Dyo 14 The sun was low in the sky, burning orange like a dwindling fire. Clouds curled around the celestial globe in iridescent orange, pink, purple and blue-gray, swaying in the breeze like finely-woven silk scarves. The courtyard of the Janardan Academy was awash in warm light, each low, sprawling tree and freshly trimmed blade of grass radiating a golden aura, as if Nature's inner power was bursting forth from the very earth here within the brick-bound garden. The cool breezes of spring-time touched every surface, causing rippling shivers to pass across the area in waves. Nene sat in the corner, two cold walls joining at his back. His goggled gaze was cast away from the peaceful scene, into his lap where a peculiar item rested. Its chrome surface glinted orange light from the sunset, odd pieces of various shapes and sizes protruding from the dome-like body to create a maze of mirrors. The machine was large enough to rest on the gray-toned feydragon's lap and press on both of his knees, his arms just barely long enough to wrap around it. His delicate hands grasped tools that appeared to be a screwdriver and foreceps, these furiously prodding the appliance until a satisfied grin crossed Nene's thin lips.
A low humming, quite pleasant to the ear, rang out in the Courtyard, carried along by the gentle breeze. Black hairs ruffled in the breeze, but the cheery and dark-coloured pendragon paid no mind. To the serious musician, this pendragon's humming would have been an affront to all things musical - an insult, to be frank, for it was doubtless that this young pendragon had never taken a single music class in his entire life... And if he did, then he certainly should reconsider his career. Notes were missed, here and there, but to any inexperienced ear, it was good enough. It was good enough for him, anyway - he didn't care too much for the hearing of others. This humming pendragon went by the name of Ziven, a name he liked well, thank you very much. He held himself with an air of importance, not to mention loftiness, and had a cocky look about him - the sort of look that told you his ego was overinflated, and he had too much confidence for his own good. That sort of look also made him look like he was permanently stuck on Cloud Nine, substance-free. Either that, or he really was high all the time. With Ziven, one could never really tell. He padded along the Academy grounds, lost in thought - though not lost enough to overlook the lone pendragon sitting against a wall, holed up in a corner all by his lonesome. How pitiful. Did the poor fellow have no friends? That would be a sad thing indeed - friendless, all because of that... What was that object in his arms, anyway? It was a rather odd-looking thing, and Ziven wasn't sure if that was a toaster, or something that just resembled a toaster and really was a bomb... or some other sort of weapon. He quickly looked for the nearest escape route, just in case he needed to leave this strange fellow in the midst of a strange conversation with him. Now pausing in front of this other pendragon, Ziven cocked his sleek head to one side, wondering why he received no recognition from the other male. Certainly he could not be that involved in his own creation, could he? It wasn't that interesting, after all. It was either a toaster or a bomb, so really... What was the big deal? But the possibility that a mere toaster (or bomb) could be more interesting than he was worried Ziven, and he frowned slightly. Can it really be more interesting than me? His frown only deepened, and he made a face, waving a hand in front of the other pendragon. No reaction. What was wrong with this other guy? Could he not see a living, breathing creature in front of him...? Really, everyone was getting to be so rude these days! Hello? I'm sexier! Oh, had he just said that aloud? Oops. Giving up on trying to get a reaction out of the other fellow, Ziven let out a sigh and settled back on his haunches, before sliding down so that he as lying on his belly and staring up at this other male. Flirting was not flirting when the other party wouldn't acknowledge you, and Ziven had never been ignored. Until now, that was.
<span style='width:100%;font-weight:bold; font-size:10px'>Out of Character</span> <table class=ooc><tr><td>I hate you. I try to make it short and sweet so it's not another stressful thread you have to deal with, but no... you have to go writing novels! *glomps*</td></tr></table> Vague strands of convoluted music wafted past Nene's unfocused auds, the humming failing to register in the feydragon's currently occupied thoughts. His consciousness was compacted into a laser beam of concentration, boring into each minute detail of the mysterious machine until the screws could no longer be tightened and each copper wire was inserted into its proper circuit. Completed, the appliance appeared to be some variety of torture device, all sharp edges and menacing stares from sockets that invited exploration. In a gleaming moment of triumph, Nene lifted the machine so that it shone in the sunset's fading glow, beholding it with the sort of self-appraising reverence of painters seeing their canvases hung on the walls of an art museum. It was perfect in every way, a masterpiece of modern technology. The feydragon could see his own visage sprawled across the curvature of the chrome body, silver eyes full of satisfaction, lips twisted into a smile. Lowering the appliance to his lap once again, Nene could not help but notice the pendragon lying in the grass not but a few feet away, head propped so that his oddly feline yellow oculars were peering curiously into his own. The feydragon could later testify with complete confidence that his heart skipped several beats, obsidian-traced eyebrows jumping up in an expression of silent shock. He could feel the soft hairs of his mane rise and the flesh on his arms crawl, shoulder-bound. Not only had he assumed he was completely alone in the courtyard this evening, but he was not accustomed to having company, even on other occasions. A breeze blew a loose rivulet of crimson hair across Nene's face, curling it around his circular goggles. Realizing that his appearance must be odd, he lifted a hand to remove the eyewear from his vision, raising the glassy lenses to rest atop his head, just before his ears. With unimpeded sight, the fey could behold the creature with the starlit gaze, wondering what his purpose could possibly be. "Do..." Nene began cautiously, the slowly-drawn sentence sticking to the back of his suddenly dry throat before it would emerge. "Do you need something?"
He waited for a short while, allowing a soft snort to escape as he breathed in and then out deeply, his bright gaze still fixed on the pendragon in front of him. He looked the other male over, trying not to allow his calm yet curious gaze to linger on the strange object for too long of a time. Though, perhaps it would have been in his best interest to pay attention; it certainly would do him no good to end up dead and blown up while getting charmed by this male who chose not to talk. Why was he always intrigued with those who paid him no heed? With those who could care less whether he was dead or alive? Or with those who were already happy and attached? It was exactly like him to want something he could not have, but saying that he wanted this pendragon was not right; he wanted no such thing. He merely wanted to befriend the other male, for he liked having friends, and he cherished companionship and wished for some. Acquaintances and one-night-stands were really his specialties, despite only being sixteen. He was suddenly aware of silver eyes meeting his own, and a friendly smile automatically formed on his dark features. The other male had finally taken off his goggles and met his gaze, acknowledging his presence at long last - something that pleased the attention-seeking Ziven greatly. His ears pricked as the pendragon with the toaster-bomb spoke, and the black-pelted male felt his face change; the smile that had been present now gave way to a somewhat puzzled expression as his gaze once again drifted back to the toaster-bomb. The appliance didn't remind him much of anything but a toaster, and he'd be damned if he knew what that thing really was - he was quite sure it wasn't what he thought it was, but for convenience's sake, he referred to it as the toaster-bomb. "Yeah," he began, a brow quirking, "What the hell is that thing?" He pushed himself back onto his haunches at this, staring curiously at the other male as he did so. An itch began to form on his tattooed leg but he easily ignored it; the machine the other had assembled took precedence over his bodily functions. For the moment, at least. He hoped this pendragon wouldn't retreat back into himself and ignore him again; once was more than enough, and his ego couldn't take a second time. Ziven had always found that by asking anyone about something they made, or something they were particularly proud of or annoyed about, he could get them to open up... And the conversation always went along from there. Of course, everyone had their quirks, so each interaction was different and welcome. He liked a good challenge every now and then. As long as it didn't involve ignoring him. "And who are you?" Since it was only polite to introduce himself, he followed the query with a quick introduction, offering a hand. "I'm Ziven."
