybe, but after another few checks she was declared to be “Just fine.” and allowed to redress. Jennings came bursting in then, the little red light above the door infirmary having changed from red to green with an ironically cheerful chime. There was silence for a moment…and then anything but.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Reed?” Professor Jennings snapped, startling Elodie again. Back and forth the two argued; throwing accusations and insults. The formerly-living party was considerably more heated than the Nurse who was practically icy by comparison. Quickly and easily proving to be the victor of the spat, the things Nurse Reed shot at the ghostly german bordered on cruel. Not wanting to remind the adults (a loose usage of the term at the time) to her presence and desiring nothing more than to throw herself to Sam’s mercy Elodie ducked beneath the patrician and rose back up at the foot of his bed. Sam was awake, no less uncomfortable than she with the bickering women and probably a great deal more uncomfortable with his state of being overall. Running back home and hiding there for the rest of her life was a far more appealing option than the fumbled apology she was frantically rehearsing in her head – but not a true option. The infirmary as a whole had a familiar unpleasantness to it that the newly-discovered-malakhim didn’t wish to dwell on. Sam was an altogether better expense of her thoughts anyway.

“Hi” She whispered, gaze downcast and heavy with guilt. The werewolf gestured to his mouth and Elodie obliged, bringing up another, empty, trash bin up to his mouth so that he could spit the mostly blood-soaked gauze out. “I’m sorry.” Hardly seemed sufficient but it was all Elodie could get out without the threat of more tears. Her unfortunate run-ins with Astor Dulani and Vittoria Lane aside, Sam was one of the few people she’d spent time with. And most definitely the first that had not tried to rip her head off (or looked like he wanted to.) For his kindness he had been rewarded with a brief flight courtesy of her fists. But if her guilt was suppressed enough for her to apologize, it could not be so when he shook his head and told her that she had no need to apologize “for strength” or for having hurt him accidentally. “It could happen to anyone, I would know.” He added with a crooked grin, his head tilting in the direction of his sharply tipped nails. Elodie remembered chair that had crumbled apart in his hands in trigonometry and was filled with a miraculous sense of relief. “Next time…don’t take it easy on me, okay Sam?” She joked weakly, a wince accompanying the memory of her request and the realization of how much better off he might have been if he hadn’t granted it. Hardly feeling worthy of his rapid forgiveness, Elodie busied herself with rolling a fresh bit of gauze to fill the space left by the chunk of canine previously occupying the werewolf’s mouth. “It’ll grow back.” He assured her, grinning amidst the sounds of continued arguing from the two women outside the relative safety of their closed-off square.

Did they not realize that both of the individuals over whom they were bickering were in the room? Or did they not care? It was the natural inclination of adults to talk over children, pets and property but Elodie felt like none of the above. Still, she stayed her tongue and focused instead on the arduous task that was ignoring the clutching pain in her chest that their raised voices had brought to life once more. Sam, surprisingly attentive given that he was the one who’d nearly been cracked in half, attempted to clear his throat to stop their superior’s unfriendly banter but succeeded only in wincing and doubling over in pain. Luckily, after one last snide remark followed by Nurse Reed’s curt “Good riddance.” the infirmary was quiet once more.

Nurse Reed had indeed heard Sam’s attempts to draw her attention and parted the curtain with a suspicious look – directed solely at Elodie. “I was just…checking on him…” She whispered somberly. But a white cast had fallen over the older woman’s eyes and she promptly motioned for Elodie to sit back on the edge of the bed in order for her blood pressure to be taken, “Just to be safe.” The number must have been too high…or perhaps too low, for that same imposing needle she’d been victim to that morning was brought out again. The freckled teen had hoped that with Jennings stomping, or the floating-equivalent thereof, out of the room things would settle down and Sam would be able to rest. There hardly seemed to be a reason to give her anything, I feel fine. She had wanted to insist but refrained from doing so solely for the sake of peace and quiet. Yet just as the winds of the previous storm ceased…they picked up again when another whirl of trouble roamed into the infirmary.

Miller, Charlie was what the role sheet had identified him as but he was easily more recognizable as the boy who had been cowering on the track after the gunshots startled her. There was no more of that, though he still looked as if he could duck and cover at any moment. Briefly, Elodie considered asking him if he was all right and maybe thanking him for saving her from yet another injection…but promptly thought better of it at his greeting. An indignant inhalation and a rare scowl across her face later and she still hadn’t thought of what to say next, giving the boy an opening to continue. “That’s rude.” She blurted out after a long second. Really, the things Vittoria had said to her had been much worse but Elodie had chalked the vampiress’ behavior up to a bad first meeting – Elodie had been bleeding and undoubtedly served as a form of torture to the pale girl. But this…Charlie person had suffered only a shortened class period because of her, and nothing at all because of Sam. How…how unbelievably mean he was! “You…” There were pitifully few insults in her vocabulary and the lapse of time brought on by her searching for just the right one allowed him to go on. This time, the words hit home. She should have known better. Of course she should have. She was a malakhim – a foolish one who didn’t even know what her abilities were or how they were triggered. What if she’d done real damage? What if she’d killed Sam? Or someone else? What if she still might? A painful burn began at the base of her nose and the color drained from her face. Mr. Miller was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it…or him. First Vittoria, then Nurse Reed and now this boy…just how much antagonism could exist in a school meant to breed harmony between the species? She wouldn’t let him get to her…well, she wouldn’t let him know he’d gotten to her anyway. Tucking her hair primly behind her ears, Elodie straightened her shoulders and played at ignoring him while Nurse Reed (forever intervening) chastised her fellow malakhim. All the sunshine and bubbles one might have assumed comprised the bulk of Miss. Chase’s cheery personality darkened and popped at the prolonged stare she received from Charlie before he left – it was the second most unnerving stare she’d received thus far and that was considering the first was from a vampire who made her fear for her life outright.

All subsequent attempt at comfort (the nurse was trying to comfort her, right?) went unheard. It was only the third day of school but Elodie had a difficult time imagining how it could have gone worse. The boy’s unnecessary and troubling comments had shaken her, so much so that she didn’t fight and hardly noticed the stoic nurse prodding the needle through her arm, bandaging it up and telling her to leave. Only when the words were repeated a second time did she get shaken out of the dark fog of her thoughts. But Sam… “I’ll let your study partner know that you couldn’t make it. And I’ll vouch for you with Professor Madox, promise. A..and I’ll make you a copy of my trig notes!” The offers were tossed out in quick little quips as Nurse Reed began to unceremoniously herd Elodie towards the exit. It was the least she could do; even if it meant bypassing her strong desire to avoid any more conflict, particularly the kind that came in the form of a vampire with piercing red glare. Of course, she quickly concluded upon looking down and seeing small puddles where her clothes were still leaking rain onto the ground, that she’d have to go change.

The rush of students heading up and down the halls made it difficult to guess exactly what time it was or even to move back to her own dorms. Frankly, Elodie was in no state to think to check her wristwatch or her phone. Professor Berkovic’s familiar charge down the middle of the crowd briefly parted the seas but she elected to wait for him to leave rather than risk a run in with the generally unpleasant man. The sedative acted quickly, robbing her both of her previously headache-free state and the desire to fill her vacant stomach – no condition to deal with any more difficulties when there was one right around the corner. Blissfully empty, her dorm offered a much welcome sanctuary. The earrings that had drawn Charlie’s less than subtle ire earlier were abandoned among the rest of her jewelry, as were her clothes and soggy shoes. With only the tapping of the rain on her window to accompany her, she showered (may or may not have spent half that time crying – shampoo in her eyes no doubt), brushed and rinsed and rinsed again the taste of sick from her mouth and soothed her reddened eyes with a few drops. There had hardly ever been occasion for her to wear pants and she had none packed other than pajama bottoms, so she settled for a thick pair of tights and some sturdy – if undoubtedly posh – boots below her standard lacy, cream and white sundress to shield her coltish legs from the cold. Remembering who she was going to be spending the evening with and Vittoria’s remarks about the scent of her flesh, she added on a thick black turtleneck for good measure. At least her backpack had made it through everything more or less unharmed – a quick wipe with a paper towel and the moisture and mud were gone. Now that she had collected herself, on the outside anyway, Elodie was able to think to glance at the clock and see that she had more than enough time before the dreaded study buddy session. It wasn’t anything against Astor. She knew very little about him other than that he responded to her morning greetings courteously and ignored her general existence any other time. But he was cold and Elodie was feeling chilled to the bone as it was. “Please let this go well…” She whispered plaintively to the air.

A.K. Dulani was nowhere to be seen among the various group tables scattered near the library’s entrance. There were barely any people at all, enough so that her entrance drew a few stares from familiar faces. The fairies from Dueling class were chittering over some notes, but stopped immediately at the sight of her. One of them gave a harsh shriek only for Hannah, the librarian, to emit the loudest ‘shh’ known to man (or woman, in this case.) Elodie scattered away like a frightened mouse, deciding she could roam around the library and circle back to the entrance until she spotted the vampire. Her stomach protested the plan with a rumbling growl but went, ultimately, ignored as Elodie drew comfort from the familiar smell of the library books. It was a large collection, the largest she’d seen outside of her father’s own library. A great deal of the books were standard digital fare, stored permanently on cheap tablets. But many more were true books – with leather, canvas and tattered paper covers; their rich aroma easing her troubled mine. Sam had forgiven her and Nurse Reed had all but made her promise to keep the incident a secret – would the other students be made to do the same? It hardly seemed logical to try to keep things like these hidden away; what had she said? “ I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner.” It was enough to make her want to cry again but Elodie had already told herself there would be no more tears tonight.

The dim light of the library was much easier to navigate, but made it harder to keep track of her feet and so she relied on the bookshelves as a sort of road. Just as soon as she caught something of interest in one stack she spotted another that called her more strongly and in this fashion she went about walking up and down the aisles with childlike fascination. Fate, or chance, eventually drew her puffy-lidded eyes to a familiar, dark, slim figure sitting at a table in the corner. Was it? Yes. Yes it was. Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t seen him! No…that would be rude. They were going to be partners for the rest of the year after-all. While the vampire certainly didn’t have a great impression of her it wouldn’t do to make total enemies with him. It wouldn’t do to make total enemies with anyone, but Elodie suspected that such a thing would be inevitable.

“Hi.” She offered feebly after she'd walked towards him, her still-scarred hand raised in greeting. Astor seemed rather focused with the colorful book in his hands…no, focused was the wrong word for it. Every time she had seen him the boy had nearly no expression at all but at that moment there was a slight angle to his eyebrows, a furrow grooving neatly between them. His handwriting was surprisingly crisp and elegant and from her vantage point standing beside him she could see various questions about candy houses and stupid children written on a page. “Hansel and Gretel?” Elodie asked after a long lapse of awkward silence. “I mean, Hänsel und Gretel” She amended in surprisingly adept German for someone whose throat was still sore and raw. Astor certainly wasn’t much of a conversationalist but Miss. Chase, as always, persevered. She didn’t want to get to close – not because his foreboding stare was frightening her or anything – but to avoid offending him with her scent, so she took her seat in the chair across and away from his own. “Professor Jennings has you translating fairy tales?” Was that a nod? It was hard to tell when he moved so quickly and subtly. “My mom used to do that too… She’d read me the English versions and then have me figure them out in other languages. It made it a lot easier, already knowing how it went and all...” Of the three vampires she’d seen thus far, he was easily the most threatening despite having done nothing at all to her. At least Vittoria made her intentions clear and there was nothing to fear from a headmistress who championed integration as her father did. But in his silences Elodie felt that anything might happen and so she couldn't allow it to exist for very long in his company Maybe it was because if she stayed quiet it became far too easy to hear her rapidly throbbing pulse in her ears. And if she could hear it, so could he. “I always felt terribly sorry for the witch…don’t you? It’s not her fault the kids were eating her home...” Elodie had been that way as a child, possessing a temperate nature her father praised for how it would lend itself to her aspirations for a life in politics. What she had not been was observant and that clearly extended into the present, as she babbled on softly - unaware of any distraction she might be causing him. “Are you having a hard time with it? Some of the adverbs can get a little tricky. Of course it’s hard to take stories like these seriously but I guess everyone has their fairy tales.” …Did they? Now that she thought about it, the blonde had no idea whether or not the story was familiar to Astor at all or if she’d been talking nonsense to him this entire time. It couldn’t have been easy to translate without a proper context but surely Professor Jennings would have thought of that… Right? “Have you uh…read this story before?”

Situated...: The Woods/The Infirmary/The Dorms/The Library

Interacting With...:
Nurse Reed,
Hanna Ananas
Kind of? She was eavesdropping I guess?

BlackAndWhiteIsClassic
c: Thanks for letting me know what to fill in.

Mysterious Sign Painter
Thus it begins.

pontmercies
Antagonism, as discussed!


Wearing...: This

Feeling...: Guilty, Anxious

OOC...: ((Forgive me, everyone, for what I have done. ./Shot))

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                                              Gilles P. Coen is in the stables with many many horses and enjoying himself far too much.


                                              Gilles was a student who had seemed to have vanished completely into the walls of the school. Perhaps he had pressed himself against them, closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the cool material, the way that the sounds of the other students around him echoed off of it, stayed so still that he gradually became assimilated with them. In that sense, Gilles would be everywhere all at once, with everyone. It sounded like a dream. Fortunately for the rest of the student body, a dream was exactly what that scenario was. When Gilles woke up, he was of a single body. He was also rather dirty, and wet, and cold.

                                              That’s what he got for falling asleep out in the forest when it had been overcast; there was no telling how sudden it may begin to rain. In all fairness, he wouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place if he hadn’t gotten lost. Though, in further fairness, Gilles shouldn’t have decided to wander off into the forest in the first place. If was, of course, debatable to use the words “lost” and “wander” in these contexts. It had been a fully conscious decision, on his part, to explore the woods. What else was he to do on his free time? He couldn’t simply ignore the picturesque scenery he had found himself in. That would have been terribly rude, as Gilles was sure a great majority of his peers simply ignored the foliage that loomed all around them. The manner in which they leaned so gently inward made it tragically clear how lonely they had become.

                                              True, one could say he had gotten lost in the midst of his kind-hearted actions. It was more accurate to say that the flighty young man had completely forgotten he was an official, enrolled student, and as such had willingly immersed himself in the nature that boxed them in. With the rain it dawned upon Gilles that perhaps this might have its consequences. Not that his parents, at least, wouldn’t be understanding.

                                              Still, it didn’t sound particularly pleasant to be ejected from the program due to the poor grades that would inevitably arise as a result to his lack of physical presence. In all truthfulness Gilles had never been the best example of what a student should be, but it simply wouldn’t do to have it accused that he didn’t put an honest effort into learning. Or an honest something, anyway. So as the rain trickled through the canopy of leaves above him and wetted his hair and skin, Gilles pulled his handwoven sweater up over his head. The rain would help wash away the soil that had turned to mud with the water, and he couldn’t help but suppose that being half-naked would be much more appropriate than being soaked and dirty looking.

                                              Gilles had never quite understood the stigma behind nakedness. What was so wrong with a natural state of being? What was there to be ashamed of? With a bit of trust and understanding, perhaps none of the individuals who walked the Earth would feel the need to hide their bodies. Maybe if Gilles walked around shirtless long enough, he’d encourage some of the more shy students to follow his example! Wasn’t that an idea? Smiling unabashedly, Gilles shook his head and sighed in contentment, enjoying the chill that rippled across his shoulders as small droplets of water flew from the ends of his platinum waves. By the time he had finally weaved his way back to the field that bordered the school, he was just in time to witness the last of a class heading back indoors.

                                              Strangely, it seemed that a poor tree at the edge of where the field became wilderness had been cracked clean down the center. Gilles, of course, took a moment to mourn the lost soul. It was doubtful that the poor dear had had any idea that her demise would be so sudden and so painful. After embracing her splintered remains and assuring her that her soul would be reborn as a beautiful, innocent sapling, that he cherished her life and all that it stood for, he took the time to do the math on his fingers. If Gilles was recalling the series of events that had led to his forest adventure correctly, it must have been sometime in the middle of the week. Wednesday, perhaps? Wretched luck it was, the clouds blocking the sun and making it hard to approximate what time of day it could have been. He tried to remember what classes took place outside in the field. Abilities? If that class was just wrapping up, it must have been fairly late in the day.

                                              Suddenly hit with a wave of brilliance, Gilles realized he still had a copy of his class schedule tucked dutifully away in his pant pocket. A second wave of brilliance reminded him that he’d ruin the paper if he pulled it out in the middle of the rain. Assuming it wasn’t ruined already, of course, but Gilles believed in the ink that rested on the parchment. He had so much faith in its waterproof consistency. He wished he could tell it how proud he was as he made his way across the field and to the nearest structure that called to him--in this case, it happened to be Aevum’s stables. And as fate would have had it, once Gilles had made his way safely inside, he pulled out the crinkled, damp little paper to find that, were he to assume that it was the time of day he thought it was, he had wound up exactly where he needed to be.

                                              Not that it would have mattered, really. The second Gilles laid eyes on the horses, he effectively forgot about his earlier mission to become a decent student. Even if he hadn’t been enrolled as a part of the Equestrian club, he wouldn’t have been able to part with them without at least greeting each and every one of them.

                                              “Ah, my, my.” Gilles beamed warmly as he approached the nearest horse. “What lovely eyelashes you have. With your permission, my Lady?”

                                              The horse snorted, and Gilles placed his hand gently upon its nose. “Please excuse the chill. I’m afraid I wasn’t blessed with a beautiful coat like yours.” He laughed gently as the horse tossed its head lightly, and leaned dreamily against the wood frame of the door to its pen. “Yes, how did you know? My Mother always has said I’m a bit of a shameless flatterer. I assure you, I’m only being honest.”

                                              He reached out slowly and brushed his fingers against the side of the horse’s cheek. To any outside party, it would surely look like he was romancing the animal. Okay, he was definitely romancing the animal.

                                              Every lady deserved a good romancing, even those of the furry, four-legged variety, and he wouldn't hear any arguments suggesting otherwise.



    avalonwitch

    BlackAndWhiteIsClassic

    jortlus
    Because I heeeaaarrrrr someone's joining Equestrian!


    ((ooc: I'm really sorry in advance for him.))

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█ ███ ████ ██████ ███████ ████████ нαzєℓ_нαммσиם_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Golden smile, You've got style that they can't take away.♪"__xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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                                        "Admirable effort," her professor told her as finished firing away her clip of bullets. Several shots had missed the target entirely, while the remaining few landed in various spots along the edges. Certainly no bullseyes had been earned, nor anything even relatively close. She recalled the old game of darts, and wondered if her efforts on the firing range would be scored similarly. She vaguely remembered that one could still earn a respectable amount of points without landing a dart in the exact middle of the board. Berk by now had moved on and begun condescending to the girl a couple yards away from her. Hazel was a bit confused, as her classmate was clearly better with firearms than she was. Seeing that Berkovic wasn't caring about her apparent skill, Hazel noted that the girl must not have been entirely human.

                                        Something about her was certainly intriguing. For all her grace with a gun, she seemed pained to some degree. Or at the very least uncomfortable; it wasn't easy to tell. She was probably just upset with the professor's treatment of her kind. Or the rain. Hazel had almost forgotten about the rain. She wanted to take a few steps closer and try to comfort or defend her, but what would she even say? She didn't know. On top of that, she hadn't the best track record with interacting with new girls at this school so far.

                                        "Sorry about, well, him," Hazel commented to Cal, looking up at him as she bit her lip awkwardly. He seemed to be able to deal with Professor Berkovic just fine in his own way, but she still felt bad watching their interaction. It was weird knowing that she, in the long-term, would receive unarguably better treatment than her friend would at this school, but it wasn't as if she had any control over that situation. "I'm sure he means well! Or, he thinks he does." It was the best she could offer him. Hazel couldn't properly grasp the thought of Berkovic's special brand of intolerance and discrimination. Looking face-to-face, she could hardly see any differences between herself and one of the Malakhim or Shedim. There had been a myriad of news broadcast and propaganda advertisements spreading warnings of their misdeeds and dangers, but standing here now, looking at Calimero, she could think of absolutely nothing wrong with him. His words of encouragement given just before she missed almost every shot had surely meant something to her, further proving her point, but she didn't know how to properly voice her gratitude. Better to leave it alone, she figured.

                                        "See you later, then?" Hazel waved goodbye to Cal with a cute grin and turned to head toward her next destination: Equestrian Club.

                                        As she pedaled herself toward the Aevum stables, she began fantasizing about all the ways she could use her enrollments in two clubs to help one another. What better way to snag pics of the Equestrians for her future Aevum Moon articles than by witnessing them first-hand in all their majesty. At least, she'd hoped for majesty. She hadn't been too exposed to the equine form in her lifetime, though she'd been told riding one was a difficult but rewarding experience.

                                        With the stables in full view, finally, Hazel felt the familiar yet uncomfortable twinge of pain in her belly; she still hadn't eaten. All that walking and concentrating at the range surely wasn't helping her case, but she couldn't risk being late to Equestrian just because she had a little tummyache. She walked slowly into the stable doors and tried not to cause a stir. It was nice to be out of the rain now, too. Further inside the stables, near the large furry creatures, stood an interesting figure. A boy with long and wavy blonde hair had beaten her here. 'Another club member?' she asked herself. It took her and extra moment to notice the boy's shirtless-ness. It was understandable, she supposed, if didn't particularly want to walk around school in a soaking wet shirt. She looked a little more closely, but found she didn't even recognize the boy at all. He was someone she hadn't noticed around campus yet, and the thought of meeting a new face excited her a bit.

                                        But first, she needed pictures.

                                        One of Hazel's self-assigned rules was to never disturb her subject where possible. There was something about catching the beauty in the exact moment it showed itself to her, uninterrupted and free -- that was what Hazel lived for. As such, she made sure she was as quiet as possible when she produced her camera from her bag and adjusted the zoom to fit her needs.

                                        They were nice shots, numbering about half a dozen, of the boy petting and whispering kind words to the creatures. A lovely set, really. But Hazel's fun was interrupted when her stomach let out a loud and staggered roar and she responded immediately by falling over against the wall with a gasp. "Unf!"


Quote:
Whereabouts: Firing Range / Stables
Attire: This
Company: Combat Students + Berk + Cal / Gilles + Horses
Out of Character: Happy New Year? q:

AvalonWitch
Icy Sapphire

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●x●x●xRAPHAEL MADOX


                      ☇The young people of today were certainly…interesting. That indeed was the, very gentle, word that sprang to the mind of one Raphael Madox as he observed the students bustling about the stables. It was a start, he supposed, that they had not been put-off by the rain that was now drumming a steady beat against the roof over their heads. Already there were a few familiar faces, Misses Deimante and Hammond serving as comically appropriate foils of one another. The former of them Raphael had found wandering the offices of Aevum school, only recognizing her by that splash of pink that stood out so starkly against the greying colors of the stormy afternoon and by the memory of the same color flashing across her indignant features in response to what he imagined was his most-unwelcome reading assignment. “I assure you, Miss. Deimante, that Equestrian is most certainly still, ‘a thing.’” He had quipped before proceeding to inform her that it was he who oversaw that particular extracurricular. Producing a faded but very functional umbrella from underneath his coat, he handed it as well as his small bag of supplies to her. “I have a matter to tend to, Miss. Deimante. Thus I will entrust you with this…and this, and ask that you make your way to the stables. I will be along shortly.”

                      Shortly became a less-than-accurate description of his intended five-minute delay. Another wave of nausea, worlds more powerful than the first and serving to floor Raphael nearly as quickly as he entered his suite, hit with a vengeance. He had to wonder if he was not the only similarly afflicted instructor, considering how many teacher’s dorms now stood devoid of their former inhabitants. It was karmic retribution at best and at worst, something far more sinister. All the remaining professors seemed to sense some odd foreboding in the air; only Professors Jennings and Berkovic having not yet met with some or another unfortunate circumstance. Well, at least not within the halls of the school itself – he thought wryly when he remembered that one was rather dead and the other was a fellow former-inmate. Questionable composition of the instructor body aside, the school itself held great promise and despite the bile he had the unfortunate task of rinsing out of his mouth – the potential savored of success.

                      Finding that his only other umbrella had two broken spokes the now-late man nevertheless began to make his way to the stables beneath its less-than-reliable protection. It was true that he was a warlock, but using magic to avoid small inconveniences such as a damp shirt sleeve was hardly in the vein of a battle-tested professor such as him. The fae commanded the elements to their will, but depended on them so greatly that their demises were mutually assured. Not so with his kind. And while it would have been more than easy to draw up some sigils to keep the rain at bay – Raph hoped that any stray raindrops hitting him might help bring a little life back into his paled features. As it so happened, his young pupils were the best (some might have argued worst) way to get him back on his feet. Not the only one to arrive after the deigned time, Raphael took a moment to inspect the stables while the rest of his club members trickled in. “Thank you, Miss. Deimante.” He said as he collected his things from her, though not with much more than the briefest of eye contacts for he was rather distracted two other, more unfamiliar, students. There, very near the entrance was a shirtless boy murmuring sweet nothings into one horse’s ear. “Mr. Coen, I presume?” In truth it was less of a presumption than it was an educated guess, the boy’s spritely appearance immediately lending itself to one of the student files he had memorized well before classes even started. The war had allowed Raphael to interact with more Fae than any warlock would ever want to; but even this human seemed more fairy than most fairies. Process of elimination quickly allowed him to surmise that the other new acquaintance, the fellow who looked as sick as Raphael felt, was none other than Charlie Miller; a malakhim, straight out of the labs at that. Had the boy ever even see a horse before today? There was no shortage of variety among the inhabitants of the castle; that was for sure.

                      “There will be no riding today.” Raph began, to mixed sighs of relief (the wind was startling to howl outside and sent many a hoof into nervous pacing) and groans of displeasure (this was, after-all, Equestrial club.) “The equine focus of this club notwithstanding, we are also in an institution of integration. I interpret that to mean that we must and always should strive to know and understand the other inhabitants of this world whether they be two or four legged.” Spotting a perturbed looking gentleman whose rain-soaked arm was starting to form the scales characteristics of a mer-person, the warlock hastily amended “or finned. Thus, today we will dedicate our time to carrying out Equestrian Club's daily chores. Daily – because I have volunteered the us to maintain the stables and the horses for the duration of the semester.”

                      The temptation to jump ship flickered in their uncertain young eyes, but Raphael gave no chance of escape as he dug through the same supply bag he had entrusted Mirai with earlier and pulled out a role sheet. “That means that some of you will be getting up early, cutting your lunches short or giving up a portion of your free time on some days to feed, brush and walk the horses as well as clean the stables. Not to worry – you will be performing these tasks in four and if you work efficiently it will become second nature to you. All these things…” He drawled on, running a hand along the velvety neck of a nearby mare “in the hope that we may repay these lovely creatures for allowing us to ride them.” The groups had begun to form well before Raphael finished speaking. Consciously or not, many same-species individuals seemed to edge towards each other while others stood dumbly in their spot, perhaps unaware of their impending –assigned- groups. “No need to trouble yourselves, I have determined the groups ahead of time according to your class schedules and any secondary needs you might have.” Going down the list, the first four students that had caught Raphael’s eyes “Mr. Coen, Miss. Deimante, Mr. Miller and Miss. Hammond” formed “group two.”

                      When the groups were formed he proceeded to stroll towards the large supply closet at the back of the stables and unlock the doors. Pitchforks, wheelbarrows, buckets, brushes, large rubber boots, brooms, shovels, racks of saddles, bridles, bits, reins and miscellaneous other equipment were organized neatly within. Knowing the exhausting work ahead of them, Raph collected the student’s necessary supplies and handed them to each in turn as he led the groups to the two-to-three horses they would each be tending to that day. “When you have finished you may call me to inspect your work and if you have succeeded you may leave. If you have not, you will continue working until the horse and I are satisfied. Understood? Wonderful. Then, assuming you have no plans to skip dinner service I suggest you get to work.”


xxxxx▪ Where Am I?
xxxxxxxxxxxx▪ Alpha Suite / Stables
xxxxx▪ Who Am I With?
xxxxxxxxxxxx
BlackAndWhiteIsClassic
Deimante

Jortlus
Hammond

Icy Sapphire
Coen

pontmercies
Miller


xxxxx▪ Out Of Character?
xxxxxxxxxxxx▪ Sorry it took me so long!

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                                          Calimero Maciel Valerian is making his way to the dining hall from his dorm with no one but his shadow and feeling far more relaxed.


                                          Calimero didn’t have the heart to tell Hazel that their oh-so-racist Professor didn’t mean well. That he would likely never mean well. That he was very, very aware of how much it was that he didn’t mean well. It was one thing to know the harsh truths, and another to inflict them needlessly upon others. Hazel was sweet the way she was, and being human, didn’t have to worry about Berk’s merciless tormenting. If at least one of them could be blissful, Cal wanted it to be her. He could take it; he was used to it. The years that words like those had hurt were long gone. Now, they just made him set his teeth together. They made him angry.

                                          But it was an anger he could use—the sort that drove him to try harder, to prove himself, to say that he wouldn’t be ignored and wouldn’t be dismissed. He wasn’t just going to be a fad celebrity that died with the flames of war. And Cal knew that he needed to embrace that drive. Without it, he’d be lost. He almost was. Integration wasn’t going to be easy, but it was something he believed was worth fighting for. Berkovic’s attitude wasn’t going to take that away from him.

                                          The class was over soon enough, anyway. Some commotion coming from the field distracted Berk enough to dismiss them without even remembering to assign anyone (meaning here himself and some other poor inhuman sap) to clean the range. Cal couldn’t help but grin as the Professor jogged away from the group of somewhat startled youth, leaving them split between unsettled and relieved. It was clear which one of those camps Cal, himself, factored into.

                                          After bidding Hazel a fond farewell, Calimero hurried back to the main school, out of the rain. He sighed, suppressing the mess of complaints that cropped up in his brain at the way his wet shoes squeaked against the floor. At least he wasn’t the only one. Perhaps the entire student body that wasn’t currently involved in some club or other was joining him in his disgruntled trek through the halls, shivering and groaning and slipping on their own feet as they all made their ways back to the dorms. It was the logical thing to do, after all. Dinner was soon, study hall was after that, and not having any club to attend to, why not at least take the time to get changed?

                                          Having a bit more than an hour left before the clubs would be adjourning, Cal changed his mind by the time he got to his dorm. Instead of changing his clothes, he quickly stripped himself of his wet ones and made his way for the shower. A cascade of fresh, hot water was just what he needed to make up for the rain and the cold. His muscles, still tense from the stress of the day, relaxed under the gentle torrent. Cal sighed, breathing in the steam and resting his head against the tile. He was so ready for the day to be done—though, of course, his stomach wasn’t. Stupid Malakhim metabolism.

                                          The young blond took his time showering and getting dressed. This could, perhaps, be mostly because he liked lounging around in nothing but a towel and staring at himself in the mirror while he combed his hair. His roommate didn’t seem to be around, so why not? Cal couldn’t help but laugh under his breath as he shrugged into a new set of clean, dry clothes. The sulky vampire didn’t really strike him as the type to be interested in many different clubs. But, hey, more power to him. It just gave Cal a bit more private time.

                                          But, looking at the clock, it seemed that it wasn’t much longer before the clubs would be getting out. It would be better to leave right away before the hunger pains really started to set in, he figured. That way, he could beat the mad rush to fill a tray. Setting out, Cal didn’t get very far before a group of girls giggled at him in the hallway and he shot them a wink that sent them scurrying.

                                          Still got it, he thought, chuckling to himself under his breath as he continued on toward the dining hall. Not that the young man had thought anything to the contrary. Maybe the day still had a chance to turn itself around. And why shouldn’t it? If anything was going to get him down, Cal didn’t want it to be Berkovic. That man didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing that he had an effect on Cal’s demeanor.




    ((ooc: a reeeaaaally boring post, sorry. Just Cal being Cal during his free period. He'll do something more substantial when clubs let out and everyone starts getting together in the dining hall!))

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                                      Vittoria Eudoxia Lane is currently storming through the halls with her beautiful self and harnessing her utter hatred for everyone and everything.


                                      Vittoria didn’t waste any time. The second that they were dismissed, she was hell-bent on getting out of the shooting range and as far away as possible. This was for two reasons. One, she simply didn’t want to be there. That was obvious, especially when one considered the migraine that had set in from the cacophony of gunshots. In all honesty, Vittoria was surprised she hadn’t gone deaf. Alright, surprised was a bad word to use. It was hard to surprise a centuries-old vampire. Nonetheless, her ears had been ringing. It hadn’t been fun. The other reason was also obvious, if slightly less so. That hack of a professor. He knew full well she was at a disadvantage in that scenario, likely planned it to enjoy himself at her suffering.

                                      She had kept her composure, of course; Vittoria wouldn’t stand for some mere bloodsack see her cringe. Not in his inconsequential blip of a lifetime. Nonetheless his sneering at her imperfect form do to his own pressures on her made it easy to imagine herself twisting his head all the way around on his shoulders before popping it off like the cork to a fine wine. And it was far, far too tempting to give into that urge. Or at least the urge to empty her gun into his reeking human body.

                                      Neither of these would have been received all too well, she was sure. Vittoria didn’t trust herself not to do it. By the time he was running off down the field, she was practically hissing in her unending displeasure. Part of her wondered, as she stomped through the rain and emerged back into the school soaked through but hardly phased (she could pull off anything, even the drenched look), if she should have tried to keep up appearance. Maybe shoot someone a cute little smile now and again, blow a kiss to some shedim stud. The rest of her didn’t care enough. She was content to glower her way through the halls, and even drove a small amount of pleasure watching students scurry out of her path when she narrowed her eyes at them as she passed.

                                      Vittoria could have laughed, if her head wasn’t pounding so fiercely. Yes, flee. Know when to make way for your superiors.

                                      Holding her head high, Vittoria whipped her wet hair over her shoulders as her expensive shoes slammed down against the flooring. She was an earthquake that rocked the halls of Aevum on her way to her dorm—but as stunning as she was ferocious, a destructive force that demanded to be adored and recognized just as loudly as she demanded to be avoided. The dark-haired vampires had no destination; the cold that seeped through her clothing was hardly icier than that of her skin, and she wouldn’t succumb to the urge to change for something as trivial as nature.

                                      There was time before she had any pressing need to be anywhere. As far as she was concerned, her day was finished. Vittoria had no clubs to attend that day, the only food that could nourish her in the dining hall were supplied by her fellow students and ergo off limits, her homework was embarrassingly lacking challenge, and lights out was a complete and utter joke. A vampire turning out the lights and going to bed—could you imagine? The audacity was incredible; she would never understand, nor did she want to understand, the logic.

                                      "Yes, please," she snapped to herself, the words coming out in a harsh whisper from between her bared fangs, "I would like a grating headache each and every day. Oh, what's that? It isn't sunny today? Well, I wouldn't want to go a single millisecond without being mind-numbingly uncomfortable. Why not enroll me in a class of unwashed amateurs learning to hold a firearm? That would solve the problem quite handily." Vittoria pinched the bridge of her nose between her slender, manicured fingers.

                                      The year couldn't be over fast enough.



((ooc: SUPER sorry that I ended up posting this a day late; I was gone all day yesterday and I hadn't managed to finish it up before the night was over on Friday. Just like Cal, Vittoria's basically just killing time. If anyone else is just kind of lounging around and wants to run into either of them that's totally okay with me!))

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♬ ♪xx ↪ Ӎ i r a i xƉ e i m a n t e↩ xx♪ ♬

Where I am: English.xxxWho I'm with: Horses.
What I'm wearing: xxxxHow I'm feeling: Horses.

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Mirai had to adopt a rather pleasant face as the teacher came up to her, lips tugging into a somewhat forced smile as he reminded her that yes, in fact, Equestrian club was still happening. Joy. She took in a slow breath through her teeth, not really having a choice as the professor handed off to her a large sack of what she assumed were horse supplies, her nose turning up slightly as she held it down in front of her with both arms. It stunk, kind of, like horses. She didn’t like the smell of animals that much. As she followed this professor towards the horse stables, her mind began to wander, thinking about the homework she’d have that night, exactly what had gone on across the field that she heard all the commotion about... if she’s get reported as being speciesist for hanging a crucifix and wolfsbane over her door. Yeah, she’d done her research. It was probably all bullshit, but hey. She’d done her research.

As she approached the equine stables with the teacher, they walked in on a real special snowflake. Crooning to the horse like he was about to go down on it, Mirai cleared her throat rather obviously, her eyes betraying a sense of incredible judgement. She rolled her eyes and dropped the equipment she was holding into the professor’s hands, quickly wiping off her dusty palms on the base of her shirt and on her pants, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Maybe we should leave.” She muttered. “Let him have a room with his girlfriend. Remember, kids. Use a condom.” She continued, waving her hands in the air once before stepping further into the stables and staring at the creature, frowning slightly as she rather openly walked up to a few, examining their eyes kind of curiously. She didn’t touch any of them, just stared at their face.

Mirai’s face dropped from her playful (as much as a verbal jab to the gut could be playful) demeanour and quickly became something much more annoyed, an open groan slipping from her. Other kids may not have had the guts to do so, but she did-her hands lifting and dropping in a ‘fed-up’ motion. “Great. We have to take care of them now, too.” She said to herself under her breath, a half-hearted ‘fine, yes sir, okay, whatever’ with everyone’s affirmations. Did she want to give up her own precious time to take care of these animals? Not particularly. As much as she hated to say it, she was planning on learning how to ride the things and then having less important people clean up after them afterward.

Wasn’t her job. This was the job for some burly, forest-born werewolf boy who could barely speak English right and was so dull that the scent of horse s**t reminded him of home. As her group was called out, her eyes trailed around the place, falling on each of her team members with a venomous glare before drawing back to the professor. Well. At least forced social interaction wasn’t a prominent feature of this male’s club curriculum, so she could get her s**t done without talking to all of the other horse-heads in the club about how great and majestic the animals were. These horses weren’t ******** majestic. They shat bigger shits than humans did, couldn’t talk, and we used them to ride around on like some sort of vehicle. Exactly where was the majesty in that? She didn’t see the pleasure in galloping through the breeze, leaves getting stuck in her hair and dirt probably clogging her pores.

One moment you were calling horses majestic, the next one you were calling for werewolves to embrace their other form. Poor painters from the country were painting majestic portraits of snowy and desert werewolves with crude weaponry, or touching hands with their human forms with serene looks on their faces. Vampires were coddled, told by people that didn’t mean it that they thought their fangs made them look handsome.

Animals were ******** animals, and that was that.

“Whatever.” She muttered as the professor left, picking up one of the brushes. Her nails plucked at little clumps of fur in the bristles, brushing some dirt off of the strap before she placed her hand into it, sighing bitterly as she began to walk towards the stables.

That’s when she saw why they had to use shovels as well.

[********] She groaned.

It was going to be a long night.




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