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Israfel had few goals in life. One was to become a great Siren like his mother and terrorize humans on the waterways. Another was to actually be able to sing like a siren was supposed to. And a final life goal was to look good all the time. Sadly, the final goal was one that he constantly had to maintain and felt that if someone even touched him they had no idea just how long he would have to spend to fix everything.

And if you were such a fashionable young monster, (like Israfel saw himself as) attending a school full of even more terrible terrors, you knew that it would be a battle. For a fashionable young siren such as the magnificent Israfel, it was a war.

As class got out for the day, Israfel was doing his best to keep the rose in his hair from falling to far to the side. The halls were slightly empty. He'd spent a good portion after the final bell making sure his clothes were still without slime. So while paying full attention to the rose in his hair, (which was so in season this fall, as the frightening fashionables claimed), the blue haired boy failed to notice another being sharing the hallway. A ghost minding his own business.

That is, until Israfel walked right through him. The siren stopped mid step. Then, he gave a very girlish scream. "OH LANTERNS! Gross! Ghost...wisps! Ugh! I bet you got slime on me you...you...AUGH~" Israfel freaked out to be put mildly. He was frantically searching for possible ectoplasm splotches. Even if none existed. His hair was a mess now from the sire's flailing and melodramatics, which of course, would only cause more drama. It was hard to be so fashionable.

After his cries of distress began to die down, and Israfel could asses the damage done, (his hair was a mess now! His feathers were all ruffled! By the grim, it would take him HOURS to get it fixed.) His blue eyes narrowed at the tiny gray ghost. It was hideous. In an overly big sweatshirt, in nothing but monotone colors and it had the most boring look about it.
The thing obviously has no taste. Or class. Walking through him like that. It was all that little gray wisp's fault Israfel was all ruffled feathers and fluff!

"Ugh, you look bland, boring, and absolutely gray. Just..oh lanterns is that a hoodie?" Israfel backed away a good foot. Like somehow a ghostly hoodie was more offending then anything else. "Ew! Disgusting, not only do you ghosts leave ectoplasm wherever, whenever you like but you're about as fashionable as a ghoul. Besides I can feel your...ghostyness! It's creepy. It's just. Ew~ I bet you drip. I know some of your kind do. Nasty dripping ghost slimes. All over my shoes." Israfel looked at his shoes to be sure. Thank the fright, no slime.

"...." He was clean..but his hair was a mess and his feathers positively at ends! All because the ghost hadn't moved as to not be in his way. "Watch where you're floating next time Grey. Ugh, I thought I might have gotten your gross ectoplasm on me." Israfel sneered, his distaste poorly hidden. Not hidden at all really. "A siren such as myself can't afford to be anything but stunning. But you wouldn't know a thing about that. What with that- that- Hoodie." That hoodie was sinful, and not the good kind.

Israfel didn't liked to be mocked. In any way shape or form. He loathed mockery. He dreaded criticism. He hated sarcasm. So, it would only come to pass that Israfel didn't like Figg.
At all.
"I'm sorry, it's just kind of hard to see something so pathetic and bland." Israfel gave his shoulder a final dusting. Not that any dust was present. It was just something cool to do. Cool and fashionable. Much like himself, (so he liked to think). "Well." The blue eyed gaze of Israfel ran up and down the tiny ghost, inspecting more thoroughly. "Figg." The siren's voice was clipped. "At least a blue jay has color and doesn't sound like dead plants when it moves. Oh pardon." A chittering laugh. A bird like laugh. A laugh that was pure annoyance. "This much be your FEAR. To be a completely rude little wisp of a ghost. Ha! Well you'll certainly scare some humans with the fact you're so utterly boring. If it's any consolation." The siren sighed, feeling a tad better. "At least we sirens have useful abilities."

It was all mutual. The hate that is. Israfel had made up his mind about this...Figg. He was clearly something to be despised. And nothing, not even a day's trip to the Maul, would make the siren willingly share time with what he now could only think of as 'a rotting plant ghost type thing'.
The colors comment was so not cool in Israfel's book. "I will have you know this particular shade is VERY in style right now, and is all the rage in the upper crust of Scare Societies. Not that someone like you would know." Israfel only knew due to his religious reading of the weekly fashion magazine. The flapping of overly long sleves at his face got an hand flapping right back. Girlish slaps of 'cooties' almost. Very childish. "And shall I sing then Figg? Shall I sing you the song of my people?"

If it was FEAR fight the little gray ectoplasmic jerk wanted it was a FEAR fight he would get! Even if his singing was so bad, at best it would show Figg just how bad 'bad' could be.

Israfel took great offense to that. He lived off of fashion gurus and trends. It was his love. Next only to himself. "Hardly! Fashion trends allow me to be on top of style, always look good and so totally score." Blatant lying. Israfel couldn't score in skellyball let alone with another creature. Gendered or not. "And I'm not the dumb one! I got the implication! But-uh. JUST."

The Siren let out a cry that was a mix of a frustrated wail and a screech. "Hardly you ectoplasmic emo! I'm a siren, I would lead you to death!" He frowned. "Or something close to it in your particular case. And as for my gender..." Wings fluffed out, making a show. "Guess." Not that there was a wrong answer, but, Israfel was just going to say Figg was wrong.

Because he could.