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Post by ghoststalker on Nov 14, 2011 9:40:45 GMT -5
The sun is supposed to be shining on such a day, but nature cares not for the dramatic settings in human fantasies. The view outside the window was one of a heavy curtain of rain that concealed Death city demurely, merely outlining the unreal features of the Shibusen academy that loomed like a miniature mountain above the tiny houses and twisty streets of the city.
Celes turned her gaze away in order to sign the release forms with many colorful seals that finally deemed her recovered. Her stay in the sanatorium had been a form of delicate torture for one as used to open space as she was, but it was beyond doubt that it yielded results – the young woman looked sickly, but stood firmly on her feet and her hands had stopped shaking. She flashed the briefest of smiles at the head physician and bowed her head in gratitude to the staff that had worked on her recovery for an entire year, then folded the documents carefully in her tarpaulin bag and headed out without further ado. She didn’t spare a second glace to the building that had served as a home and therapy center – in her heart Celes felt the pang of regret one feels upon the imminent change of lifestyle she was about to experience, but hushed it. No need for sentimentality.
The rain descended upon her smugly, soaking her entirely with the exception of the content of her bag. As she began to make her way through the city streets, heavy raindrops dripping from the rooftops and into her neck, her face the usual expressionless mask, but her entire spirit sang with joy at the unabated glory of being once again in the open and tasting the unprejudiced cloak of the water. The streets were devoid of the usual crowds due to the weather and what little pedestrians remained were moving in a hurry, huddled under umbrellas and their coats, taking little notice of the young woman splashing hastily in the puddles. What she was made for finally awaited her. Finally she’d be able to begin her task.
By the time she arrived at the huge staircase that led to the academy, the downpour had somewhat abated to a steady flow that showed the determination to last for days. The wet white marble of the stairs was slippery and made the ascent surprisingly difficult, combined with the slightly crushing feeling the enormity of the edifice gave. The candle lamps, however, burned despite the humidity, forming a halo of evaporating raindrops and crackling like a million paper sheets. Celes was panting slightly, the air coming out of her mouth in small steamy clouds, but she steeled herself and entered in the grand hall from which various stairways and passage ways started. The impression was one of a dizzying labyrinth and liveliness. Quiet chatter could be heard from the passing students, scurrying about or stopped before a huge board with posters pinned to it.
Celes got the shivers from the sudden change of temperature and suppressed a violent sneeze right before heading to what appeared to be a reception bureau, trying not to imagine the multitudes of looks upon her, nervousness from the moment dancing on her perception. She took her papers out and placed them before the registrar at the desk and greeted awkwardly, the accent heavy in her words:
- Good afternoon. I was told to present you this as proof that I am fit for battle.
Rain was draining from her hair, dripping from her sleeves and gathering in a small puddle at her feet as she stood there, hugging herself.
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Post by wasaki on Nov 15, 2011 15:50:36 GMT -5
I wish something interesting would happen… thought Wasaki, his chin tucked into his chest as he blew several breaths of air in an attempt to send his bangs peeling back over itself to imitate Tony Soprano—not that he really liked that fat bastard, but it might have been a nice change of pace.
It had been an hour or so now since he’d departed from his room in gloomy boredom. Malcontent draped on his shoulder like a veil as he moved casually through the emptied halls of the second floor boy’s dorm. The usually mannerism of the incumbent Shibusen students grated on his nerves daily…as much as he’d seen anyway, but the silence was so stifling it almost seemed madness could creep in from any of the shadowed corners of the immaculately designed school. With no one other to blame than the holidays he ventured where he pleased paying little mind to the sparse security making their scheduled checks around the area to ensure no Kishin Eggs slunk in with too few bodies around to spot them.
What would a Kishin Egg be doing in the household of Death himself?
A valid question, but youthful negligence pulled his mind away from such thought provoking questions instead giving more attention to base lyrics pumping through the high quality headphones pressed tightly around his almond shaped head. Hand on rail as he descended he mouthed the words that used to spew from his mouth in unending streams for all to be offended by; he was trying to be a different person after all the things that had happened to him here. Fighting was his desire. Anything that aided him in this pursuit was welcomed—naturally the vulgar nature of rap music lent its violent environment to the heart of a rebel searching for combat, at least on the surface he was.
Down the stairs he descended, the velvet red carpet making him cringe with its too-fancy feeling so once he was on the main floor comfort set in unconsciously. This was place was dead too…
“Good afternoon. I was told to present you this as proof that I am fit for battle.”
Somehow through the controversial slurs of the Notorious B.I.G he caught the dulcet tones of a girl, Hmmm… The cogs in that mildly twisted mind were already at work as he continued his journey with a casual air making for the gilded doors that served as the main entrance to the school; if anyone new had come in, it was there that he’d catch them. Passing the kiosk where that salty, slug-lipped receptionist waited for all who passed by he couldn’t help scowling upon remembering his first encounter with her. In his usually bitter mood he turned to stick his tongue out towards his vaunted arch nemesis when he saw the object of his voyage; the girl.
Her beauty was questionable given the tendrils of blue that tugged to gain freedom along her arms and legs plus the fact that she was paler than any ghost he’d seen on television. There was a look of frailty about her too that made Wasaki’s nose itch…so much so that he ended up pawing at his it in disgust a few seconds later. Weak people pissed him off and while she was a woman—not entirely dreadful to examine either—he hated to see it in anyone even if there was no interest in fighting them. Of course this contradictory incensing of the ego was quickly circumvented by the most obvious fact: she was a girl, no a woman. He was staring at a woman…
U-u-h…shit… was all he could think as he turned red and began burning with a shame so fierce it made the candles placed in their holds seem dimmer in comparison. Rooted to the spot just to the left of where this girl was conversing with the slug faced receptionist, whom seemed to appear differently to everyone she spoke to, Wasaki demanded his limbs to relinquish control to him at once. He would not make a fool of himself in front of a girl again.
Not again!
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Post by ghoststalker on Nov 18, 2011 13:31:13 GMT -5
Celes was feeling how the wet tunic on her back was now getting uncomfortably cold and clinging to her like tape as the receptionist lady fumbled with the documents,. The constant mumbling of the old woman seemed incoherent and most certainly not directed at anyone – Celes observed with mild amusement the almost perfectly spherical figure that bobbed around its office with torturously slow pace. As an ancient registry was excavated from the ghastly confines of the back drawer of one of the four desks, a swirling cloud of dust rose for a moment and then dissipated, triggering another violent sneeze that Celes barely managed to smother, turning it into a momentary cringe. Before her, the receptionist was flipping over the yellow pages as if performing some complex ritual and oblivious to the presence of anyone around her. It was evident that the search would take a while – the Armory had not produced a single weapon worthy of being sent beyond the borders of the taiga for decades and the records of such a clan were probably buried beneath geological layers of bureaucracy.
A change in the ambient sounds made her realize that there was someone else standing beside her. Instinctively she shifted the neutron weight of her gaze from the object of her displeasure (who was now staring at a single page, chewing on her lower lip) to the person at her side. He looked younger than her, the tint of his skin a pleasant shade of brown that reminded her of velvety moss and cocoa smells. What had captured her attention at first was the heavy bass pounding of unknown music from the youth's headphones. That, combined with his colourful attire made him stand out disproportionately in comparison to her. Everything about his muscular body, braided hairstyle and choice of music screamed of enormous internal energy and vitality.
She had seen people like him on the ship to the States – cheerful sailor boys, always running somewhere, all health and attitude. This one, however, seemed to just stand there, color of his face rising. It was obvious to her that he was quite angry with her, staring silently like that. He probably wanted to get some administrative work done, and now had to wait in line. People like him never liked to wait in line.
Celes considered this for a moment, then another idea came to her mind – the boy was probably about to yell at her for making a mess in the immaculate school, since she had dragged mud in with her boots and there was a wet patch on the expensive carpet where she had been waiting. She felt miserable – this place with its shiny uniforms and luxurious equipment and well-behaved people who always somehow knew what to say felt unattainable. But for this, she felt the fault was hers. Her face hardened. She shook her head, spraying the carpet a bit more, then told the boy:
- I am sorry for making carpet wet. Your turn will soon come, lady is almost done with me.
Not knowing what else to say, she then proceeded to observe the ancient wood of the reception desk, polished to a mirror shine by countless elbows of bored people, waiting to be serviced.
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Post by cirrus on Nov 20, 2011 7:57:36 GMT -5
"It was raining. A million little drops of moisture poured from the sky, capturing the broken light of a bleeding sun and bouncing it around, acting as some sort of liquid strobe light as it distorted the sanguineous rays. The effect of such rainfall at sunset was to make the world seem shrouded and distant; soaked in a receding sunlight that still illuminated the pallid walls of the edifices, dancing on the rickety walls and patched up glass windows, staining them with life for only the briefest of moments before disappearing as the sun set, as if the town and its joy were running away before night came and turned off the lights. The roofs of such shacks deflected the fleeing sunlight as well as the rain, the effects of their actions being one of much pulchritude. The rebounding light passed through the rain-saturated air, spreading ethereal colours on the rooftops; the crown of the slums. But like the blood red sun, the monarchy of the poor was falling; ready to accept night as its ruler. As the wanton swirl of colours dissipated, the silhouettes of a motley crew could briefly be seen before night rolled in; the darkness taking whatever visibility they silhouettes had had and throwing it to where the sun ran off to. Each of those amassed on the rooftops wore midnight -- even their clothes were pure black; as if they were born from the shadows..."
James' book was proving to be quite the enthralling read, and was actually rather fitting, seeing as it was indeed raining. The liquid precipitation pounded the Shibusen campus, trying desperately to knead the students there into the heroes they needed to be in order to ensure the rain fell on a more pleasant earth. It was quite the sobering thought, although not one that entered the weapon's head; that particular piece of his anatomy was ingrained too deep in the fantasy world the literature he was reading provided. Head bowed with the weight of imagination, James didn't notice the fact that he walked into the Shibusen registrar office. Being already in the EAT class, and in fact being the proud consumer of a kishin egg soul, there was really no need for him to be there.
But the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime...
Yes, the demon Trishula was a criminal. Well, if the word criminal's meaning had changed to mean nostalgic over-enthusiastic demon weapon, at any rate. Despite the ensnaring grasp of the paper's text, James could almost smell the nostalgia the moment he walked through the double doors. The book had shot itself in the foot, in a way -- wasn't its purpose to enthral those that leafed through its pages? And yet here it was, leading its reader to a place wherein said reader could enjoy more active pastimes, such as socialising. It was a dangerous move too, for James did love socialising. Not the brand of socialising most are accustomed to -- not talking to people about common interests, and other such things. No, James' idea of socialising was rather...different. If that was the word for it. Really, it was more akin to the demon trident pontificating about himself and his latest adventures, throwing in a few unfunny jokes in an attempt to appear endearing, and then inconspicuously recording notes about his 'experiment'. That was what life was, for the blonde teen; a grand experiment. That wasn't to say he was only looking for shallow bonds: even someone so interested in science as James could feel the pang in his heart that failed to be mellisonant no matter how he changed the pitch. It was the universal sound of silence.
Of loneliness.
So maybe the book was a lot more smart than it appeared? Maybe it was trying to help its reader, by finding it some good friends? It was certainly a nice premise. James did, after all, have a grand total of two friends, and they were going out -- he was the epitome of a third wheel in that respect. What he needed was someone all to himself. Selfish, perhaps, but necessary. It was all necessary...
BUMP!
James unknowingly ran into the back of someone, this fact being evidenced by the protesting -- or, if you looked at it from the book's point of view, triumphant -- flutter of paper as the book fell to the floor. At first startled, but then, and more importantly, incredulous and irate, James looked up to see the faces of a less than functional couple. His skin alive with bellicose light, the demon Trishula started barking stridently as an orb of the same hostile glow he produced formed in his right hand.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing? THAT WAS MY BOOK!" He shouted, raising the luminous orb of light to the face of the person he had bumped into, who was a dark skinned teen whose demeanour made him out to be a less than pleasant sort, or at least in James' opinion. He was very good at judging people, especially at a hundred miles an hour. Unbeknownst to the people in the room, the orb of light within James' hand was actually the prerequisite for another move entirely; despite it's obvious flair and apparent awesomeness, it was relatively harmless, especially when compared to what generally followed after its formation. The dark skinned teen wouldn't know it, but he was staring into the face of a laser.
One that could go off at any moment.
The water on his skin vaporised was the light he produced grew more and more intense. He was truly vexed -- it wasn't often that the demon Trishula allowed himself to get so worked up, but that had been a really good book. However, his novelty to being so angry would show, for his demeanour changed instantaneously upon catching sight of the blue haired girl behind the dark skinned teen.
...Love at first light?
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Post by ghoststalker on Nov 20, 2011 14:07:21 GMT -5
Celes lifted her head and turned around at the sound of rustling paper and something heavy falling on the ground behind her. The thick carpets muffled the steps of everyone, so she hadn't noticed the approach of another person. She noticed the golden colour of his hair, but managed to notice little else, for the newly arrived stranger began shouting at the dark-skinned youth. Startled, she almost jumped, then made a reflexive step backwards, forgetting completely about the solid desk she had just inspected so carefully.
Her back met the wooden edge with a dull thud, pain coruscated from the impact and made her bite her lower lip. As the momentary reddish mist faded before her eyes, she got a glimpse of the blinding ball of energy that formed at the golden-haired one's beckoning. The light lit the glittering spots in her eyes that had earned her name, and for a moment she forgot the pain, the situation, the presence of the frowning receptionist behind her.
She had never been able to create something like that. No one she knew was able to create such a thing. From what little she knew, creating a ball of energy so bring and so well-controlled was a task of monumental focus and skill. From where she stood, it appeared unachievable. Then in the midst of her daze, reality rushed in like a flood – that she was surrounded by strangers. That at least one of these strangers was, in all possibility, powerful and short-tempered. That she had dug her nails in her hands and now sported tiny claw marks on the forearms.
At the same time, like a demon of bad timing, the sharp finger of the receptionist lady poked Celes' right between the shoulderblades, nearly triggering another jump, but instead making her turn back towards the desk with such vigour, that water drops sprayed from a few loose locks of hair. On the other side of the desk, the old woman seemed genuinely unimpressed with whatever turmoil was happening between the youngsters. With a look of chronic boredom, the receptionist handed some papers back to Celes and muttered a welcoming message that contained less enthusiasm than anything she'd ever heard.
Clueless as to what the proper etiquette was, Celes just nodded and stuffed the documents in her back with the intention of inspecting them thoroughly later on, in a moment of peace.
Behind her, mercifully, there was silence. Both strangers, one of which still maintaining the globe of light, were just staring at her. Celes wondered how she looked, all drenched and improper, to those neat and civilized students. She felt like she was being evaluated or observed like a curious bug and the unwanted attention made her sick to her stomach. She didn't feel threatened, but her gaze, which had softened at first, now returned to its natural state of grim evaluation of the rest of the world.
She was not entirely sure if the events that occurred were in any way related to her, but decided that it would be best not to remain and observe. After all, she had postponed her social training for years and cursed herself for her cowardice so many times. She was ignorant on the ways and methods of proper communication, but was well aware that a fresh start was a good time to learn all about it. Now if only she knew what to say.
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Post by wasaki on Nov 21, 2011 3:29:48 GMT -5
He’d lowered the headphones for the time being, but the beat pounded into his flesh like a long forgotten ballad—about taking a fool’s head should they look the wrong way at him. Maybe it was this temporal effect that held his body siege in both the physical sense as well as the perceptive senses for it wasn’t long after he’d beaten back the monsters of adolescences hormones that he was quite rudely slammed into by another.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing? THAT WAS MY BOOK!"
“Wha?” was all Wasaki could say before his vision was seared and scarred by a luminosity so intense that even as he staggered back a few steps to put distance between him and the unexpected attacker he could see the white outlines of a bold blonde flashing behind the curtains of his lids. “Ah…argh!” he groaned. His struggling comparable to a pathetic animal having been startled by the light of day—and somehow he felt exactly like that in the face of this peculiar looking woman and the person who’d attacked him.
Pathetic.
And when Wasaki felt pathetic he immediately grew angry. Little by little sight returned to him giving him the ability to make out the amorphous form of some scarf wearing loser; must have been the guy who had shone that flashlight or whatever it had been in his face. It looked like the lad was a chump too—just his luck. Even though he couldn’t see clearly still he stepped forth, the appearance of a little boy emboldening him to strike while he had the element of surprise. Yet he did not. Instead his pride bound him to some sense of an honorable fight, the kind of bloody brawl that would see him gain victory and…ride off into the sunset with that shaky mess of a woman from early? Awww… he groaned internally. What exactly he was groaning at, he was unsure of, but as he spun to check on the location of the lass he found his face buried in something quite mushy, quite soft. Pleasingly warm too.
Somehow it felt familiar and he couldn’t tell why as he allowed his hands to scour over the surface of this strange new mass before him; surely he’d felt something like this before. How had he not?
“Ah…this…this is great. I wonder what it—”
Words banged together on the edge of his tongue as he stared up into the face of poor Celes, who had unwittingly been the victim of sexual harassment of the most perverted kind. Behind the no doubt shocked new acquaintance the clerk’s brow was already descending like the black cloud of death itself and the woman seemed willing enough to call the Shinigami master to smite a lone student away from prying eyes should the need arise. How he could he managed to make this right? He was already stepping away from Celes as well, certain he was about to receive a round pummeling much like any other time, but it dawned on him that this was DWMA; these two could very well be weapon and meister.
Of course. For them to appear here, at this hour—together?! No, the coincidence was too great an assumption and he whirled hostilely with shoddy guard up from the days he’d spent slinging fists in the bar, “So you two are weapon and meister, huh?” he said already bouncing on his tiptoes. Now he was in familiar territory. Fighting was something he could do to forget all his worry, it made even the most potent sake seem like water with its repugnant smells, the smells of a man. Hair dancing wildly in all directions and his fists half raised just enough where he could cover his chin he could feel his return to equilibrium and the only thing holding him back from complete stabilization was this nerdy little twerp standing with that undignified ball of light angled at him.
Huh? Light? That must mean…”
“…you’re a Meister!” he shouted mid turn while leveling an accusing finger in the possibly panicked subject of his salacious foray of the female anatomy. Of course as fate would have it, before any one of them could make mention of this quite ridiculous issue the receptionist’s droning voice caught them all by surprise,
“Since you two are in the NOT class…” the woman drawled as he angled a stare at both Celes and Wasaki—an off-hook receiver in one hand and a list of what looked to be student names being speed read with the other, “…you’re both have detention in an hour in the torture chambers down on the second floor.” If blondie thought he was safe, the visage of wrath and vengeance itself turned upon him as if he should have known better being of a higher class it seemed. Though she was the only one aware of this and how she knew was another fable altogether.
“For not breaking up the fight, you also have detention in an hour. Only you have to stay until they leave. Shame on you…” the woman concluded her little spiel with a solid amount of finger wagging in the glitzy dressed garcon as his French background would suggest. Even with all that had happened Wasaski still only wanted the chance to bash that pretty little face in—not like he had anything to lose with already being assigned to detention and all. [[OOC: Left room for story telling if we don’t wanna go with detention. Celes, this is your story I was just offering maybe a crazy alternative.]]
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Post by cirrus on Nov 21, 2011 15:21:26 GMT -5
((OOC: James isn't French, il est de les Etats-Unis)) The accusations flew in from left and right, dazzling the demon weapon; proving to be more effective in doing so than the light that coruscated from his skin. This could be discerned by the manner in which the dark skinned teen -- the transgressor -- recovered. That is to say, he did so with much alacrity; presumably because the importance of accusing people superseded any such light he could ever hope to produce: for the sake of rushed justice, James had to struggle under the barrage of scathing words. Although to be fair, there were far worse things in this world than being called a meister. Not that the blonde haired teen would admit it; not to these people anyway. His diary -- yes he kept one, despite what he'd said and would say -- may become the recipient of such confessions, if this experiment became invalidated by outside influences...
Said influence was currently watching with a strange bemusement, as if a student threatening to carve a hole in another's head with nothing but his soul wavelength and a fancy heritage laser was normal; prosaic; boring. And in a way, it was. This was Shibusen after all -- hardly a day went by without some sort of fight breaking out; it was to be expected when you gathered strong wills in one place and taught them how to fight. Especially when said wills were those of children. Children can't get along. Not if you want them to, anyway. So maybe the bemusement was actually an odd form of caring, and love? Maybe the desk clerk had learned over the years that it was best to leave them to their own devices, pretend you didn't care all that much, and things would all work out in the end, no matter how many walls and equipment you had to keep in reserve?
...Nah.
She was just dying for a smoke.
If James' zest for science and logic could have been translated into enthusiasm for the arts, the hypothetical Thespian would have bemoaned any such conclusion. Humans were not simple beings; they were complex demi-gods forged of raw emotion and the idiosyncrasies that arose when you placed a pantheon next to another and expected them both to stand!
Luckily for the world, James was not so dramatically inclined.
The desk clerk, however, seemed to be, for it was at the exact moment of mounting drama she chose to point a finger and cast a spell; one that tore through the tension with a powerful instigation of anti-climax.
“Since you two are in the NOT class…” She drawled, the magic of her ways burdening the air of the registration office with the sort of creeping boredom that only stirs when someone particularly verbose opens their mouth and begins to pontificate in a way that makes it seem as if they are trying to pound you to sleep with their words. James turned the lights off, surprise and then dread proving enough to dim the fervour of his glow. His hand came up empty too. As was his brain; devoid of any answers pertaining to an escape from the inevitable. The desk clerk continued, only having intervened because doing so passed the time that stretched out between her and that tobacco saviour.
“…you’re both have detention in an hour in the torture chambers down on the second floor.” And yet her words seemed to provide salvation for the blonde haired teen -- James wasn't in the NOT class! Elation flooded his veins, although it would soon become apparent that a dam was up ahead...
“For not breaking up the fight, you also have detention in an hour. Only you have to stay until they leave. Shame on you…” Said the desk clerk, some how swivelling to face him despite the fact the chair on which she sat was not of that sort. The accusing finger, like some sort of laser or beam weapon from animes yore, seemed to blast a neat and tidy hole in his chest, before proceeding to fill the void with a cold dread; one akin to the kind one feels when it is only spitting when you go outside with those white trousers, but the second you are the exact distance it is too far to feasibly get back to your home, it becomes a sudden torrent of the gods of nature laughing at you and your misfortune. James sighed, one that expressed such a notion in the most primal of noises. The worker's derisive snort in reply said: "Well tough -- I get to have my fag now and you get to supervise the very people you tried to lase in the forehead. Oh look, here on this computer screen where I'd put a fuck--" Here she metaphorically turned the computer screen to face the metaphorically bewildered demon weapon. "-- IF I GAVE ONE!"
A truly harrowing experience.
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Eva Liu
Advanced Member
}}Kishin Egg Souls{0} Human Souls{0} Witch Souls{0} Points{1703}
Now that it's raining more than ever.
Posts: 149
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Post by Eva Liu on Nov 26, 2011 0:20:45 GMT -5
((OOC: Dirge sent me his post, and I’m putting mine up with his to streamline this.)) ”Tiny bubbles in the wine make me happy, make me feel fine.~” What the vile brew was lacking in effervescence the girl made up for in her light-headed gaiety. ”Rune, the hall won’t stop spinning! Hahahaha, why aren’t we walking on the ceiling yet?” She was just a little tipsy, just a little; in fact, not nearly drunk enough according to Rune. It made no difference whether or not she could stand without thinking she’d soon be seasick from the rolling and swaying of the perfectly solid ground. It was really a wonder that they could synchronize their soul wavelengths in such an inebriated state. ”Tiny bubbles make me warm all oooooover with a feeling that I’m gonna love you ‘till the end of time!~” She couldn’t sing enough songs of praise to the glorious, glorious Vitis vinifera, the wonderful grape vine from which the essence of human stupidity was made. "SHHH, HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!" A loud, obnoxious voice roared out from the corridor leading to the various classrooms in the building. The soft tingle of an unknown liquid which we will assume to be some kind of homemade liquor, possibly a recipe the shouting man knew, sung out from a glass bottle in his right hand. And in his other hand, dangerously being swung from left to right, up and down, diagonally, and in every possibly physical way you could imagine, this particular man held a large, sentient Chinese dadao. Rune Arwald, probably the only student Shibusen housed right now who was far above the average age of the average student in this not-so-average place. With each swing of the demon weapon in his left hand, Rune swerved dangerously back and forth, from side to side, twirled in place, and barely avoided falling many a time. Way too many for anyone to count with his fingers and toes. He stopped slashing the air just to bring the wine bottle to his lips, taking a long, noisy swig of the beverage contained within. A thin trickle of this liquid dripped down his chin and stained the usual green jacket he wore everywhere, and which he personally hand-washed after every mission. “Da dada da da da daaa,” came the slurred attempt at mimicking fanfare after the blue-haired behemoth’s outraged roar. Of course he should be angry. These ignorant fools were about to be graced with his presence, and the most meager modicum of reverence they could show was to listen in rapt silence. Throwing themselves at his feet and groveling would also be a nice touch. Divinity such as himself did not slum it with the little people on a daily basis. “Announcing Prince Rune the Brave and Handsome, and his magical talking sword!” Eva concluded with a sharp hiccup. ”Hark! A fair maiden is beset by two ruffians! Though the fair maiden could use a sandwich too,” she added as a careless aside. Although deep in a drunken stupor, Rune appeared to know what he was doing, and after piercing a single ceramic tile with the tip of his partner, releasing her handle from his grip for the moment, he shouted towards the group of students gathering at the receptionist's desk near the front door. As he pronounced the single word that escaped his lips, his free hand performed an inviting motion, one that not only did call the people but attempted to draw them closer to his current location... "... 'mere..."”Oof! Oh, you're gonna get it now! Just look at his smooth moves.”It may have been the alcohol sabotaging his motor skills. It may also have been profound drunken insight that led him to consider using his curved sword as a boomerang. Whichever it was, accident or innovation, Eva shortly after found herself hurtling through the air and fortunately lodging herself not in any vital organs but into the plush arm of a sofa. "Silly Rune, you missed!" "Eva!" the sentient dadao proclaimed as she transformed herself back. She spread her arms out wide, basking in imagined applause, and suddenly fell backwards into the sofa when she tried to take a step forward. An unintended occurrence, but one that she sought to take advantage of. The girl burst into song once more while still flailing on the furniture. "I've been here looking dynamite, alone against the wall." She sprung back onto her feet in time to deliver the next line directly at the blonde boy: "Girls like you give it all so cold, talking cheap in a bathroom stall." Eva bobbed her head and rotated her shoulders even as she continued on with an exaggerated pout aimed at Rune. "And you look so smooth you better tell me truth, would you trade me out for someone cool?" "I know you better than you do, so put out your cigarette and kiss me on the lips tonight!" She wasn't sure whom this tantalizing line was meant for, most likely the floor that came rushing up to meet her after she stopped leaning on the sofa to attempt a simple dance. The girl collapsed onto the ground in a fit of uncontrollable champagne-bubble giggles, periodically interrupted only by small hiccups. Once the laughter subsided, she sat up and locked eyes with the soaking wet Russian woman. The chatterbox drunk was bursting to say just one more thing. "Would you like to be his princess bride?" Eva asked as she pointed to her meister, her eyes brimming with earnestness. After all, why get drunk in Nevada without the possibility of an unplanned marriage proposal?
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Post by ghoststalker on Nov 28, 2011 10:43:43 GMT -5
It was like watching a traffic accident – everything seemed to happen in slow motion, yet shock left Celes paralyzed and she could only watch and experience the dark-skinned stranger's hands as they searched her body. Despite the fact that her mind was clear on how this was an accident, the rest of her being felt violated, while the self-conscious part of her deep down snickered about there not being much to violate in the first place. His hands were warm, but the situation sapped any joy from a man's touch, leaving nothing but mind-numbing humiliation. She saw the realization dawn on his face, she saw him recoil from her, probably feeling every little bit as uncomfortable as she was, seeing as to how he hadn't even said a single word to her. Blood draining from her face and giving her an even paler shade, Celes was struggling to contain her emotions. Her awareness of the coincidentiality of this accident was absolute, yet cold anger was rising from the depths of her pride, threatening to overwhelm her usually calm judgment. The calm, almost serene state of her gaze was now gone, replaced by an icy piercing regard, aimed at her accidental assaulter. It was the dark youth's next action that actually triggered her self-control better than any internal attempts she had previously made. She didn't even blink when the accusation of being a Meister was flung at her, however it gave her a good perspective of how comically ridiculous this entire encounter was. The boy was probably acting in defense of some misunderstood sense of self-pride, like a cornered beast showing his teeth in an unfamiliar environment. She wondered if he was new here. The finger-pointing was childish, and it did show that while his energy was commendable, he was indeed as short-tempered as first anticipated. Celes looked past the fingertip that was aimed pretty much directly at her nose and addressed his owner: - I am no Meister. I am a weapon … and I do not know this man – she motioned towards the golden-haired one, whose face seemed mildly bewildered by the chaos, his eyes darting between all the participants in this theatrical piece of absurd. But before she could elaborate any further, the croaking voice of the dreaded receptionist reminded her once again of the presence of the old lady behind her back. “Since you two are in the NOT class…” “…you’re both have detention in an hour in the torture chambers down on the second floor.”[/color] Celes vaguely wondered what kind of detention involves torture chambers. She railed at the injustice of being punished for doing absolutely nothing, but she knew the reason for it – the old woman just wanted them all out of her head so that she’d be able to enjoy whatever sweet procrastination she did best. As suspected, the penalizing wasn’t over yet. “For not breaking up the fight, you also have detention in an hour. Only you have to stay until they leave. Shame on you…”[/color] – the receptionist pointed towards the astounded stranger with sadistic pleasure, whose book still laid smugly on the ground, forgotten by everyone. The effect was immediate – one that has been experienced by countless students over countless years and was deeply embedded in the word “detention” as dread and gloom. She had barely set foot in the school and already she was flung into a vortex of circumstances that she could barely comprehend, let alone control. Battle was so much simpler, Celes thought as she observed the coruscating glow that radiated from the dazzling boy wink out and subside, as he too was probably dissatisfied with being sent to whatever dreary torture room that was, together with some people who weren’t even from his class. She couldn’t blame him, and was probably even going to try to somehow diffuse the situation between him and the dark-skinned accidental pervert, but then, with the effect of a thousand nails scratching over a thousand chalkboards… "SHHH, HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!"[/color][/i] The marsupial roar made the delicate crystalline ornaments on the chandelier above them jingle for a moment and triggered another wild movement from Celes, making her collide with the desk once again and turn her bewildered gaze to the blue-haired sword-wielding maniac who appeared to be the source of the monstrous noise. As the flailed wildly, Celes noticed he was holding a bottle, full of suspicious liquid. She observed with curiosity his movements, and then noticed that a second voice had emerged from the sword itself, one that buzzed with the buzz of a being equally drunk. Disbelieving, she finally grasped that the two lunatics were most probably an active team of Meister and Demon Weapon – and by some miraculous circumstance, they had managed to synchronize successfully in their current state – though the real mystery here was how they had managed to get hold of the infernal bottle (the contents of which bubbled with all the indicators of dangerously sweet alcoholic drinks) in the first place. The girl’s babbling was semi-coherent, and seemed to be intertwined with some sort of song. Celes frowned uncharacteristically as one of the phrases, seemingly aimed at her, characterized her as a “fair maiden”. The Demon Whip did not appreciate being mocked, however she was also aware that those people were probably unable to control themselves, especially if they were new to the complex arts of drinking. As a confirmation to her thoughts, the sword ended up flying across the hall, failing to decapitate anyone by some lucky miracle and then unfolded into a gibbering Asian girl on the sofa. "... 'mere..."Having lived in Siberia for a big part of her life, Celes was quite familiar with drinking culture, and could recognize all the tell-tale signs of the inexperienced. This was to her a lot more of a familiar surrounding than anything she had yet to encounter in Shibusen. Therefore she was quite prepared for the bits and pieces of sentences, the partial singing, the swaying, the swagger – though being named “princess bride” in relation to anyone made her brows descend even lower in a “are you fucking serious” look that could be easily discerned on her face. Then it hit her that for a little while there had been silence on the other side of the desk. Presumably, the source of all their troubles had been equally stunned by this unusual appearance and development of events. Celes turned her head to check on the receptionist and found that the old woman was recovering with a remarkable pace. The slight shade of brick red and the pulsing vein on the forehead did betray that the state of boredom has been replaced by one of barely restrained rage. The boiling point of this woman was obviously reached and this time Celes was prepared for the sound wall that erupted behind her: - YOU DEVIANTS! HAVE YOU NO SHAME![/color] – the receptionist halted for a moment to draw an asthmatic breath – DRINKING! DISHONORING THE SCHOOL! [/color]– another breath – YOU ARE ALL IN DETENTION! ALL OF YOU DOWNSTAIRS![/color] - and after she spit out the last word with as much spite as she could, she just sat there for a moment, hyperventilating slightly, eyes bulging out. The Celestial Serpent Fold nodded at her as if the clerk’s outburst explained everything in the world, the moment of silence allowing her to think. In all likelihood, those two were either criminally stupid enough to experiment with alcohol on school territory or victims of a practical joke gone very wrong. In their current agitated state they would rampage about and it was quite likely that they might destroy and create chaos wherever they went, not to mention someone could get hurt – the little Asian girl seemed very close to breaking both her nose and her neck on several occasions. A detention in a nice and cold dungeon with some water would actually do them some good and allow them to sober up. However, neither of those two seemed like they would quietly go into detention, considering their party mood. Therefore, first they needed to be pacified. They didn’t look like they felt sick yet – but they were about to. Celes decided to hasten the procedure. She tossed a sideways glance at the dark-skinned boy and deemed him physically strong enough for what she had planned. She muttered at him, trying not to sound like she was bossing anyone around: - I may need your help soon.After this brief plea that offered very little explanation, she headed to the Demon Sword Weapon girl, who was in the process of gleefully singing a popular tune to herself. She leaned slightly and whispered a single phrase in the girl’s ear: - Imagine the receptionist doing a pirouette and menstruating at the same time. She did so as quietly as possible while making herself heard by the recipient of said disgusting mental image, then turned towards the blue-haired flailing man. He didn’t seem as young as the rest of the students and Celes at first was confused as to why he’d be so disgracefully unable to control himself under the influence, then remembered that she was technically in the States now and the drinking age was probably higher. Well no wonder they didn’t know how to behave, she thought, as she lifted herself up on her toes and whispered the same dreadful phrase in his ear. The combination of momentum and disgusting detail in said image would be enough to make them both sick enough to allow her (provided that she got some help) to drag them to the detention chambers and let them rest. She then sought the eyes of the other shock-stricken pea in this chaotic event who, as it seemed, was still trying to stomach the idea of getting detention and made the faintest of nods in the direction of the Asian girl – hopefully the golden-haired boy would be smart enough to get the idea.
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Post by wasaki on Nov 30, 2011 9:11:01 GMT -5
“….”
Having watched the inebriated improvising duo hammer out what cacophonous note after the other Wasaki felt a nauseating mixture of humiliation, confusion, and…indigestion. The latter probably being a result of the viper-quick realization that the words, ‘torture chamber’ and ‘detention’ had been used in the same sentence—not to mention the tone implied by the obscene looking receptionist lent itself in suggesting they were all heading towards their dooms rather than a simple disciplinary humor.
That should have been impossible. This is Shibusen though…they might do things differently.
The thought had come unbidden and quite unwelcome as it worked its way through his central nervous system, bitch slapping his adrenal glands before finally hammering home the hard reality that he may very well die before he’d actually completed a single class at his relatively new school. A lone shiver made its course from his head to toe offering an ironic clarity amidst the chaos—he’d seen that particular Asian child from somewhere before. Unfortunately before he could interrupt the obscene display the receptionist interjected in this meeting of mad wills with one of her beloved half-belched spiels, -YOU DEVIANTS! HAVE YOU NO SHAME! [/color] Only the sound akin to a broken gas valve hungrily sucking in purified oxygen to perform it’s daily routines passed the moment between one sentence and the next. As the next string of certainly meaningless words—Wasaki had already tuned out the voice of this old crony—confirmation widened the caramel copy of a student's eyes as he observed the youngling named…well, perhaps her name wasn’t quite as important as the mnemonic connection of one troubled situation illuminating the mystery of another; this was the girl who had taken to vandalizing some unimportant bloke’s room up in the boy’s dorm—on his floor. My floor…my room…Both concepts that seemed distant and lost in the ether since the moment he’d stepped down that immaculate staircase, locked his eyes onto the jittery young woman who had at that precise moment been registering for classes. Had he been a ‘glass is half full’ sort of kid, he may have taken this as a karmic lesson in his own judgmentally biased view of the world, but of course… Pshaw that! – STAIRS![/color] came the shrill to had to have been a stirring performance. Either that or the woman was suffering from an apoplexy in which case Wasaki certainly didn’t want to be around when they were collecting the body. Slyly looking from one person to the next he craftily—what he deduced to be such—took a step in the direction of the stair, a subject which had paradoxically been the tail-end of the desk clerk’s hate filled ranting. Alas, fate caught him by the scruff of his neck yet again as the woman who suffered a brief, yet comprehensive molestation at his hands was at his side in a discreet manner, –I may need your help soon.Just that. Brow furrowed in moderate confusion the headphone wearing rebel opened his mouth to verbalize his lack of understanding only to find that the unidentified woman had already focused herself onto another oddity among the fresh batch of students heading into the school Bright red humiliation flowed richly through his veins as he considered how quickly he’d been discarded from thought, the sort of mindset that a narcissist in the truest sense of the title might possess. Coiling his gut in every which way, his enflamed sense of rejection left him smoldering with eyes that flitted linearly in search of someone to take his rage out on; there was always that golden haired wussy from before. Of course that option quickly closed when aforementioned panicky woman was calmly whispering something into the ear of the only complete Meister-Weapon team that Wasaki had run into. A pang of emptiness, of wonder reminded him of the single moment in which he’d felt like a god—a time in which he’d admittedly wielded an obtuse guitar, one with a penchant for getting him into trouble in the first place. The next event would bring Wasaki to the philosophical debate as to whether justice existed in the world for at the very moment a man garbed quite completely in what could be described as a panda suit strode into the ornate reception hall with a mirthful smile on his face. One would only imagine what trouble would befall the group now, but the unsightly receptionist was already rising slowly, just enough so that one of her chins was hanging over the edge of the counter, – Ah, well now you’ll get it, you sniveling miscreants. Meet Mister Bamboo-bottom. [/color] her words dripped in the manner that venom would from fangs. Having averted his attention yet again Wasaki happened to catch the atrocious smirk on her face and being of free spirit he commented blithely, “Aren’t you supposed to actually, yunno, make use of the school’s dental plan?” Veins stripped the barely visible forehead in a quick invasion even as the receptionist barely managed to utter, not scream the following words: – He is…our…head…of…security. He will be escorting…you, bas-I mean children to detention. [/color] Looking from the well muscled marsupial to the to woman, Wasaki decided that it might have been better if she’d simply yelled at them. [/blockquote][/size] [[OOC: The spoiler is for those of you who needed an image of what he looked like in that moment. Without the blurred scenery…though for Rune and Eva it might actually be as seen.]]
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Eva Liu
Advanced Member
}}Kishin Egg Souls{0} Human Souls{0} Witch Souls{0} Points{1703}
Now that it's raining more than ever.
Posts: 149
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Post by Eva Liu on Nov 30, 2011 21:18:55 GMT -5
In some place lodged deep in her alcohol-addled cognitive processes, the girl came to notice that she and Rune were raising hell in front of one of the less tolerant of the Shibusen staff. At the same time, she quite frankly didn't give a damn if the bloated hag (the garish face paint did little to enhance her facial features) had had her sense of humor sucked dry from years of managing irresponsible brats. The facade of culturally enforced meekness in the face of academic authority fell away in the throes of alcohol intoxication. The display of uncontained outrage that would have mortified her in a sober state now merely tickled her inclination towards mischief.
She eyed Rune and grinned maniacally as the receptionist laid the verbal abuse on thick from within the confines of her booth. Eva had one more performance to give. Crossing her eyes and bunching together her eye brows, she purposely jutted out her lower jaw as she moved her mouth to lip sync the older woman’s diatribe. By coincidence, her cheeks were a similar shade of crimson courtesy of an inherited intolerance to alcohol, the infamous “Asian flush.” “YOU ARE ALL IN DETENTION! ALL OF YOU DOWNSTAIRS!” When the yelling ceased, the demon dadao puffed out her cheeks, quite toad-like. Shame? What shame? She knew no shame in this state of mind, only that others were determined to snuff out her fun. It was commendable that she hadn’t taken to shedding her clothes and slithering around on one of the two boys present, whichever order that came in. Honestly, what was there to be in such a furor about?
The dangerously thin Russian woman intervened before Eva could find yet another method of offending the receptionist. The whisper was rather brief, just audible; had she been more distracted the girl may not have noticed at all. The innocuous quality to how the feathery light suggestion was given was in contrast to the devastation it wrought upon her imagination. “Imagine the receptionist doing a pirouette and menstruating at the same time.” She immediately expelled the air she had been holding in her cheeks in a long raspberry that unraveled itself into a coughing attack. The taste of acid filled her mouth, but with a forcible gulp she managed to keep down the contents of her stomach. “Why would you say something so horrible? I can’t unsee it, why can’t I-” she asked piteously in between the coughing fits.
However, profound confusion overtook her features at the appearance of a bipedal, and even more incredulously, well muscled, panda bear. Her mouth hung open and she looked from one person to the next to confirm that there indeed was such a presence. Hoooo-eeee! That was some strong grape juice that Rune had fermenting away in his room. Eva shook her head and rubbed her eyes to clear away the visual aberration, yet there it remained. She was very sure that it was “grape juice” in the bottle and not an ayahuasca brew, but just to be safe she slapped herself in the face in a vain attempt to sober up. She had to be some kind of drunk if she herself realized she was not entirely rational.
“Ah, well now you’ll get it, you sniveling miscreants. Meet Mister Bamboo-bottom. He is…our…head…of…security. He will be escorting…you, bas-I mean children to detention. “ The girl calmed down considerably, enough to even nod in approval at the irritatingly familiar-looking boy’s cheeky quip. Now where had she seen that face before? No matter, what was important was that she could ride on his coattails and continue irritating the she-toad.
“I ain’t a-scurrda you, my mom's Chinese” Eva said, waving her arm weakly in a dismissive gesture. Pha, the old slug could yell all she wanted. Ohh, wicked children, those wretches, those demons. There wasn't anything she hadn't heard yet from her mother. Punishment? Please! She had become well acquainted with the ingenuity of an Asian mother, at whose hands plastic slippers and long feather dusters could become fearsome tools of discipline. Yeah right, like they could come up with something her demon weapon mother, a Shibusen alumna herself, hadn't yet. “We’re going to the dungeon because we want to. Come on Rune, I gots something to show youse down there.” Seventeen, a bit old for teenage bravado and empty shows of rebellion, or was that the drunk swagger kicking in?
She gathered her legs beneath her and tried to stand, but her limbs gave out as soon as she tried to put weight on them. "I'm okay, I got this," the girl said as she battled with gravity. By clutching at the sofa arm, she managed to pull herself up. Walking was an entirely other matter. As she swayed back and forth, she was forced to windmill her arms to keep balance since her coordination was so thoroughly shot with the alcohol. All the while, Eva vigorously denied the need for any help. Each step was made in defiance of the expectation that her legs would turn to jelly at any moment. Now just what business did the scenery have to spin around her so?
She can sing! She can act! And now, she dances!
Just barely past that infuriatingly familiar looking boy, the demon weapon collapsed once more. She threw her arms out and caught them around Wasaki's neck, unsure at first of who or what had somehow materialized in her great moment of need. Nonetheless, she was quite sure the floor was not ever this warm, nor should it be making choking sounds or that ever quickening ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump. Unless she was re-living The Telltale Heart, in which case she would never touch alcohol again. Eva blinked a few times until the visual information reaching her brain was finally paired up with the realization that it was Wasaki whose airway she was unintentionally obstructing. In no great hurry at all, she flashed him a lazy, apologetic grin and shifted her weight so that she was once again standing on her on two feet. "Hehe, why hello, I didn't see you there. I hope you don't mind, my legs aren't working right today. Did you see that big panda over there, or am I just trippin'?"
A comedian too! She's a quadruple threat!
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Dirge
Full Member
[P:0]}}Kishin Egg Souls{0} Human Souls{0} Witch Souls{0} Points{-1780}
Comic Relief Guy
Posts: 210
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Post by Dirge on Dec 2, 2011 23:35:07 GMT -5
Most of the receptionist’s words were only a brash articulation of phonemes to Rune. They sounded like random drunken slurs or the ramblings of a baby who knows what they want but cannot express it. And her asthma really added onto these. Truth is, while everyone else save for his partner - the addled girl sprawled out on a large sofa – managed to hear every single word the old woman spoke, the ‘mere’ guy selectively sought these out: Shame. Drinking. School. Downstairs.[/color]
And THEN, he heard the lithe Russian girl whisper carefully picked out words in his ear. Rune stopped in his tracks, stopped the swerving, swiveling, quivering, and waving his hands around, and the bottle which he held in one of them. He literally froze solid, and his eyes widened in the same way that someone in the middle of the African savannah would gaze at a black rhinoceros running at top speed towards them.
But he didn’t feel nauseous. Well, not past the point of his current stupor. He did, however, burst out in sheer, loud laughter, proceeding to swerve from side to side and spilling the contents of the bottle all over Shibusen’s floor. “BAHAHAHAHAHA! God, you’re awesome! How the heck didn’t I think of that before?! That’s just amazingly hilarious!”[/color] Rune bellowed, though in the midst of his reaction, he hadn’t even noticed what was going down out there.
What the hell was that? It looked like a huge blob of skin-colored meat, two crimson spots on its upper torso, and the “head”, if he could even call it so, was a mess of black, white, and gray. Rune blinked once, then twice, then thrice, and only after the fourth time could he make out the outline of this… thing. He heard Eva clearly address him, saying something about “down there” and a dungeon, and then, in what appeared to be a drunken slur, “I got this.” Honestly, it appeared that she didn’t have a grasp of the situation any more than he did. All that was coursing through Rune’s head, or what was left of his conscious mind, was “What did I put on this…? It was supposed to be simple wine… I wonder if it could knock an elephant out…”[/color]
A stupid grin settled on his face and he leaned down to poke the top of the Chinese dadao’s head with the butt of the bottle. No doubt, that movement was sure to cause a reaction from the collapsed girl. But all the while, Mister Bamboo-bottom stood behind Rune, towering over him as he brought his hands to pick the little man up. “COME NOW. TO THE DUNGEON WE GO.” He shouted. And he shouted loud. In fact, the voice resonated through the corridors of Shibusen, and Rune was sure that everyone in the city had also heard that shout. Or was he? In his current state, any sober person would notice that he wasn’t in the state to be sure of –anything- other than how drunk he really was.
Although Rune’s stupor was weakening by the minute, he was still far gone to perform any advanced cognitive processes or move around as quickly as he usually could. As it stood, he was going to be the first guy to reach the dungeon, being carried away by the huge panda-like brute. “STUDENTS. DOWN THERE. NOW.” Another three shouts echoed through the whole place in rapid succession. The head of security figured that if he couldn’t pick each one of them up and throw them down there by force, he’d do so through fear.
“I’m goin’ runnin’!” Rune cried out as he squirmed within the panda’s grasp. “You better cut me off, blob!” He added before bringing the bottle to his lips, dripping a large quantity of the liquid on the panda’s spine as very few drops managed to fall into his mouth to be swallowed right away.
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