<span style='width:100%;font-weight:bold; font-size:10px'>Out of Character</span> <table class=ooc><tr><td>What: Turmoil, controlled by the voice in his head answers a personals ad in the school paper. A meeting is arranged and this is it... Who: http://shadowlack.com/persona.php?id=116Turmoil</a> (Me) and http://shadowlack.com/persona.php?id=123Dyslexia</a> (Silith) When: Dyo 34, 81379, after classes (about 17:15-18:00) Where: Dorm #1414 Rating: PG-13. For now. Perhaps, forever.</td></tr></table> A black pendragon walked with determined steps through the corridors of the Janardan dormitories, sporting a self-assured grin when crossing the distance towards room 1414, making tiny swirling movements with the single black rose he held in his hand. 1310... 1350... Dorms everywhere... 1398... 1414. There. Turmoil raised his hand and brought it down on the door as he knocked once. He raised it again, and the arrogant expression faded gradually, albeit quickly. Another knock at the same pace. He raised his hand yet again, but hesitated. A lot of mental activity transpired during the few seconds before his hand came knocking down on the door again with a slightly longer interval. The first thing his dizzied mind noticed was that he was wearing a white tank top. He didn't own a tank top. Never mind a white one. The second thing he noted about his outfit was that he used his tool belt to support the usual, black jeans. Unnecessary, something he wouldn't normally do. Further, it appeared he had combed his hair recently, and even put some hair gel or something in it, because it doesnÂ’t appear to budge. The hairstyle itself was something he could live with. Overall, it seemed to be pretty usual, except for a bang hinging in front of his left eye. A purple bang. Lovely. Last time he checked, he didn't have purple hair, so he must have dyed it. To top it of, he suddenly remembered why he was here. A cold shiver travelled across his spine as he realised what he had done without knowing. Was he going insane? Perhaps that was only to be expected. There where signs after all... But this was no time for that. He'd have to play his own game now. He had enough decency not to simply run away from this door and never look back. It was to far to the door anyways. He hid the rose behind his back with his left hand as his right hand hit the door again in the third and last knock.
<span style='width:100%;font-weight:bold; font-size:10px'>Out of Character</span> <table class=ooc><tr><td>Dyslexia Rymapumkaj Currently clad in a pair of fadded gray cargo pants with a large aray of patches sewn onto them, and a variety of straps hanging down from the belt-loops. As well as a tight mesh longsleeved shirt and a midriff cut orange vest overtop. A wide choker made of many tiny silver rings wraps snuggly about her throat. Usual assortment of piercings. XD *is nuts right now*</td></tr></table> Dys jolted with a start at the sound of sharp rapping at her door. With a small groan of fatigue she rolled off her narrow dorm bed and landed smoothly on her feet. A few mumbled curses and furious bouts of eye rubbing later and she was up and awake. The brightly hued femme stretched languidly, taking her time to sidle over to the door. As she moved her multiple ear piercings and other adornments made their usual soft twinkling chime. Her tail coiled behind her, the tip swaying back and forth in time with her hips. Plumed ears twitched and flicked back at the knocking, bringing a slight frown to her mouth; she was never a morning person, or afternoon, whatever time it was now. <span style='color:teal'>"Note to self. Buy a friggin' watch."</span> she mumbled just as one alabaster paw alighted on the door knob. For a moment she paused; something in the back of her head making the fur on her nape rise and a shiver run down her back. But the feeling was fleeting, and after taking a second to fix her mussed rainbow bangs she jerked open the door. <span style='color:teal'>"Hey... Canna help you with something?"</span> she asked, surveying the male who had managed to disturb her fortress of solitude.
At first Turmoil thought he had not been heard. Partly comforting, partly annoying. As much as he liked being alone, when he called for attention one way or another, he didn't want to be ignored. But he didn't really want to be here either. He was about to leave (or so he told himself) when sounds started erupting from inside the dorm. Faint ones, but signs of life none the less. He was surprised, to say the least, when something that seemed to be the product of a rather intricate affair between every major vertebrate group, the rainbow and a pincushion. Said product wasn't all that bad looking though, which sort of reinforced the mental bound that held him in place. When he understood that he was not expected, he quickly realised he had an oprtunity to get away, but something hindered him by simply planting a desire not to. "I... Suppose." He began, noting silently that his right wing tip had started twitching ever so slightly, a sign of tension he displayed at times. What was he worried about? Was he worried she hadn't gotten the note? Was he worried that she couldn't care less? Thinking about it, what really had him nervous was that the proposition he did worry about these things. "But I kind of got the impression it was the other way around, too." He produced the rose from behind his back, fumbling ever so slightly as he held it out towards the female. "I'm Turmoil. I believe I told you to be expecting me around now." ... Where did this come from? It didn't sound like his own words, since he was both confused and strung up beyond recognition. Had he really left that note? It appeared Sojnyel's namesake of the mind was spreading into his actual surroundings... How lovely.
Dyslexia was dumbfounded for a few breif moments; then it clicked: this was the guy who left the note a while back. The rose caught her eye; it's ebon bloom a start contrast to the pale hand that reached out to accept it timidly. Mismatched purple oculars were now wide in a combination of surprise and wonder. A flower? That was a rare thing to see these days amongst her age group. Suddenly feeling a little shy she stepped back to allow the male into her room, shyly tucking her long bangs back behind her dappled ears. <span style='color:teal'>"You're the one who left the note..."</span> Ooh. Nice one girl, let's just repeat the obvious. Mentally she kicked herself in the gut for that one. <span style='color:teal'>"My... full name is Dyslexia, but you can call me what you want."</span> She glanced about the room, her eyes finally settling on the minifridge tucked into the far corner. <span style='color:teal'>"Canna get you something to drink...?"</span> she offered tentitively, feeling a little awkward.
Thus far, this little venture seemed remarkably painless. Past experiences dictated that expecting that to keep on was just naive. But hoping? He wasn't so sure about that one... Turmoil's slightly dizzied brain came to the conclusion that waiting out in the corridor would be awkward, not to mention rude. Feeling as if though in slow motion, he lifted his left foot over the doorstep and entered the dorm. It wasn't so much unlike his "own". "I. Suppose." He breathed, slightly taken in by the whole affair, not entirely sure which question he was answering. "Dyslexia... Dys seems fine." He continued, making conversation as much to the female as to himself. Why was he doing this again? He hadn't known then, and he didn't now.
Dys closed the door with a soft click, slicking back the fur of her throat in a slightly nervous gesture. A social dragon by nature, she wasn't usually this introverted around others, but it seemed that today the young femme was feeling rather... vulnerable? No, that wasn't it. But it was something like that. Mentally starting up a small <span style='color:teal'>"Ah hope yeh dun mind the lack of booze and the like. That whole contraban search's got me on edge. 'Fraid yeh'll have to make due with coke."</span> she murmured, sidling over to the minifridge. In a breif moment of awareness she tugged her pants up a little higher; flushing a little at the though that her underwear might have been showing. <span style='color:teal'>That is it girl. Stop acting like a friggin' naive twelve year old and pull it together!</span> Her mental berating through, she retrieved the drink and closed the door, putting the tiny combination lock back on the small appliance. It was amazing how many people would sneak in and raid your fridge if you let them. <span style='color:teal'>"Anyways. It's a pleasure ta meet yah Turmoil and all that jazz."</span> she said in a much more amiable tone, approaching the male with the soda cradled in one hand. <span style='color:teal'>"Is there anything else I can get you...?"</span> she queried, head tilted to the side in what could have been curiousity or a suggestion of something a tad less wholesome; especially when you took into conisderation the coy smile that had snuck it's way onto her features.
Turmoil stood still for a few seconds, surveying the room. Another dorm in the great place of Janardan. Nothing too interesting. Could be with the exception of the female over by the minifridge. Slowly, and, he realized, nervously, he started making his way across the room, moving himself further from the door. He continued observing Dys with curiosity as she brought him his drink. He was actually happy about the lack of alcohol. He'd never been one for the entire beer thing. After all, one should remain one self as often as possible, shouldn't one? He couldn't help smiling at the female and her accent... Funny little thing. "Likewise." He replied, approaching Dys to relieve her of her "burden". He grabbed the can and almost choked on his own tongue when she spoke again. Watching and listening had told him something about expressions, but still, he wasn't sure what she was implying... She couldn't mean? Nah. <span style='color:red'>Yes!</span> "I'll be... fine." He managed to conceive of, taken aback by the sudden burst of thought. He figured he recognized the sensation... But it was distant, unimportant. He figured it was instincts playing in. It had to be.
Dys laughed mentally, well to be frank it was more of a giggle -but she'd never admit that aloud- at the male's reaction. Even though she had only the most basic teachings of mastering her female telepathy, she was pretty good at sensing emotions. And this one seemed embarassed and... conflicted. As though he was constantly at war in his head. He was either crazy, or had a really bad grasp on his conscience. Either way, Dys didn't really care. He seemed nice enough. The chimera stopped in her tracks for a moment, thoughfully playing the studs in her brightly colored tongue over the ribbed surface of the ring in her lip. What should she do next? So far she was proving to be a less than perfect hostess; but then again she never really entertained that much (much to her own chagraine). Still working away at her lip, her eyes scanned the room; moving from one object or area to the next. Posters plastered the wall over her bed -which sported a coverlet featuring the crest of her former school- and a shelf up against the wall held her text books as well as a few small trinkets she had aquired over time. On the lowest shelf sat her materials. Her bag containing all her art supplies, a binder full of writtings and lined paper and most importantly her tattoo'ing equipment. Seeing the tools of her third and favorite trade made her grin happily, her thoughts once again returning to the male. <span style='color:teal'>"Yeh got any ink on yeh?"</span> she grinned, one hand resting on her hip; thumb hooked through the belt loop.
Turmoil raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he started rummaging his toolbelt. Ink? Well, she was an artist after all... He didn't let go of the female with his eyes as he searched his pockets with touch alone. He was getting suspicious. Why'd she need ink from him? A few seconds later, he felt inside a pocket, sensing two plastic tubes. He fished them up as he always did when confronted with retrieving something from the toolbelt. Held in his hand where two ink cartridges for a ballpoint pen.. One black, one red. Each unused and, subsequently, full. "That's all I got." He paused, observing the female. Was she happy? Or mischievous... "What do you want it for?" He mused as he held the cartridges out, wondering if she'd take them.
Dyslexia couldn't hold back a tiny laugh, muffling the sound by biting down on her lip. She let out a long, pleasant sigh and gestured to her tattooing gear. <span style='color:teal'>"Ink, yeh know? Tats? Tattooes? I was asking if you had any."</span> she giggled quietly. <span style='color:teal'>"But et's no prob, yeh know? Sometimes 'dragons dun understand me."</span> It was true in more ways than one. Usually she was very careful about her accent and mannerisms, worried they might label her as a prospective target for any sort of in-school harassment. There was that, and the fact she was generally avoided. Her colorful appearance and nature, along with her style of dress and abundance of body modifications set her apart and made her something foreign here in the school. Her mood suddenly slightly more morose, she decided to forgo talking for the moment. <span style='color:teal'>{So what can I do for you Turmy? Er... hope you don't mind me callin' you that. Yeah... I don't have much in the way of entertainment in my room, as you can see; unless you're interested in getting a few new tat's}</span> She 'pathed to him, the last remark accompanied by a mischeivious grin.
The black pendragon's tailflame started flickering a bit faster as his heart rate went up slightly at the embarrassment. He put the inks back in the pocket and tapped his left hip area with his other hand. "Now that we're on the same level... Unsurprisingly, I do. One. It's sort of in several parts though..." He straightened out a bit, pondering what effect environment had on such a simple thing as how one spoke. He was surprised to realise the female was contacting him telepathically. He hadn't even considered the possibility that she even liked using that form of communication. He smiled at the slightly silly nickname. But, after all, this seemed to be slightly silly person... "Kinda sounds like "Me the rag doll", but I'm not very picky with names. Nicknames are one of the beauties of language." He paused a second, considering, having an inner monologue that seemed somewhat familiar... A tattoo? On a whim, just like that? <span style='color:red'>Hell yeah!</span> "I'm not sure If I like that face you're making... But I like doing new things..." Sometimes quite bizarre ones... "And I could use a bit of pain to wake me up, whether I happen to be asleep or not. Been meaning to piss my folks off further anyway. This might well be the easiest way to do it." Again, he paused, thinking. "But I hope you've got an idea of some sort, 'cause I haven't."
Dys turned over the possibilites in her head, slightly surprised with his agreement. Unaware of her own movements she began to pace back and forth, scopeing out the males bode for a potential home for another permaniant work of art. To her he was a blank canvas, and possibly something more. A friend, perhaps? Or maybe just another customer. Only time and a careful examination of his personality would tell. <span style='color:teal'>"Well, I've got'a book of patterns yeh could look through. Or I've got an example of some of my work right on me bod' as we speak."</span> As she spoke she unzipped the front of her vest as far as she could while still keeping her modesty about her. The wilting rose on it's bed of razor wire, nestled just above and between the swell of her breasts. <span style='color:teal'>"Some o' the best work I've dun in a while... Y'like?"</span> she asked shyly, one eye hidden behind her prismatic locks. Her tail ceased to sweep about behind her; instead coiling itself about her left leg in a slow, sinous movement that was reminiscent of a snake climbing a tree.
Turmoil shifted his weight slightly as Dys started pacing. He was getting uneasy, not to mention confused. Someone wanted him to get a tattoo, but was it him? But... If it wasn't him, who else? He flinched when Dys started undoing her shirt, but soon relaxed when she stopped well in time. Was he always this jumpy? Short answer; no. Long answer; no... But then again, he didn't usually end up in situations like these... Timidly, he moved closer, trying to get as good a look at the rose without appearing to stare. This, he knew how to do. Always the people-watcher, he had developed the habit to observe with caution. Besides, he truly wasn't staring. Or so he told himself. "It's... Beautiful. Kind of depressing, but art's not always cheery, is it?" While talking, he continued moving towards the female pendragon, barely remembering to return his gaze to the female's face in time. "In short, I like it. As for me..." He blinked, and his expression changed from amused-nervous to amused-mischievous, one rarely seen on the green-eyed pendragon's face. "If you don't mind, I'm into surprises."
Dys' grin grew when she heard his reaction, her hands coming together in a swift clasp that resulted in a loud clapping sound resounating through the room. <span style='color:teal'>"Excellent! I have just the idea... something tribal... right between those gorgeous wings of yours..."</span> she mused, moving to rumage through her dresser drawers. She produced a short apron from the top drawer, it's heavy linen obviously freshly laundered. <span style='color:teal'>"Jist take a seat on the spare bed while I change, m'kay? And don'tcha go peaking on lil' ol' me."</span> she laughed, turning away from him and unzipping her vest the rest of the way. She shrugged out of it, tossing it onto the end of her best with an absent flick of her arm. The apron was looped over her neck, and the ties wrapped about her waist and tied in place. With a slight bounce in her step she sidled over to the shelves and plled free her equipment, bending low to inspect each piece carefully. Only when she was fully satisfied that everything was in working order did she straighten up and move towards Turmoil, humming a morbid song in her head. <span style='color:teal'>"Yeh up for anything else while we're at it? A coupla new holes perhaps?"</span> she asked, sticking out her own studded tongue to get her point accross.
Gorgeous? He never thought of his wings as objects of beuty. Then again... If someone could have "lovely hips" or "delicate hands", he supposed one could have gorgeous wings... He took a seat, and began the slightly painstaking task of removing his torso atirement. He could tell it was indeed new, as the wing holes seemed to be in perfect condition, exactly fitting over his wings. Those tended to get larger and eventually rip the shirt in question apart. He sighed as he managed to finally fit the top over his wings without damaging either, taking a rather deep breath to steel himself. He was, to say the least, surprised when the lollipop of a female popped up next to him, talking and showing her piercings of. "That's... Somewhere I'm not willing to go right now." He shook his head, trying to get rid of a sense of dizziness starting to manifest. He returned his gaze to said lollipop 'dragon. "I'm ready when you are."
Dyslexia set her equipment near Turmoil and went to plug in the needle, pausing to pick up a few more colors of ink before approaching. She settled herself behind him, sitting so her own legs stuck out on either side of Turmoil's. It gave her perfect access to the region of his back she wanted to work on, the trail made by his spine between those lovely appendages he was gifted with. Dys had her own wings, but they were almost comically small and couldn't get her any lift even in the strongest updrafts. There was a quiet snap as she tugged on the latex gloves that would keep her hands clean and the male's back free of germs. She paused for a moment to drag one clawtip over the area of flesh she planned to use, mentally marking out what she was going to put there. The pointed end barely grazed the surface of his skin for more than a few breif seconds before she was reaching for the alcohol and cotton balls to cleanse the area. <span style='color:teal'>"This is gonna feel really cold, so don't freeze up on me."</span> she muttered as she painstakingly swabbed down his skin. As an after though, she mentally added <span style='color:teal'>{No pun intended, hun.}</span> Only after Dys had gone through about four of the puffy round balls did she stop and set the bottle aside. With a flick of her thumb the needle hummed to life, although for the moment she kept it clear of his body. Smirking slightly, Dys leaned forward and rested her chin on Turmoil's shoulder, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. <span style='color:teal'>"Yeh still sure about this?"</span> she murmured, not feeling the need to raise her voice thanks to the close proximity of their faces.
As the other pendragon positioned herself, Turmoil suddenly realized he hadn't been this close physically to anyone in a long time. The thought unsettled him slightly for some reason, playing on all social creatures' base fear of being left completely alone. While the alcohol's cold touch sent a small, not entirely unpleasant, shiver down his spine, he pondered Dys's excessive use of pet names, but that vanished soon enough. At the soft hum of the needle, as a matter of fact. He exhaled, symbolically attempting to remove his doubts with the carbon dioxide. He was taken aback when he felt the multicoloured female's head resting on his shoulder. Being practically devoid of physical contact, especially that of (in this case, more-or-less) strangers, for the duration he had been, he found it rather odd that he didn't really mind. He turned his head slightly to observe the female, hovering it above hers, just looking at her. "Do it." Was his short answer.
A playful growl welled up from Dyslexia's throat as she pulled her head back, pausing breifly to close her teeth over Turmoils ear in a friendly nip before thumbing the power to the needle. <span style='color:teal'>"Aye aye mon Capi'tan."</span> she grinned, using one hand to keep the flesh of his back taut while she lowered the buzzing tip of the needle to his skin. It moved slowly in swirling patterns, reddening the skin but not causing much in the way of bleeding. Slowly the outline of her creation began to take shape; a feathered serpent coiled around a jagged pike. Not her very best work, but the delicate intricatcies she had worked into it gave it a sublte, albiet 'unique' quality that was all it's own.
All mental activity paused momentarily in the young male as a somehow pleasing sound came from the female behind him, followed by a quick nib at his ear. For some reason. He was jolted back into reality at the sensation of a humming needle being pressed into his skin. It was painful and in that, pleasing on some level. It did wake him up, bringing him into a higher level of awareness then before. He found himself enjoying his current position, as he let out a slightly strained sigh of apreciation. Somewhere in the deeper reaches of his mind, he could barely make out a smile of some nature, and his own, physical expression came to match it.
Candy-striped tongue was held lightly between two teeth as Dyslexia finished off the outline, and moved to begin filling in the solid areas with the same ebon ink, pausing only a few times to dab at her handy work with an alcohol damped kleenex. Slowly the coiling scripture began to take form, starting at the head and slowly working down to the tail and the tips of the down and lace wings. <span style='color:seagreen'>"You holdin' up alright?"</span> she muttered, brows furrowed in concentration. She was now finished with the black, and was about to proceed on with the next color; a deep, rich shade of crimson. <span style='color:seagreen'>"Just gotta break for a bit before I start on the red. Yeh might wanna try flexing yer back in the mean time, jist so yeh don't end up with a crust sore spot in the mornin'"</span> she grinned, setting her equipment to the side. Hands now free, one alabaster paw sneekily made it's way towards the membrane of Turmoil's left wing, fingertips whispering accross the strange skin with all the pressure of a light summer breeze. Barely touching, yet the contact was there.
