Quixos watched as Mr. Fumi and Natalie departed. If anything he was glad of it, for he wasn't certain how much longer he'd of been able to restrain himself in their presence, for it stunk of the arts only practiced in shadowed circles and hushed tones. As they pulled out of view he dropped his head, sighing with a deep, melancholic resignation. He looked at him self inwardly, aware of a deep struggle which had everything and nothing to do with Nullis. He hadn't felt this frustrated in a long time, not since he was first forced to come to terms with what he had become. Quixos pulled one hand from his hoodie pocket and held it up to the sun. In this light he could see through the synthetic skin, he could see past the blue veins and very faintly, he could see the silver fluid writhing just beneath the surface. A grimace quickly snapped across his face, brows furrowed in rage. He stepped to the closest car with mechanical, perfectly distanced strides, still watching his hand. Once he stood before the bonnet he balled it and with incandescent fury smashed it down against the hood. It buckled and folded under the pressure, wrapping around his hand as though it were paper. Standing for a moment, he simply contemplated what he was capable of. "What the hell am I anymore..." Barely above a whisper, the words passed his lips. And with that uttered sentence, he disabled both his attitude and emotion processors.
Quixos walked through the academy corridors, bearing toward the science block. His eyes were completely glazed over, devoid of life. If it wasn't for his movement's he could of easily been mistaken for a corpse in the first throws of rigor mortis. Save for a few estranged glances in his direction the trip to his class was without event, and he now stood at the door. He pushed on in, taking a space on the front desk at the side of Love not currently occupied (Basically, the front of the desk if you three are sat at the back). Placing his elbows on the table he interlocked his fingers, perfectly aware of the female before him, she was the one from yesterady. He twisted his neck at a perfect angle, the movement, robotic. He blinked once, capturing an image of what appeared to be a primitive form of armour, then he turned to the female, blinked once more, and returned his gaze to the front of the class. "You're different. I know. I can smell it." The words were completely devoid of emotion, and uttered like it was the most casual sentence on the planet.
