Welcome to Gaia! ::

Babylon perched on the roof of the science building and surveyed the results of his work. It may have been true that this wasn't the most admirable use for his knightly powers, but he considered himself an artist at heart. A good artist could use any supplies he had available to him, and in Babylon's case that meant he'd come down with a case of superpowers.

In his waking life, Finn Derouen was still taking credit for the displays of Dadaism that popped up all over campus, but no one was quite sure how he was doing it. Just how had he gotten the chick-fil-a cow onto the roof, or managed to stack the picnic tables into a pyramid with a McDonalds logo flag planted firmly at the top? As usual there were rumors that He'd gotten help, and while in the past this had been almost universally true... None of the usual suspects knew how Finn had achieved his recent bout of artistic proliferation.

"I think this may just be my masterpiece," Babylon declared to the night air. He had a general tendency to say this about every completed piece, but tonight he suspected he might just mean it.

After all, it took a lot of dedication to drag an entire bankrupt department store's worth of mannequins onto the quad and arrange them like spectators at a phantom political rally. There was a Ronald McDonald statue at the middle of it all and Babylon couldn't tell you in court what his exact intent with this project was...

Just that he was very proud of himself for pulling it off.

Steal it? Did he steal Ronald McDonald? As an artist, Babylon felt personally affronted on behalf of his work. "No way," he insisted, gesturing coolly as he rose from his perch. "The Mickey-D's on Water Street redecorated. I come by all my materials honestly."

Babylon took an unsteady leap to the ground, landing close to Valhalla. Composing himself, the Page gestured grandly to the rows upon rows of mannequins that lined the Quad. "They're all refugees," he said proudly. Of course he knew he couldn't save the mannequins from the dump forever, but at least they were getting one last day in the limelight! It felt like a good deed, and wouldn't everyone be so impressed in the morning?

Babylon gave Valhalla a sour look. "I take it you're not a fan," he drawled, and coughed something that sounded suspiciously like Philistine. "Which is a pity, because I'm considered an artistic genius in some circles."

He did not mention that those circles were mostly inside his head: it didn't seem important. Something told him that Valhalla probably couldn't more and organize all these mannequins in twice the time it had taken Babylon, although that might have once again been his pride talking.

"It doesn't have to have a point," replied Babylon defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. Valhalla was nearly half a foot taller than him, and he'd almost never felt such a strong need to prove himself as he did right now. "It's Dada." Forget abstraction and surrealism. Dada could excuse anything, even lack of talent (Although Finn personally felt his enthusiasm and conceptual thinking translated to roughly the same thing as talent).

He strolled down one of the neatly organized rows, trailing his fingers gently along the line of naked plastic abdomens. Some of them were headless. Some were armless. It would really suck if they all came to life and attacked him, but that seemed unlikely. He'd dragged them all over here himself and had made sure they were fully inanimate.

Anyways, he was pretty sure that was the plot of an episode of Doctor Who. Surely that had to make it unlikely.

Babylon moseyed back over to Valhalla and looked pointedly up at the Jupiter page.he would kill for a pair of elevator shoes right now, but barring that he'd settle for the world's most non-threatening weapon and a sour expression. "I was going to thank you for your help at camp," he said deliberately, "But that was before you mocked my art."

Babylon was short and he knew it. That didn't give Valhalla any right to rub it in, though! The page puffed himself up to his absolutely maximum height, which still didn't bring him anywhere close to eye-level with the other boy, and crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. "Hey numbskull," he said, "I'm nineteen."

To Valhalla's credit, he was certainly acting his shoe size instead of his age. Babylon circled the taller page carefully. "I have a few bets on who you are under your magic," he frowned. "Now that I think about it - no fun, baseball, always act like you've got a tremendous stick up your a**..." Not that he was going to speak his thoughts out loud. At least, not yet.

"Anyways," Babylon continued, tapping his glowstick against his hip in frustration. "Who do you think you are? The fun police? Did you come over here specifically to ruin my evening? Jesus Christ, even Zirconia wasn't this bad!"

It was true. Zirconia may have made him drop his cow off the roof but at least she'd let him finish his project. She might have expressed derision of the distraction his work posed, but at least she hadn't stood in his way! Valhalla was suggesting he clean it up before the student body and administration even got a good look at it - how intolerable!

Babylon's eyes went wide. So the cat got around! "Sure, I know Zirconia," he said, trying to shrug it off nonchalantly. Well, maybe that was one thing they had in common - they both thought Zirconia was pretty cool. "She caught me putting a Chick-Fil-A cow on the roof. Took it pretty well, all things considered."

Well, she'd accused him of a lot of things, but in the end he'd come away from it thinking she was awesome. Valhalla, on the other hand, was just a prat. "You know she shoots lasers from her head?" he asked. Which was to say she'd claimed to shoot lasers from her head. Babylon hadn't seen it in action, but she'd claimed to be able to turn into a catgirl and that had been true so he was willing to give her the lasers on benefit of the doubt.

"I was nothing but polite and gentlemanly to her," Babylon declared. The jury was out on whether this was true or not. "Zirconia was actually a bit of a b***h to me," he continued, "But not too bad."

He surveyed the rows of mannequins. "And it's not trash!" Babylon objected. "I'm going to clean it up by noon tomorrow! I always do! You don't even go here, do you?"

What was it with people butting their heads on campuses where they didn't belong?

Babylon quirked an eyebrow at Valhalla when the other page claimed to know more about Zirconia than he ever would. It wasn't that he didn't respect Zirconia or think she was a proper lady... just that the dig was too good to pass up. "What are you?" he asked. "Some kind of furry?"

Zirconia would undoubtedly brain him for the remark later. That was, assuming that Valhalla didn't brain him for it now. Babylon gave the other page an exasperated groan and threw his hands up in the air. "FINE." he shouted. "FINE. So maybe it's not Dada and that word doesn't mean what I think it does and maybe it really is some kind of ******** up post-modern pop art but come on, that's a ******** mouthful!"

It took all he had to stay rooted to the spot instead of stomping away to throw a hissy fit at the other end of the quad. "It's not trash, and there is a point to it, and even if it was trash - which it isn't, because I'm doing something and calling it art - you don't have to be such a prat about it! Because, you know what? I just re-created ******** Triumph of the Will with Ronald McDonald as das fuher and if that doesn't say something about the state of this country then I don't know what does."

It was his masterpiece and he was prepared to defend it in art court. Breathing heavily, Babylon glared challengingly up at Valhalla. How dare he make such allegations?

Babylon gritted his teeth. He was so completely through with Valhalla and his attitude and his stupid hair that lay perfectly flat and those dumb yellow eyes and what did he think he was, an extra in How To Train Your Dragon? Never mind that the movie was animated, he liked the comparison. And as far as identities went... Who did Valhalla think he was kidding?

"Chris ******** Gallo," snorted Babylon lowly. "You are a ******** prat and I have had it up to here with you."

He indicated a point somewhere above the top of his head but below the top of Valhalla's. "You are an uncultured Philistine with no taste, who wouldn't know political commentary as a form of sculpture if I sat you down and explained it to you, which I'm not going to because I can't stand to look at you for long enough to do it."

Stupid not-flippy hair. Secretly, Babylon hated anyone who genetics hadn't inflicted with a Jewfro. "Why don't you go summer on Cape Cod and wear a navy blue blazer and some ******** seersucker shorts and Sperrys and listen to some Vampire Weekend while you're at it? Because maybe then you'd be there instead of here and I wouldn't have to lecture you about why this is art at one in the morning!"

A shining paragon of class, taste, and maturity, Babylon was not.

Babylon glowered at the taller knight. "You don't even go to Sovereign Heights!" he groaned. This holier-than-thou attitude was really sickening and he was tired of it. Chris had no idea how things worked around this campus, and why should he? But that didn't give him the right to come in and start presuming things.

"You go to DCU!" He was practically ripping out his hair over this. "What are you even doing here? Did you hike all the way over here just to antagonize me? Good ******** job, Mighty Thor."

He wasn't leaving until Valhalla did. Otherwise, the moment he turned his back, all of his meticulously-placed statues might domino over into a pile - and that wasn't supposed to happen until tomorrow morning. "I don't hoof it over to your campus just to make fun of your hobbies."

Hobbies which Babylon was pretty sure included baseball, being a prat, repressing latent homosexual angst, being a prat, and making sure no one within a fifteen mile radius ever had fun ever. When he really wanted to kick back, he stole candy from babies.

"You really know how to show a guy a fun night," he snorted gruffly.