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Pain is power. Some say it's knowledge, others say it's numbers, but it's really pain. If you put somebody in pain, even if it's unintentional or looks as if it is, they'll comply. Hell, even if you put somebody in a situation that will yield pain if they don't comply, you'll get obedience. As a general rule, people don't like pain, and so cashing in on that dislike seems to be the general trend. It isn't mean, it's resourceful. I'm not a monster, I'm doing what comes naturally. Like defending the shark that just tore out that cute baby dolphin's lungs, people will justify their own actions in such basic terms that their subsequent claims of "higher thinking" become almost laughable.

Illya hated pain, but for different reasons than the rest of the world. It wasn't that she shied away from pain, or feared it, or even that she knew what it felt like. Illya just knew that pain was like an early warning system. It told you when things were wrong, like soreness in the leg or a sharp pang of hurt in the ribs. But in Illya's case, she didn't get that warning bell. No red light went off, no "hey, you'd better slow down!" from her body, no anything. Instead, she got a horse tranquilizer that did pain's work. Instead of relying on her sensitivity to the canvas ties around her wrists and ankles, Illya's doctors would have to step in before she bled out from cuts around said ties as she strained against them in her mad fits with Mister Tranq, putting her in another sort of danger altogether. But it was the lesser of two evils, right?

Well, maybe not to Illya. Because this evil meant that her body stayed sluggish for several hours, leaving her incapable of flying and stuck clinging to her cane in a corner until she gained enough control of herself to walk again. And in the meantime, her plastic katana-toy had been taken away for what was probably the millionth time. Illya loved weapons, even fake ones, but her last visit with the therapist meant that she had no more privileges. That most likely had something to do with the fact that said favorite katana-toy ended up thrust through her therapist's window, creating a big mess and an even bigger bill. A kicking and screaming Illya had been hauled to a treatment room, where the canvas and tranquilizer fiasco had ensued. Now, two days later, she was on her feet once more.

And how was she spending her time? Well, now that she was naked without her favorite prop, Illya had no other choice but to envy those who were still allowed to run around with fun, sharp things. Of course, greed wasn't an emotion she normally thought about or even considered, but at the moment, she was particularly annoyed with her doctors for taking her friend away. It had been like a plastic katana to her, and that's what made it so special. However, luckily for Illya, she didn't hold grudges for long. She merely felt pissy, then ate up another book or two and forgot the whole incident. And speaking of, her medicine was arriving. Those past two days had been school days, which unfortunately meant that she had two days of make-up work to do. Now, in Illya's case, this was a good thing. However, most people weren't too eager to deal too much with the psychotic pixie, and so she opted for bugging two of her Metaphysics classmates that were less likely to shy away or give some bogus excuse on how they were allergic to the color pink and that's why they couldn't give her the notes.

Reaching up and lifting her slick sunglasses up to rest on the crown of her head, amidst a patch of wild pink hair, Illya limped forward, vaguely annoyed by how slow her left leg was being. If she were any normal person, she'd be in considerable pain, popping pills every five minutes just to try and numb the blooming discomfort in her leg. However, Illya merely noticed how sluggish it was, clumsy and unsure within the massive black armored boots she wore that nearly made up for the fact that she didn't don a pair of decent pants, shorts, or even a nice skirt. Just a blue swimsuit bottom, showing off a flash of painfully white thigh that came with the territory of being a pixie girl shut up in a mental institution for most of her life. Swinging her leg awkwardly along, she absently grabbed one of the thick chains that wound around her slim torso, pulling at it in annoyance. While it looked like a mere fashion statement, this chain vest was actually a tracking device. Clever little doctors slipped a GPS in the lock, so she could be found wherever she went. Great doodad, especially since she couldn't take it off on her own. An adult living on her dormitory hallway had a key so that she could change at night and in the morning, her times closely monitored. It was like a prison hell.

Lurching quickly towards her two familiar classmates, Illya caught Shinigami's comment as she arrived on the scene, pausing a short ways from them and leaning heavily on her bright purple cane while her wings fluttered restlessly behind her, finally settling against her back. A twisted, showman's grin weaved its way on her face as she looked between them and their little friend in the water, half-wondering if that tail meant that she wouldn't drown if held underneath for too long. "Too much hip, not enough hop, and C sharp was too flat. But don't worry. Only a dog would complain." With that last comment, Illya suddenly erupted into hysterical laughter, her laugh shrill and almost evil as it resounded through the bustling crowd, prompting a good number of people to back away quickly as she finally calmed down, a tear or two budding in the corners of her eyes from the violent spasms the laugh had inflicted upon her body.

Once calm again, she let out another sinister giggle before proceeding, wiping her right eye once as she looked between Ortensia and Shinigami distantly, as if they weren't really in the same room as she. "But perhaps it's been too long for me to appreciate real talent." Her words were almost rushed, voice low and almost gravelly for a woman's as she went on. Hell, she could have chosen a man's voice if she wanted, but she preferred the sound of this. It was slick, smooth, and just low enough to be scary when it was needed most. Adorable, in its own way. "So you'll just have to forgive me. But the best form of "it's okay" is always a small favor, and so I call upon you both to give in to this chivalrous code and do one for me." After she had finished that spiel, she swayed slightly with her cane, bobbing her head slightly over her shoulders as she watched them sharply, her vivid blue eyes quick and darting. "Metaphysics notes. Could either of you part with yours while they make a date with Mister Copier? Don't worry, I'm a great chaperone." It was hard to believe that a creature like this was as smart as she was. In fact, almost impossible. Truth really was stranger than fiction.