Dyo 17, 81381. Early morning, on a bench. Who? Exalok Shiruki // // pendragon. Wearing? Baggy brown pants that drag on the ground, a red and blue-striped spaghetti-strap shirt and her usual assortment of beads, feathers and earrings. Out on the Janardan campus, a pale thill sat alone on a bench. She was bent over, her ebon hair trailing down the side of her face. A notebook, gray with random scribbling, rested on her lap, and the six fingers of her right hand were playing with a worn pencil. Every flick of her thick claws was slow and controlled, as if her skin would split open at the slightest sudden jerk. Her other hand was running through the beads and feathers attached to her glimmering black hair, which was caught in a ponytail at the back of her skull. Her ears swerved and swiveled as she gazed at the notebook in front of her, the many loops adorning their thin sides swinging and jingling faintly like mystical bells. Her firey amber eyes were half-shut, and she looked as if she was about to fall asleep. However, no 'dragon could be more awake than she. Her concentration was reaching its maximal capacity. Though she looked weary or dreamy outwardly, her mind was twirling with the force of a gattling gun. She was searching everywhere for a solution to her dilemma, lurking in the farthest reaches of her conscious to find what she wanted. The only thing that betrayed this inner activity was the tip of her long, slim tail, thumping against the ground impatiently. She'd sketched a poem down on her notebook some time ago. A poem with only four lines. She'd been in the Panic Room, faced with an annoying squirrel and a blind Aquabat with a thing for exasperating her in a short amount of time. She'd left, of course - she hadn't been able to get a thing out of her imagination after that ordeal for quite a while. She hadn't seen the Aquabat since - which was great to her. But now, she once again stared at the poem, wondering how to finish it. Tall and winged, Dead as dust, The pantomime angels Are covered in rust. What was the meaning of it? If she could find that, then she'd be able to finish it. But if not, she'd have to scrap the stupid thing. It was only morning, and already she was feeling peeved. OOC: Come one, come all!
<span style='width:100%;font-weight:bold; font-size:10px'>Out of Character</span> <table class='ooc'><tr><td>Khaz Siruls </td></tr></table> Not the greatest of days, but definitely not the worst. It seemed to him that life can only get worse as he worried about things. The young 'dragon walked through the area counting all the problems that he currently stacked on himself. He had lost his binder filled with various important notes and project information. He didn't know where his brother, Veja, left to since two seasons ago. He also couldn't figure out what time it was. His watch had been broken for about a week and his ability to tell time by using shadows wasn't that great. Sleeping through wilderness survival classes really hurt him at times. But worrying only brought his spirits down, and the lower it gets, the more likely tragedy was to strike. Instead, Khaz decided that it was time to take some kind of initiative. His binder had to be SOMEWHERE on school grounds. Someone would have to find it somewhere. Veja always came back alive from wherever he traveled, so that wasn't much of a problem either. And the time, well.. all he needed to do was find someone who knew. There must be someone in this school that pays attention to something as silly as telling time from shadow positions, or at least with a watch around the wrist. He decided that he'll head for the closest form of intelligence on the grounds. Pendragons that sat around the benches were usually filled with genius thoughts. The last time he met someone sitting on the bench, she played a weird instrument and knew a lot about... well.. a lot. He supposed that the pendragon on the bench close by was no different. He shaked himself off a bit before changing his course of direction to the one sitting. Stretching his arm out to tap the other student, he asked "Um.. excuse me. But would you happen to know the time?" That was one conflict down, the others were yet to be solved.
So concentrated was the pale-skinned thill that she did not hear the arden's approaching footsteps. But as soon as he tapped her bare shoulder, she flinched visibly and leaped to her feet, putting a proper distance between herself and the intruder. In the second she had taken to move from the bench to the grass, switching to a standing position, she had aggressively bared her gleaming white canines, though she had not unfolded her long fangs. As long as she was in the school, she felt safe from more important dangers. The beads in her ebon hair clicked lightly against each other as her ponytail slid back into place, and she flicked a strand of black hair behind her ear with a single huge claw. Her lips had slipped back over her sharp teeth, but there was still a faintly menacing curl to them, showing the other 'dragon that she didn't want to be approached. Gradually, she relaxed, letting her muscles untense, and her blazing orange eyes slowly returned to their half-closed position. She bent down to retrieve her notebook, which she had dropped when she leaped up, and dusted off its pages. Then she faced the arden, tall ears pointed faintly back, and answered in the simplest was she could. "<span style='color:orange'>No.</span>" With a flick of her slim wrist, she dropped her notebook onto the bench, and passed her claws through her hair to readjust the beads and feathers. She picked at the many loops and studs stuck through the thin membrane of her ears, checking to make sure they hadn't gotten tangled. Finally, she dusted herself off, hardly touching her skin as her hand passed over it - but as soon as it reached her shoulder, where the other student had touched her, she winced again and let out a barely audible snarl. She whirled on the white 'dragon, slitted nostrils flaring in anger, a tremor shaking her whole slim frame. "<span style='color:orange'>Couldn't you be any less frikkin' careful?!</span>" she exclaimed, eyes narrowed furiously. Her ears had flipped straight back, and she'd bared her canines again, the twin snake fangs unlocking to spring into view as she spoke. "<span style='color:orange'>I'm gonna have a bruise for farkkin' days! Vokc!</span>" she swore. Then she stood there, threatening in the way she leaned forward, her sinuous tail thrashing behind her. That arden better have a proper answer up his sleeve.
"<span style='color:green'>It's almost seven.</span>" A voice from the left came. Khuta, who was also concentrating hard on a sheet of music paper that lay in front of him, was slightly irritated by a sudden outburst of the pale femme who was apparently disturbed by the tanned male. His icy gaze studied the two for a while. They were very much awake. Unlike Khuta. Khuta hadn't slept well last night. In fact, he hadn't slept at all. He had spent his early night in a cafe doing a gig. The crowd was great but the boss was a total pain in the utt. Since he had classes the next day, he had asked a friend if he could spend the night in her dorm while coincidentally, she goes for a holiday. The neat, tidy and quiet dorm he slept in was soon penetrated by the echos of rave music in the next dorm. Being a light sleeper that he was, he tossed and turned and even almost suffocated himself with the pillow to block out the sounds but to no avail. Finally, when he had enough and knocked on the door behind where the party was taking place, he was met by a maniacal laughter of a slightly disturbing looking Lukuo whose breath smelt of booze and had the door slammed on his face. Thus, bringing himself here with his music sheets (to compose another song for his next performance) only to find that peace was once again broken. Don't pendragons in Janardan sleep anymore? "<span style='color:green'>It's early morning. Aren't you two supposed to be sleeping or something?</span>" he asked with a slight frown. Though irritated, he found the situation amusing. Pitiful, actually. The poor guy was just asking for the time. Ah, well, everyone must be having a crappy time.
Khaz jolted his arm back. He curled his fingers into a ball as if they've touched something they shouldn't. The rest of his body didn't flinch though. He maintained his footing regardless of the 'threat' that he imposed on him. Besides, even if she did try to attack him, it appears that she bruises rather easily. Fighting, in any case, wouldn't do either of them much good. No problems would get solved. Khaz remembered that pendragons sitting on the bench weren't only very intelligent, but they were also pretty angry. He remembered his last encounter with a female on the bench wasn't so happy about life either when they first met. Well, she did explain how she was going through a female thing, so it might've been the same in this case. The older girl never mentioned being easily to bruise though. Maybe it was just one of the side effects that this girl had that some probably didn't. However, on closer inspection, it seemed almost obvious. Her skin looked sorta thin on her. Even this early in the morning he could see a few veins on her arms. "Sorry, I'll be more careful not to touch next time." He really didn't know what else to say at that point. Something was obviously on her mind too. If not, she wouldn't have been out here at seven in the morning. Seven? "It's Seven? Serious? Hmm.. That would explain the tiredness. Not a wink of sleep yet, and I still don't feel like sleeping, as tired as I am. Thanks, uh.. sir." Khaz tilted his head to the side as he looked at him. He must've been so tired that he couldn't hold his head up normally."From the looks of it, neither of you look as if sleep as come for you today.."
Exalok's cat-like head snapped to the side, and her angry orange eyes locked onto the wolfish 'dragon - lukuo? He seemed different from the rest. A low growl rumbled inside her throat. Who was he to think he could interrupt her argument? He'd just wasted her chance to vent her anger out on someone! Her ears quivered as she strained to stop herself from leaping at the gray-and-white lukuo with claws and fangs. She knew she shouldn't get into fights. Her opponent could rip her in two like a ripe fruit. Vokc, she swore inwardly. Why does life always have to ruin opportunities? Still, since she didn't want to die anytime soon, Exalok made an effort to render her outer image a bit more neutral - though she was still seething inside her tired and exasperated mind. Her ears flipped back into a normal position, the jewelry adorning them, for once, not getting stuck in her long black hair, and her fangs folded back into her mouth. Her fangs weren't bared any longer, but there was a stiffness about her muzzle that told of her desire to simply sink her teeth into someone at that moment. She had relaxed her body, letting her tail lay limply on the ground, her long arms folded over her red-and-blue shirt. She gave a casual flick of her wrist to brush the soft brown cloth of her pants and turned back to the first intruder, eyes half-closed once again. The strand of ebon hair was hanging alongside her face again. At least the first guy didn't react like most do. He'd told her he wouldn't touch next time. Well, he better not. If that happened, she reflected mildly, he'd be getting harrassing letters in his mail until the end of his life. That gave her enough satisfaction to settle down a bit more, and she listened to what he had to say. "<span style='color:orange'>I did sleep, for your information,</span>" Exalok cut in, her voice declaring but expressionless. "<span style='color:orange'>I just enjoy being outside at seven in the morning working my brain into jelly.</span>" Though her words could be interpreted as sarcasm, there wasn't a hint of it in her tone. She didn't use it often, and this was not one of those rare times. She picked her notebook up and carefully sat back down on the bench, bending back over the scribbled page she was working on. Her tail curled around her, its tip twitching. "<span style='color:orange'>Now if I could be left alone without interruption,</span>" she suggested very heavily, "<span style='color:orange'>I would probably finish this a lot faster.</span>"
Khuta felt a little hostility from the pale skinned female. Well, little would be an understatement. Learning hypnosis had required learning about psychology and though her body had relaxed and her stature returned to normal, Khuta knew that she would very much like to tear anyone within reach to tiny little pieces. So this is what happens when pendragons litter the campus in the early morning... "<span style='color:green'>It's Khuta,</span>" he told the male, finding to be addressed as "Sir" a little weird. He nodded his grey and white head in greeting. His messy green hair followed suit and bounced as the cranium did. His two tails were idly resting on the bench he sat, occupying most of the space, once in a while tapping out rhythms- a habit he had picked up during his days in his former school. Khuta wondered how this stranger, without a wink of sleep, could be so polite so early in the morning. "<span style='color:green'>Nope. No sleep. Even if I want to go back to sleep, I couldn't. Once my sleep is disturbed, I can't go back. Sad case, really.</span>" He turned toward the female. He knew what came out of his mouth next would most probably just irritate her more, but somehow, he didn't care. "<span style='color:green'>I, or maybe we, might help you a little on what you're doing. Maybe then you could finish it faster.</span>"
[Well... since Skylink doesn't seem to be answering, I'll post.] The pale-skinned thill glared out of the corner of her blazing orange eye at the wolfish lukuo, a frown wrinkling her brow. Her lip curled up in anger, and her expression came close to a sneer as she coldly replied to his commentary. "<span style='color:orange'>It's my poem,</span>" she snarled. "<span style='color:orange'>My poem, my business, my work. Anyway, group work is crap.</span>" She felt particularly irrate that morning. After all, some stone-headed guy had just walked up to her and given her a bruise - she had enough of those already, thank you very much. Then some other jerk had stuck his green-haired skull into the conversation, taking away the satisfaction of a lengthy rant over other 'dragons being farkkin' careful from her. And this wasn't counting the fact that she still had no answer to her annoying dilemma: the unfinished poem. Now that up-nosed sod wanted to try and frikkin' help her? What did he think she was? Some stupid damsel in distress? More like a friggin' fire-breathing lizard in a total rage. Her tail stiffened in fury. That was a reflex she had developped when thumping it against the ground only resulted in yet more pain and bruises. She tightened her grip on the wooden pencil and bent even farther over her notebook, strands of ebon hair falling around her face. Her bangles and earrings jangled like a miniature symphony as she moved. A feather slipped out from her gathered hair and fell to the ground. She gave it a good long glare, and suddenly felt angry at it. A falling feather. Angels. Tall and winged, dead as dust. And then something hit her. The poem... could it be about her very self? A shiver seemed to cross her entire body as she stared at the feather. Angel. Fallen angel. The image of her father crawled into her mind. It was his fault that she was like this. His frikkin' fault. Inspiration dawned in her thumping heart, and she began scribbling frantically on her page. Her pencil moved like a blur, skidding over the paper. She crossed words out, put new words in, and added lines and lines of text. Tall and winged, Dead as dust, Her pantomime angels Are covered in rust. Her living demons, Bruises and pain, The Underworld lord Lives in her again. The darkness enthralling, The nightmares of night Are nothing compared To the death of her light.
Khaz agreed. It's not like he was very artisticly inclined in poetry. He was a fighter, a tactician, and a chef on the side, sometimes. He was nowhere close to being able to write anything nice. He could barely read his own handwriting when taking notes in class. How would he be able to assist in writing poetry? Nevertheless, Khaz stayed there giving away auras of 'mental support'. Walking away so suddenly seemed rude, even if this frail girl would rather that be the case. After about a minute or two, she began writing again. Khaz eyed the paper with his mismatched eyes. It seemed like she was writing something very sad and depressing. Maybe the mental support vibes only succeeded to bring her spirit down even more. So much for support... When she seemed to stop, Khaz opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. He would've said something along the lines of "That's really depressing." or "Oh, what a sad writing" but it didn't look like she would take that any more happily than she took the tap on her shoulder.
<span style='color:green'>Feisty...</span>, Khuta commented to himself after the girl, as expected, snapped again. But he wasn't intimidated. In fact, he felt more drawn towards the pale skinned femme. Besides, pushing people's button may just make him happier on this "beautiful" morning since everyone has been pushing his lately. He was about to say something when she bent over her book and began scribbing furiously in it. Curious, like the bi-coloured male beside him, he looked over her shoulder and read the few lines of the poem. It was depressing and he could tell by the expression on the male's face that he thought it too. Yet the poem wasn't bad. Personally he thought that it was, like most poems, just a story of a dark angel. But she definitely looked the part and she had the vocabulary to make the poem much interesting. His tail did a few thumps on the bench again out of habit. Then it hit him. What if he could create a melody to accompany this dark poem? Maybe, if he tried and said the right words, she would agree to make a song with him using this particular piece of work. It wasn't likely to happen but it was worth a try. "<span style='color:green'>You know, this is actually kinda good...</span>" he said as his ice blue orbs went over the lines again. Should he compose this in an A minor or a C minor? Should he let the girl sing her song? "<span style='color:green'>Depressing, but good. Right, mister?</span>" He nudged the stranger beside him.
[Heeeeeee 3 Thanks for posting, everyone!] She'd finished writing. The poem wouldn't be going much farther any time soon, and she probably didn't want it to. The pencil was lying still and silent on the blackened page. With the notebook resting on her lap, Exalok leaned back against the bench, fiddling with the loops in her ears. There was a faint frown on her usually smooth brow as she looked down at the words, her claws tracing each letter. It didn't seem right. Had she got the meaning wrong? Blazing orange pools glinted with anger. She'd have to start all over again now, scrap this bit and do another. Complete waste of a crappy morning. She drummed the paper with her thick claws, a low growl rumbling in her chest. "<span style='color:green'>You know, this is actually kinda good...</span>" She realized that one of the other guys was talking to her as he stared over her shoulder at the words she'd written down. She glanced back at him, the frown still on her face, and noticed the deep purple bruise developping under her partly transparent skin. She'd been right, of course. Now she'd have to wear sleeves to hide the farkking thing until it disappeared like all the others. Her lip began curling in a sudden burst of rage, but she forced herself to calm down. Anyway, she'd thought up an answer to the arden's comments. She'd always loved replying to those. "<span style='color:orange'>Kinda good...</span>" she agreed for once, though she shook her head irritably. "<span style='color:orange'>But kinda good's not enough.</span>" She passed an agile hand through her ebon hair again, smoothing out the tangles that had gathered around the beads and feathers. No, kinda good wasn't enough. She'd have to do better, find more plausible text... even another meaning, which meant another paquitte or so of no writing. Damn inspiration. It never did what you wanted it to. "<span style='color:orange'>I like depressing,</span>" she muttered half to herself. "<span style='color:orange'>Depressing is a great poem topic.</span>" She gave a faint laugh as she imagined herself writing happy poems. That would mean the end of the world. Or the start of a new one, perhaps? After all, being angry and short-tempered had never gained anything other than loneliness. She shook the thought away and twisted around on her seat so that she was facing the other two. She hadn't even noticed the first guy had come up to read her poem as well. But it didn't matter much. She knew what she wanted to say. "<span style='color:orange'>If you're going to help me, then you better do something useful - and find it by yourselves. I'm not going to think up something for you.</span>" She wasn't agreeing to their help yet, no - just seeing what they could find. And if anything could help her, she'd take it. This poem was exasperating her, and she'd beat it, whatever the cost.
//I could've sworn I posted her already// Khaz wasn't very talented when it came to writing. His handwriting was comparable to that of an Inth with a pen, and the quality of the writings didn't add much to the lack of beauty. Nevertheless, Khaz had a taste for stories. He knew what 'sounds' good, and what works for many situations. Of course, the only good story telling experience he had were the many lies he told his parents before getting into trouble. Had he not learned to tell stories so well, Khaz would have more scars than a Graded War Veteran. After digesting what he could of her colorful choice of diction, he tried to think of how he would make it better. Depression just wasn't a topic that Khaz could relate to. Sadness, maybe. Boredom, indefinitely. But not depression. "Hmm.. well.. rather than talking about all the sad features of this tall, dusty, angel-covered-metallic-pantyhose wearing, light killing, demon hosting.. whatever-it-is.. maybe you can bend it saying what that odd thing does. Maybe it goes dancing in the moonlight. Maybe it harvests the souls of the wicked so that they don't corrupt others. Maybe it just likes going out of its way to seem strange and hermitlike. I dunno. I'd like to know more of this odd creature's actions than its odd features. Then again, what do I know about writing?" Khaz never noticed that 'pantomine' was not 'pantyhose', but what can one say? Those who can't write well, can't read too well either.
OOC: won't mind if i join? Who: Rloa wearing: black Shorts and a Wing sloted T-shirt IC: "Crack Crack Crack." came is what came from Rloa's wings <span style='color:gray'>"Can't you be a little more carful!?"</span> Xas shakes his head "If you can't be more carful when you pratice don't complain when you get the rewards." "CRACK!" <span style='color:gray'>"SUN OF A......"</span> Rloa shakes his head as he walks away from Xas's office and walks towards the entrince <span style='color:gray'>mabe i can find something intresting outside...</span> and as soon as he walks out of the entrence. right away he spots a intresting group and chuckles to himself <span style='color:gray'>"still have sharp eyes nomaber what those teachers say."</span> and slowly walks over to the group wondering what are those people up to?
<span style='width:100%;font-weight:bold; font-size:10px'>Out of Character</span> <table class='ooc'><tr><td>Sorry... exam week with crappy internet isn't at all convenient. =.="</td></tr></table> "<span style='color:green'>Well for one, if you don't mind that is, you could make a melody for it. I could help.</span>" he mismatched Lukuo whipped out his acoustic guitar from behind him and took it out of its leather casing. It was his precious and he always brought it wherever he goes, not letting it out of his sight. Though it has been with him for many years, it still looks brand new. He plucked out a few chords, doing a quick check to see if the guitar is in tune. "<span style='color:green'>Are you good at singing?</span>" By that time, the other male was giving his comments. Khuta raised and eyebrow at Khaz. "<span style='color:green'>Dude, 'pantyhose'? But I do agree that actions would do well.</span>" He shifted a little so that he was in comfortable position with the guitar. Harmony with the instrument is everything. He was about to say something more when a slight sound caught his attention. Though not a hunter, Khuta was a musician and his ears were sharp. His ears flicked and he glanced towards the source. He commented, more to himself than to anyone, "<span style='color:green'>Well, looks like Janardan is waking up.</span>"
[Bleh, I'm such a crap x_x I haven't posted here in... what? 14 days? Cheez. Bad me.] The Lukuo answered her challenge first, taking a guitar out of a casing strapped to his back. Exalok raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the instrument's sudden appearance but said nothing, mulling the arden's suggestion over inside her head. She casually fiddled with one of her safety pins, blazing orange eyes narrowing as she considered it. She'd never really been this way before. Perhaps their rather agreeable disposition was growing on her. Well, it was better than being stuck on a poem, anyway. Slender ears flicked as he plucked his guitar's strings, and she blinked at him. Giving the words a tune might let her finally find some kind of correct mood. Though she had had a huge burst of inspiration, the poem still felt to her like a mix-and-match thing. It needed to be neat and organized. It needed order. Adding music would give it a rhythm, it would make her have to choose a particular beat to her lyrics. All right, it would resemble a song more than a poem, but it was already a start. [Going to finish later.]
