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As the activity of the hour was made evident, Howl leaned his cheek slightly upon the edge of his hand. His day had been mediocre at best so far.

In the first classes of the day, he had to deal with the small line which had been posted in The Hillworth Sound. Most certainly, the greeting had been appreciated from the editor, but the request of not calling him the new "school hot chick" seemed to have the opposite effect. Undignified wolf whistles and inappropriate questions had been haunting him all morning long. The horrible excuse for food from lunch didn't help. The grease had practically seeped out of the cardboard container holding the cafeteria's version of "cheese pizza." Howl had a rather delicate stomach when it came to things like grease. He could only down about half of the meal before calling it quits on the unhealthy food. He could still hear echoes of "He eats just like a girl" and "Are you a bird, or a man?" in his mind.

The feminine lad's eyes drifted to Mr. Killingworth. Franz had warned him about the coach. All about contact sports and quick to make anyone's life a living hell. He had noticed a disgusted look that had been blatantly directed at him from the ruffian. This hour is going to last an awful long time he mentally sighed.

The class was divided into two teams. After the general rules were explained (shoulder hit and below meant you were out, if hit above, the thrower was out, catch the ball and the thrower is out, allowance of deflecting a ball with another ball), the young men went to their respective sides. No command was needed, for a sharp blow on Mr. Killingworth's whistle signaled the game had begun.

Howl casually just brushed his long hair out of his sights, uttering delicately with a hint of sarcasm "This looks as if it will be an entertaining game."

The delicate lad could have grabbed a ball. He really could have. However, the competition to getting one wasn't worth it. Do such would have easily tussled up his hair, and probably gotten some dirt on his baggy shirt. These tacky P.E. uniforms are way too big for someone of my stature he noted.

Of course, more heckling ensued, which Howl had expected. Rather than cause any sort of waves with such pointless jeering, he merely meandered towards the back where a boy with tape over his glasses was cowering. When he was halfway to the boy, a ball swooped in his general direction. Had he perhaps more skill, he may have tried catching the ball. However, Howl couldn't risk getting his fingers dirty with the filth from the red rubber orbs. So instead, he stopped in place and leaned back slightly to avoid getting hit. Oh fencing, the skills you taught were so under appreciated.

Such a simple dodge probably went unnoticed, but once the ball was past, Howl resumed his stride to where the glasses boy was. In a rather polite tone, he approached the other lad: "Excuse me. The ruffians on this court suggested that you had a ball for me?" He couldn't help making a casual observation, since it didn't seem like the boy would be all that willing to give up the ball. Which, was no skin off Howl's back.

"Were they speaking the truth?"

It seemed as if this poor lad was not enjoying himself. Howl mentally put himself in the other boy's place, and decided that he also would not like such attention. He watched carefully and noted when the ball was no longer in the poor lad's hands.

"Indeed..." he stated quite plainly, glancing down to the boy's feet and taking note of which ball seemed the cleanest. He leaned down and picked up the ball, all in one elegant motion. Without another word, Howl positioned himself right in front of the poor tortured soul and resumed where the other had left off. Clutching onto the ball, he punted the other rubber orbs away. Howl's calling might not have been contact sports, but at the moment, it just seemed like a game of accuracy. And dodging. Two things which any Fencer should have a basic grasp of.

"Alas, it is a sad day when a team sport becomes a barrage of individual needs for boosting their egos by picking on others..."

With a momentary pause in red rubber flying all over the place, Howl casually glanced to the other boy with a kind smile. "I suspected such would be true when I transferred here. Not just in this particular class, but in all places at this institution."

That rare pause had come and gone quite quickly, and soon enough the red rubber was zipping back in their direction. It was becoming extremely evident that this ball he had been using was getting quite filthy, and the effeminate boy couldn't help but feel his skin crawl upon such a discovery.

This game had grown a bit redundant, seeing as all that seemed to really be happening was a free-for-all snowball fight, but with rules. It seemed like it would be much easier if he just got "out," rather than continue this meaningless task.

"Perhaps I should just let myself get out and be done with this... ummm..." Howl's mouth closed thoughtfully as he bounced the ball he was holding at another boy.

"So you throw like a girl too?!" someone shouted from the opposite team.

Once again, Howl paid the teasing lads no mind as he directed his comment towards his glasses adorned comrade. "...I'm quite sorry, but I don't believe I have caught your name, friend."

He listened to the newly introduced Simon's advice. This lad had a point about Killingworth. The coach already had something against his looks, and a penalty sounded like it would cause even more problems. Maybe such a penalty would prevent a Fencing team from being banded together at this sad excuse for a school.

"...Most certainly would not make the best impression, now would that?" the long haired lad mused aloud. He once more took a rather casual posture, bringing his hand up to his mouth in thought again. Such a simple action almost seemed like waving a red flag at the other team, for suddenly a decent portion of the balls being thrown were now being directed at Howl.

"It is a pleasure, Simon. I am Howl. Howl Wickham."

If he hadn't been in a slightly more trying moment, he might have given a hand shake, just out of sheer manners. Unfortunately, a barrage of red rubber was hurtling in his direction.

"...Oh bollucks..." Instead of relying on a shield, the thin figure began to dodge the balls. Where as Howl was usually quite graceful, his actions didn't seem as liquid. In fact, they were rather jerky, as if he was reacting to each ball individually rather than as a group.

Even though most of Howl's attention seemed to be going into his movement, it would seem his ears were picking up on the conversation which Simon was offering. A ball swished past his hair, causing it to flutter up a bit. It would take at least 8 more balls rushing past before Howl attempted to reply.

"Alas, I doubt that..."

A ball rushed towards his legs, but he jerked his body back out of the way.

"...Killingworth would be..."

Another went for his shoulder, but he pulled his shoulder back until the ball could no longer hit.

"...the one to undo me."

Speaking of Killingworth, his whistle seemed to screech quite frequently, meaning that students were getting out. It seemed as if the action was finally starting to slow down. There were about 7 students left on the opposite team, and only 5 total on their own team (including themselves).

With the slowing action, Howl was able to gather his thoughts a little more readily. "I had no plans on accessing the quality of the school and the brethren merely upon the first day's experiences. However, I have no plans to praise it unnecessarily." Once more, his posture seemed to straighten up, as if he was encouraging the boys to aim for himself again.

As a casual question, Howl couldn't help but point out "...I wonder which one of us they will focus on first?"

"I ponder if they realize that their inability to throw people out is also attributing to our possible loss of the game?" His musing may have come across as rude, but he could have phrased it much harsher. Where as Simon seemed to submit gracelessly to the harassment, the more feminine looking of the two merely just stood there. If he grabbed a ball, his hands would get filthy, and it wasn't something he considered worthwhile. If throwing was one of Howl's strong suits, he might have been able to help out more. Yet, dodging and blocking were his strong suits, not throwing.

The students on the other team seemed to have congregated together, plotting out what order of students they'd start to pick out. They would peer out of the huddle and glare in a near bloodthirsty way at each of their opponents.

As Simon seemed to dread the outcome aloud, Howl calmly thought the possibilities out.

They could win. Which would mean they'd maybe get 1 point in their favor, but from what had been mentioned before, Killingworth wouldn't be so readily "bought off" by basic physical achievements in his class. Would it even be worth his while to strain himself and possibly get dirty from all of this?

They could lose. Simon had hinted that there would be a "consolation prize," which Howl had loosely translated to being a "punishment" for the losing team. Once again, Howl could get out and then take whatever punishment it was. However, the punishment could have been even more barbaric than this silly little dodge ball game. Howl could get sweaty, or dirty, or possibly the dreaded combination of both.

Clearly, Howl was not going to be able to win in either situation. He could not even figure out which outcome would be more beneficial to his own well being.

"...Alas, it would seem whatever will be will be..." he sighed, still not even knowing which actions he'd take.