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West's track record with homework was far from consistent. Most of the time, he completely blew it off, choosing to pick a fight or go shopping instead, but every so often, the demon had a bizarre urge to go the distance, to make the most of his Amityville experience by actually doing more than he was required to. This was one of those times.

It didn't take much digging to figure out which room was Danny's, and as he knocked on her door, West raised Mr. Darcy's worksheet out in front of him so she wouldn't immediately slam the door in his face, if she was in fact in her room at all. He might have been familiar enough with the flame demon to know that she was a member of C.L.I.F.F. and hung out with Roch and probably played maceball, but having boils you barely knew drop by your dorm was none of those things and not something everyone enjoyed. In addition to brandishing his homework, West was also prepared to employ boot-in-doorframe tactics to get the thing filled out, if need be.

Well, that was... unexpected. Was this the sort of thing that most ghouls did, just let any old boil into their rooms? He wouldn't have. But now that he thought about it, he had yet to be denied access to anyone's room he had visited at this school. Weird. Weird and curious. It struck him that maybe he should start being more accommodating and friendly himself. It struck him, and then it ran away.

"Hey." He dropped the hand holding the sheet, then raised it again, keeping it a little lower than it had been so it would no longer block most of his face. "No. No meetin'. I got yer bag, right? In class? I was wonderin' if you'd tell me 'bout yer things. If yer not doin' anythin'." He didn't try to come inside, not yet at least.

The worksheet he was holding was lowered once again as West frowned at Danny. Well, 'frowned' might have been a relative term. In this case it meant the one that was already on his face became slightly more pronounced. The boil finally stepped inside and any snarky reply he might have had ready was temporarily silenced as the heat of her room smacked him in the face like a brick wall. What was he here for again? Suddenly all he wanted to do was turn around and leave.

"Jackdamn, it's hot in 'ere," he muttered. It made sense he supposed, but still. West liked to wear a lot of clothes. This clearly wasn't the place for it. He took a deep breath, which did nothing but make his insides as warm as his outsides.

"Smaller," he prompted. "Th' lil bag from that class with th' bat guy. Maceball, picks, fire. That one." Hopefully she would remember something about it before he had to remove too many layers. He raised a hand, his fingers twitching toward the top button of his vest for a moment. No. He was not going to start stripping.

no gusta ;;

"Nah, don't." West forced himself to stop fidgeting with his clothing. He was going to take this heat like a demon. He clenched his jaw, squinting down at the worksheet without moving his arms. Economy of movement. That was how he was going to win against the burning death.

"What is... the significance of their own objects. Yours. So, what's importan' 'bout that stuff? Th' maceball an' whatever." He had a pen in his pocket, but actually taking down her answers would require him to move to get it.

He smirked, pressing his lips together and poofing some air into them to try and smooth his expression. To be perfectly honest, he had done the same for the most part. If he'd never gotten his bag back after class he would have been, well, just fine for the most part, despite his protests over the tail cuff.

West listened fairly intently, trying to make up little word games to force himself to remember what Danny was saying, but it was no use. He finally dug into his pocket and pulled out the pen he had sworn he wouldn't move to get, then scribbled shortened versions of her answers in the empty spaces on his worksheet. With his attention focused on more scholarly things like note taking, he found himself feeling a great deal more comfortable. Could he have been getting used to the blazing heat? He opened and closed his damp hand around the pen. Nope.

"'Kay, that's all good," he muttered as he looked over what he had written. Maceball, hm. "Is it? Fun? Maceball, I mean." He had never been one for team sports and was highly likely to vacate the field swearing at the slightest provocation, but lots of students seemed to go in for that kind of stuff. Maybe he would give a school team or two another shot. Someday. "I dun really get all rah rah 'r anythin'. Ever."

"Hm. It was hard to picture a favorite sport when you didn't like sports to begin with, but he made an effort to understand the feeling. Perhaps it was a bit like punching a hunter into unconsciousness or something. That was fun. At least it was in his head. "Maybe I'll try an' see what it's all about someday," West said with a shrug. The inside of his shirt stuck to the skin of his shoulders as he moved, pulling the fabric into strange little bunches near his armpit. Yeah, it was time to go.

"Dun worry 'bout it," he said, backing up slightly. "I'm, um, gonna get back t'my room." He had what he'd come for, right? "But... thanks fer this stuff, I guess. If I ever need yer brain fer another assignment I'll... meetcha outside." The boil smirked at that, but his face was soon back to normal. He was going to need so many showers after this.

Rage? Oh yeah, the ghost was her mentor too. He knew that. Now. "Sure. I will when I see 'im." He backed toward the door with a nod. "An' yeah, we can play maceball... someday." How did you play with only two people anyway?

He could feel the promise of cooler air creeping in behind him, and when he reached the door, West turned quickly, escaping out of the room as fast as he could. "See ya." He practically hopped away toward his dorm, giving the ghoul the briefest of waves as he rounded the corner at the end of the hall.