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For his part, Mathiaz wasn't really interested in reading anything and didn't catch what the assignment was either. He just kept on doodling for a few minutes, then let his pen wander off the notebook onto the desk itself. He knew that he shouldn't be doing that, but ... this was -boring-. If he got in trouble, at least it would be something interesting.

Grave's straight posture slowly began to curl in towards the book as he leafed through the pages reading quickly and takin in every word. Eventually he was propped up with one elbow stretched out on the desk, his hand curled into his hair, the other arm propping up the book and his face merely inches aware from the page, eyes speeding across the parchment with lightning speed. He made it through chapter one, and as he began chapter two he grew less and less aware of the noises of the class aronud hm. The shuffle of idle feet drifted away, the sonud of parchment being flipped faded and even the soft whispers between students was loston his ears. By the end of chapter two, Grave was so involved with the book that he forgot he sat in a classroom. By the first third of chapter three he could taste the poison in the air of Lerajes' long-lost world, hear the voices as the Archer bargained his soul, taste the blood on his tongue from the sacrifices that Lerajes made...
Grave didn't notice when Dameron began to wander slowly up the aisles. Grave didn't notice when a chime rang out over the classroom - and presumably the school - signalling the end of class. Grave didn't notice as fellow students began to pack up their things, return their possessions to their Techno-rings, file from the class.
Grave sat there, oblivious and continued reading, burning through the pages of fanciful history and well-worded prose.
Dameron, nose still in his own tome, left the class with one last comment to the remaining students. "Class dismissed." The professor gracefully manouvered his way through a throng of squealing girls and blushing boys and out into the hall, looking mostly like a cloud floating above a sea of students. Grave missed all this, and finally finished the last page of chapter three.

Grave finished the last page of chapter three and looked up, a little dazed. The class was nearly empty now, and Grave didn't know which class he was supposed to be in next. He'd gotten so carried away with the adventures of Lerajes and his pacts with Belial that he hadn't noticed the classroom empty. He wanted to head back to his room and grab his own supplies before the next class started, and now he'd gone and messed up again. Grave snapped the book shut and started to rise when the Mathiaz boy, the one that had entered late and ignored his classwork, approached.
"Just what's so interesting about that, anyway?" the Sanguine asked. The tone in his voice was a little unkind and seemed to be pushing Grave, testing his limits or his patience. Grave paused and met the boy's bright golden eyes. There was a degree of fearlessness in the Sanguine's eyes that Grave didn't care for. Grave drew his spine up straight and ran a hand over the worn cover of the book.
"It tells a compelling story of how a man gambled his soul for power. You didn't even try to read it, did you?"Grave asked coldly, more a rhetorical question than anything. He stared at the boy for a quiet moment, to show that he wasn't intimidated and put the spare quill and inkwell back into their spot in the pew shelf.

Grave picked up the book with the intention of reading more in his spare time before returning it to the classroom and turned towards the aisle. Grave told himself: don't answer, don't provoke him, don't give him anything, no reaction, no...
But the disrespect, the ignorance, the....nerve to insult this hallowed hall of learning! Grave's temper rose like hot air rising. His blue eyes seemed to flicker a darker shade of blue, becoming nearly slate-grey and ice cold.
"And if all the other classes here are as 'boring', you'll do just what exactly?" Grave retorted, his voice low and sharp. "Break out? Feed yourself to a Mara?" Grave fixed the taller boy with a sharp look and pushed past him to the aisle. As he passed, Grave hissed under his breath. "Good riddence." and then the Melancholy began to walk up the aisle and towards the door. Where did these thoughts come from? And this knowledge? It seemed to be filling his head with every passing moment, as if he had always known these simple facts, these basic rules, the way this world worked...

As grave walked to the door of the class he sensed the boy was right behind him. Once he was out in the hall, he found the nearest student - a Choleric girl - and tapped her elbow. "Excuse me," Grave asked politely. "Do you know which class is next for the students that just left Dameron's Literature class?" The girl smiled pleasantly.
"You're new aren't you? It's always a little confusing on te first day. You'll get used to it soon." The girl glanced down the hall, apparently making some sort of assenssment. "It looks like you've got Kortus' class next. You'd better hurry!" The girl smiled and pointed and then she hurried off down the hall with a few friends to her own class. Grave caught sight of a clock on the wall and scurried off down the hall towards his room. After only a few steps he realized to his annoyance that Mathiaz was following him. I don't have time for this... Grave grumbled to himself. He reached his dorm room and hurried in, picking up his satchel and placing the borrowed copy of The War of Lerajes on his bedcovers.

Grave emerged from his dorm room in time to face the Sanguine's latest question. He slide his dorm door shut with a sharp clack of wood-on-wood. He met the Sanguine's gaze and allowed a fragment of his frown to show through on his slightly-furrowed brow.
"My name is Grave." Grave replied. "And now I'm heading to class, which you loathe...so run along." Grave added coldly, and wove around the other boy and rejoined the throng in the hall. There were fewer students milling now, clearly most had already arrived where they needed to go. Grave peered aronud the moving bodies of students and tried to catch sight of the plaques fastened to the walls near each door.
'Orrys - Physical Education' No...
'Paxar - Sciences' Not that room either...
Aha! 'Kortus - Crafting' There we are.
Grave bee-lined for the room.

Grave made it inside the door and was met by an intense wave of heat.
Unlike the quiet and somewhat dusty nature of the Literature class, Kortus' classroom was dark and crowded and there were no rows of pews at all. Grave squinted his eyes to try and find somewhere to sit. There were a few tall stools lined up against the walls of the classroom, but too many students stood between him and those stools, and it seemed that most of the students weren't interested in using them but were crowding tightly around the center of the room.
Grave pressed himself up onto his tip-toes but it yielded no results. He moved further into the room, trying hard to ignore Mathiaz' presence. But no matter how hard he tried, he was painfully aware of the boy's heat, always at his elbow, over his shoulder, at his side. Grave's cheek flushed a slightly darker hue in both frustration and embarrasment and he was eternally grateful for the poor reddish lighting of the room.
Sure enough, the students were gathered in a circle around the middle of the room, and were all staring intently at something on the floor that was generating the red glow. Grave couldn't get a good look at it, but it seemed to be some sort of machine, and every now and then he heard it make a sharp, metallic, clicking noise.
What in the world...?