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Erahn glared at the stupid book, bored as hell. He flipped its cover over, just to check.

History of the plane

The little boy made the sort of face mothers warn their children will get stuck if they do it too much. He hated history. He hated all the boring stuff his grandmother made him learn alongside music.

He looked away from his text and looked around the library. He liked that at least, the place where everybody was forced to be quiet. He liked it especially when someone was yelled at for talking – seeing that happen made him smile a mean little smile.

If only it was like this all the time.

Except, however, he was here with his teacher and his class to read up on history. He glared at all the stupid little kids and his dumb teacher with his ugly chipped horn. They weren't looking at him.

With a smug smirk, he slipped out of his chair and, ducking low beneath the table's level, he slipped away from the class.

To oblivion with history. Era was too good for history. He'd be a great musician one day and great musicians didn't need silly things like history, just music and art.

As he managed to get himself out of view, the boy stretched, pleased. No more history – it was time to find the fun aisles.

Except... he looked around him. Where were the fun aisles? What were the fun aisles? Where even was he in the library? Quietly, he tiptoed to where he hoped the front desk was – maybe the librarian could help.

In doing so, he passed, 'stealthily', by a certain young dovaa girl at a window...

It happened, just then, that what was apparently a walking pile of books stepped right out in front of Erahn, who noticed – as he dodged out of the way – that it was actually a person carrying more books than any person ought to carry.

In his haste to dodge the sudden danger, Erahn found himself, with a gasp that could have been a yelp in another mouth, careening into another dovaa, toppling over and inadvertently dropping his pen, his notepad, his chalk, and his slate – his means and backup means of speaking. Speaking was important.

Frantically, he scurried to try to retrieve them before his teacher noticed his absence and dragged him back to the class by – most likely – his ear or his horns, not a pleasant experience...

Erahn gave her a dour look as he scrambled for his things. Managing his notebook, and unable to not produce a retort, he quickly scribbled out:

”You watch it”

It wasn't his neatest writing, but Era honestly didn't care. He was in the right, he had been watching out. He'd dodged the person with the books. It was her fault for not dodging him in turn!

He set the notebook down and scrambled for his other things, collecting them into a suitable pile. Finally, his hand paused at the edge of his slate. Slowly, visibly unhappily, he looked up at the girl, snatching it out from beneath her as she stood up. His nose wrinkled in a petulantly unpleasant way. He picked up a piece of broken chalk and scribbled awkwardly on it.

”Its broken

He stuffed the rest of the broken chalk bits into a box.

”You broke my slate.” he wrote, drawing an obvious arrow to the break – a serious one, diagonal and crooked along the length. It only held together because of the backing and, having much experience with such things, Era knew it would not last long. His chalk, broken as well, crumbled as he tried to write with it.

”You owe me a new slate, lady.” he wrote. He grimaced at his nub of a chalk, ”And a new box of chalks.”

As for his bag... He had one, he'd just... Well, he'd forgotten it. At the class. He wasn't going back for it, not now. The stupid girl could just deal with it. It wasn't as though he had that much to carry. She was the dangerous one, with her massive bag. She could hit someone on the head with that thing!

He crossed his arms and stared at her, defiant, imperious, and expectant. He was in the right.

Oh... she was infuriating. Wild heathen?! He would show her heathen!

Erahn threw his nub of chalk at her, aiming for her head, right between her curving horns before gathering up the rest of his things, including the broken items, getting to his feet, and chasing after her – a little slower than he would have liked.

He followed her to the exit, an escape from the class forever... or at least the day. The moment he was in the open air, he broke into a slightly riskier run, trying to catch up with her, and he nearly managed it. He made a grab for her sleeve with his free hand, his face tense with concentration and anger.

She was not getting away so easily.

Erahn shoved the slate awkardly at her, unable to write on it because his hands were full. She knew exactly what his problem was, and it only became clearer when the thin layer of wood holding it together snapped and he was left with, roughly, half a board. He glowered up at her accusingly, managing – barely – to keep a hold of her sleeve. She owed him. Now.

It had been made just fine! It wouldn't have broken if she hadn't slammed into him with her fat cow body! But of course, without his chalk, he couldn't tell her so, only brandish its remains at her again. She owed him a new board, and if she didn't, he'd tell on her.

He refused to let go of her sleeve. Instead, he tugged back on it extra hard, pulling her towards him as best he could. Stupid cow! She would listen to him, and she would buy him a new board or... or else he'd hit her!

“Pph!” Erahn exclaimed as he was pulled in turn to her, his things unbalancing and clattering around him again. She was much bigger than him, and stronger. And she could shout for an adult. He puffed his face up in powerless anger, and then shoved her away rudely. He didn't want to be caught playing hooky by the grownups – he wanted to go play music, not get in trouble and have to do extra homework and reading and boring crap. He gave her his most angry glower and then went back to picking up his things, which she'd made him drop. Again. Fat cow. he thought angrily, Fat cow-hog. He shot her dirty looks as he gathered his now even more broken things. He'd remember her, oh he would remember her. And this wasn't over yet. Just you wait, you poopy fat cow-hog! he thought, frustrated that he could not actually say the ever growing cathartic chain of insults, I'll get you back!