OOC: (Enrolling) IC: Day: 15th Quarter: Dyo (spring) Year: 81378 (4) Finally, the last few of the travelers had buzzed away in different directions, and throughout the moment, she felt as though she had become a dried, sticky starfish, pointing everywhere. The femme scathed the remainder of a cigarette, offered to her by a questionable male in a uniform. He had looked a bit like a puppy, she thought, still tasting the puffed clouds of smoke heaving in her throat, before descending to her lungs. It was the first cigarette of her life. An alien aroma now hung to her orange sweater, slightly bittersweet and tangy, and her muscles hummed an unfamiliar song. Though the distinct scent would probably never wear off, she found some sort of comfort in the thought, a recklessness – her worn bag seemed lighter as it strained against her cinnamon, clawed digits. Details were everything. Spring was on the wind, and small translucent insects floated around the trees with lazy alacrity. Portals from Ajita to Swaraj were a limited pleasure, and compared to the crowded masses, the vivid, viridian plains strolling up towards the Jarnadan Academy were in their unity a sanctum. The air alone – maybe she had accepted, and not really cared about his tattered uniform, because of the sudden loneliness there was in being away from home. She took in a deep breath, shattering the last threads of nebulous smoke. The path of dust and kicked up rocks, tattered grass lurking in the sides, had transformed into an up-scale road of smooth, white stone, bathed in the glowing, almost ethereal – you’ve been away for so long that you don’t know what real is – sunlight. Though it felt warm against her fur, if she had touched the marble-like blocks, it would’ve been ice through her digits. She furrowed her brow slightly and kept walking, the academy jumping into view with its shades of gold and crimson – trademark colors, distinct colors, acceptable colors. Her mother had chosen well; she snickered under her breath, and suddenly wished that she had ripped the soldier of all the cigarettes he had had. Akiva picked up pace, her plain, dark green skirt flowing around her, gripping at the lower parts of her furry, tousled knees, gently bending as the young femme ran. She had forgotten why. The crisp skies dashed off lazily as she ran through the scenery, a goal to be reached – all the flowers reached upwards with their petals, rainbows of colors, and she registered each one of them; all were common, and she could name every single one of them – young, stunted Taap Sjaa plants, pink, crimson and white Jytas, and a majestic Mayneh Tree emerging from the outskirts of a small forest. She had to stop herself, her running had become so frantic and pulsating that she had forgotten everything about and around her, every feeling, everything except the blooming, young flora. If she hadn’t, she would’ve easily knocked her head against the heavy, wooden entrance to the academy. The mere thought made her wince, and she raised a slim paw to the top of her scalp, coated in red hair. What little stench of the cigarette there had been left on her sweater was now quenched with a light hint of sweat, and she cursed herself for being bi-pedal rather than swifter and quadruped – or perhaps, she cursed her desire to run. Something about it was alien, new and raw, a feeling she had never detected within herself until now. She held her breath for a second, and her gaze wandered in circles around the bright plains. In her heart, she knew what had come to pass; she looked with such accuracy, stealthily moving her gaze between the fine little wrinkles on the flower petals. All to no avail; there wasn’t one character that she could’ve drawn the feeling from. She had half-expected to see an iridescent spectrum of a young, pale pendragon, a lively and ghostly shape. Odd wishes. You are hardly yourself anymore. She shrugged, shaking the thoughts off of her like raindrops. It was nothing. She reached out, drawing in one last breath of fresh air, and then carefully entered the marble hallway of the Janardan Academy. Her muscles were continuously quivering beneath her, and even though her lower body had a practical, canine built, she hadn’t run for years. Not since… – her head began to hurt in soft waves, and she raised her index finger to her temples. It was a helpless force against the pain, and she shook her head in annoyance. Why can’t you grasp the memories? The air in here bore faint traces of Mia, which had only passed so recently, the she could still feel snowflakes on her tongue. Doors lined the length of the walls, and she moved silently, cautious not to have her footsteps interrupt any class. She paused against a pale door, such a professional air to it that it shot up amongst the others. A golden plaque was plastered to it, and she noticed that the doorframe reflected the glow, taking on a honey-colored shade. Details were everything. “Main Office", she read, in bold, easily readable writing, and engraved beneath it, a cursive font illustrated the Ramathian translation: “Nuem Yvveka". She raised her hand, paused for one second, then softly, and with a deep echo sounding throughout the hallway, knocked on the door.
<blockquote><font color=#331123 face=tahoma>It was worse than detention. The mere idea of attending was insane! Especially by one such as Xerxes Tenor - the best student to grace the school's hallways since Hart Demori had been around in her own studying days. That was saying something, too. Unless you considered the fact that Xerxes was merely thinking this, it didn't neccessarily make it true. Ah, but it was, at least if one considered how many trades he had. Most marvelled at the fact that he could keep up and that was without knowing he was a tattoo artist and a photographer. Just the military stuff was a lot to learn. Tactics, weapons, poisons, and general military. Which entailed a lot of things. Including, but not limited to, history of the wars and lines of leaders on Ramath-lehi. It was tedious, since the son of a rich pendragon had already learned all of this from private tutors before he even came to school. Why he was here at all was beyond Xer. Oh, maybe that had been because he had told his dad that he would run away. That his oldest son would leave Janardan as fast as his little paws could take him. Back when Xerxes was seven and getting around to that age where pendragons went to school. So that was why his dad had sent him. Apparantly his dad had been right about that whole "can't stop me from leaving if I want to" thing. Could anyone blame him, though? It wasn't as if Tenor hadn't tried, as he had. Time and time again. Around his tenth birthday he had given up. What was the point, really? It just got boring after a while, as Xer kept getting shoved back into his dorm when he did it. Often by burly pendragons that his dad had hired to track him. Maybe the future weaponry specialist should have paid more careful attention to his "how to avoid being caught" lessons. Now that he thought about it, now he was more likely to get himself out of here and far away before he was caught. Maybe even all the way to Bhim. No one could track him there, especially if he paid whoever muddled his track well. Maybe even staged his own death. Oh, wouldn't that be a splinter in his dad's side? His golden, oldest son, the one with a future in the prestigious Ramath-lehi military, dead in Bhim. The questions would come, then. More important was his reputation to Michail Tenor than the status of his son. If rumors started to circulate, the Tenor family could be ruined! As if it really mattered. That was why he hated being here, hated the halls. Not because he despised learning - loved it, as a matter of fact - but because it was what his dad wanted him to do. Typical teenage rebellion thoughts, most would say. Xerxes Tenor knew otherwise. He was no typical teen, most unfortunatly. Ah, it was spring. Presently classes weren't going on. It was after hours. At least as far as the administrators were concerned. They had better things to do than just sit here. Well, most of them did, anyway. Somehow Xerxes couldn't imagine Hart Demori doing anything but sitting at home with some work and drinking tea. Which was what she did here. Why, thus, would the Principal leave at all? Perhaps because she needed a "break" somewhere "relaxed" to work. Which wasn't to say he was unobserved. There were certain... precautions that they had taken. He wasn't normally a destructive one, though, so he was mostly trusted by the staff to just sit there like a good boy. Despite the reason that he had been put in here. Unjustly, he might add! What was wrong with beating up some little punk who thought he was bigger and better than Xerxes? Heck, Gondor had started it. Yet the stupid jock had just been told off and given three days of detention... with his gym teacher. Oh, right, as if the oh-so-great star player was going to get in any trouble. Sounded very likely to Xer... not. He'd probably either play his favorite game or not even have to show up. Unless Hart checked in, which wasn't likely. She hadn't even issued the punishments, since the teacher that had arrived had been quick to do so without Hart Demori. Not that the Principal was even needed. Tenor hissed softly and rolled a dark shoulder in agitation, slumping back in Hart Demori's swivelling chair. The older 'dragon was shorter than Xerxes was, in his bipedial form. Wearing clearly rebellious clothing - black jeans with a couple of chains hanging loosely off of them, a chain around his neck, three silver hooped earrings though each ear, and a black shirt that said... well, let's just say some "inappropriate" things. Though the shirt was half-covered by a black jacket that wrapped about his shoulders and arms quite snugly. Made of some almost velvetlike material. Slightly fuzzy if one rubbed against it, but no one did, of course. Unless you counted Xerxes when he pulled it on. The smoldering thoughts of the student were halted abruptly as another started walking down the hallway. Who was coming around here right now? A single eyebrow shot up, contemplating the fact that it might be one of the administrators or secreteries come to check on him. Maybe even the custodian. Which was worse? As if he knew. Xer sat up straight and started scratching at the work before him. Simple stuff. About poisons, but it was all very basic. A review to make sure they hadn't forgotten this now that they were learning about more advanced poisons. The fact that the other pendragon knocked made Xerxes curious. None of the staff would have done that. Sauntering confidently toward the door, he opened it and smiled charmingly. <font color=black>"Why hello there! Come in and make yourself at home. I presume you're here to register?"</font> Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and walked back to the desk, plopping down in his - well, Hart's - chair and staring at the girl. Gesturing lightly at the chair across from him, Xer gave a glance to the plaque set on the desk that clearly stated "Hart Demori: Principal" on it. Oops. Well, if she noticed, he'd fix it up real fast.
Akiva sat and instantly regretted it. It was the only sensible thing she'd been able to dictate her body into doing, but the immense pressure she felt dripping down the ceiling in big, black sponges, that was hardly worth it. Her stomach turned with disgust, and though she was calmed to some extent with the young male's rebellious attitude, it hardly lifted the air of the school. Furniture. Exquisite. Carpets. Carpets. A vault of treasure, diplomas, a collection of dictionaries and common books on discipline so large, that it threatened to bring any expert on either subjects to the brink of insanity. And it could hardly be any joy to experience the work of a more or less dedicated lifetime wind up in the office of - Hart Demori, she recalled, tasting the name silently with her brain's tongue. She stared at the boy opposite of her. This was hardly Hart Demori. With a whoop of unexpected delight, she scrambled more comfortably into the chair, and though by no means her body was mere flesh and bones, the leathery pillows could very well have formed a cunning alliance to drown her. She discarded the thought, and let one finger crawl slowly across the part of the table that was reachable, like a mountaineer negotiating a tricky outcrop. Akiva Ichabod did not consider herself a snob. Her name indicated otherwise though, but she didn't let it get to her. Much. "Good afternoon," She said, and looked the boy over. Questionable clothes, choppy bangs drawing near to the eyes, like scissors. They were very nice eyes actually. Her own blinked at a sudden streak of sunlight, and the warmth of a plant absorbing it rippled through her softly. She smiled. "Well... I suppose this'll have to be a home, won't it? I'm Akiva Ichabod... I am a bit, eh, delayed, regrettably-" Her viridian eyes peered at her surroundings once more, and she almost regretted the last word. Almost. "Yes, I'd like to register. Very much." I guess.
<blockquote><font color=#331123 face=tahoma>Tenor was sitting back in his chair, resisting the urge to throw his feet up on the desk - but just barely. Instead he peered at the newcomer with vague, dispassionate interest. She was a pretty sort, he supposed, though the rebellious overachiever had never much cared for girls. Which wasn't to say he didn't admire those who were of an attractive nature and appearance, just that he had never wanted a relationship with one of them. Which really amounted to the fact that Xerxes had a lot of friends that were girls but no girlfriend. Fine by him, though. It wasn't as if he was ready to have a brood, anyway, and that was what he had always been taught a female was for. If he was going to date, Tenor had to be ready to take that she-dragon as his lifelong mate, the one who would be his sole lover for the rest of his life. Ah, what a battered set of morals he owned. The whoop of delight surprised him a bit, but it didn't show. A faint smile of amusement did curl his lips, eyes focusing on the way she was relaxed. Heck, they should pay him for this. Already she had settled into the school. Without needing to be bribed into happiness with vacations or smoothies. Most took a while to accumulate to the way the academy was, so it was good that she was already relaxing in the chair across from Hart Demori's. Though it was currently occupied by an earring-wearing, black-clothed, rebel with a cause. Then again, maybe he didn't have a cause. Perhaps Xer was just faking it. Which would be just like him, too. Very much so. To pretend he had a cause just to keep others from trying to give him theirs, to make him into one of their cronies. Never would he be anyone's minion. Xerxes Tenor was his own master. As she introduced herself, a sigh escaped the teen's lips. Joining his fingers in a triangular steeple across his chest, the black-colored male eyed the name plate a bit uncertainly. With a sudden smile, he reached out and snatched up the valuable piece of wood and gold. Not real gold, naturally, but still valuable. It was Hart Demori's, after all, she got only the best. Or so Xer had been told. "Be careful! Break one thing and you'll be working it off for the rest of your life." Very funny, yes. Snatching up an unneeded piece of paper, the boy wrote in elegant black, writing Xerxes Tenor across the paper, then taping it to the plaque. <font color=black>"I'm Xerxes Tenor,"</font> He commented, setting the object back down in its proper spot. <font color=black>"And if you are really here to register, then, we must get those registration papers!"</font> With a mock-serious look at her over the rims of the sunglasses, Xerxes leaned casually back in the chair. <font color=black>"So are you more fluent in Ramathian or English?"</font>
as Adun walked in, he looked around at his surroundings. " very expensive, feh, no point to it, it wont last." he said to himself as he walked in the room. " is this the regestration office?" he asked, with a voice like ice.
One of the extraordinary things about life is how it will collude in mutual conspiracies with quirks and coincidences to sculpt destinies of unsuspecting beings. Like reading in the dim illumination of twilight, the message came in rather slow, disheveled pieces. Sometimes racing. They'd appear as ideas of drunken madness in the morning. The female Pendragon watched Xerxes with a slight twink of irony in the outer rims of the green irises, and twirled a scarlet lock of hair around her finger. It stung a bit in her scalp, but the skin-hued scales nestled below thick threads of hair were dense, and managed to take a well-placed blow before it would actually hurt her. The thick sarcasm in the move of his hands, the colour of the ebony clothes - she managed to ignore it, and was, for the most part, relaxed and affable. Mostly due to the sunlight, if anything, though acrid words and phrases rarely billowed across the tongue of Akiva Ichabod. Still, though, it was mostly due to the sunlight. Shut your mouth, sit still, walk the right way. Laugh at appropriate occasions. Be nice to your father's sister, she's elderly. Important. She caught the sight of her sister in a shimmer of the iridescent sunlight, punching through the office windows. She smiled. Rules were, for the time being, not represented in an overwhelming fashion. Her eyes fluttered over him again, irony, and found herself partially thinking about astronomy and how she ought to be exploring a galaxy, rather than dwelling here, and partially about what his cause were. Anti-grader? She smiled at the thought; it suited her. "I speak very little Ramathian - I was taught the basics when I was -" She reached out and lowered one hand, showing the mere length of the chair, "...this little. Then, my parents considered the more common language to be more fashionable. Talk like the people, be much richer than them, of course." She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, and the door creeked open behind her. She barely caught a glimpse of a new one, but had her back turned to him. So she let her eyes fix gently on the male Pendragon, Xerxes Tenor, and let her voice rise once more, before falling silent. "So I'd like to fill out English ones. Please."
<blockquote><font color=#331123 face=tahoma>Xerxes didn't have many friends here at Janardan. Even the politely listening ears of the she-dragon before him were probably just there because he was registering. The second the pair went off to their own indivudal classes during the daytime, he would be ignored again by the she-dragon. Given the way she looked, it wouldn't be hard for Akiva to find a good group to hang out with. The popular kids, most likely, the sort that tried to shove Tenor out of the way and hassle him, in general. Though most had learned their lessons by being shoved back too many times. It was a sort of experience that would teach them that, in the future, even a punky nerd like Tenor was going to be beating them down. Given his trades, it was stupid of them to act that way, in any case. What did they think, that a military-obsessed guy like him was really as much a thin reed as he appeared? Most of his muscle hid beneath the clothing he wore, though. After all, he had no reason to flaunt it. No girl he was trying to impress. Never had much cared - in a "love" way - for females, anyway. Was likely to be single all of his life if a good 'un didn't come along. One that accepted who he was. One set of fingers drummed lightly against his cloth-covered knee. It was a habit, one he had picked up as a child. Back when Xer sat in front of a tutor for hours on end and listened to the same lecture, over and over again. Even then he had worn the "wrong" clothes, had his hair cut the "wrong" way, said the "wrong" things. As if he cared what was right and what was wrong. At least what others told him what was proper and correct. Xerxes had always owned his own opinons about such things and never cared what anyone else said. That was what his father and stepmother never realized, which was why they made him the rebel that he was today. If they had just worked with his own opinions and tried to mold them so that they were closer to their perceived truth, Xer might have stayed and been taught in the Tenor manor, rather than living here at Janardan. He was a "handful", though, and they had decided that it was "for the best of everyone involved" for him to go to school here. It was a prestigious Academy, anyway, with plenty of mighty pendragons who had come out of it. As well as some master miscrients, but his parents needn't know that. Why how very rude. The other male hadn't even paused to realize that it was smarter to knock than to merely enter. This, to Xerxes, was a rudeness beyond compare. If he had been Hart, a sharp reprimend would have exited his lips right then and there. Or maybe the stately principal would have reacted very much in the way that Tenor did - by ignoring the impolite intruder. His eyes remained focused intensely on Akiva, pointedly ignoring the newcomer. As if Adun hadn't appeared on the scene at all, much less spoken. It didn't matter. There was no reason to recognize one who acted so improperly. They were to be punished by silence - so he had been taught and so it would be. The faintest flick of his tail was the only indication of his recognition that Adun had entered, though it only moved to curl contently against his left knee. <font color-=black>"Alright, then, if you insist."</font> Xerxes commented with a cool smile, offering Akiva the papers he had picked up. Still ignoring the intruder. Suddenly, his eyes moved to Adun. <font color=black>"As for you, perhaps you would like to try that again? I always thought knocking was a good idea, especially when someone is busy, eh?"</font> The rebellious teenager commented with a mockingly authoratative upward curl of his eyebrow, his voice even colder than Adun's had been.
"fine, we play your way." Adun walked out and knocked. "is this the regestration office?" he inquired more politely, nothing showing on his face.
Akiva's hand-writing was beyond the most skilled, thoroughly exhausted English or Ramathian teachers residing in the present, living world. She wouldn't have been surprised, either, if a few of those slithering in Fronina would be vainly attempting to peel off their nonexistent, greying skin from rattling bones at the humming of a pen in the hand of Akiva Ichabod against paper. She thought that she would put on a good show. Oh yes, they'd be all applauses, and go back, and forget her only after a culmination of dramatic, loud silence. They would go back to astral sleep, and correct grammar and beautiful words - gravitas, forlorn and sunder. Wonderful words. The show was a wonderful one. Akiva thoughtfully twisted the pen like a ballerina between two of her trimmed-claw-fingers, and tried to write in a decent manner across the clear paper. It was nearly transparent, with dry, printed letters tapered in strict and straight lines here and there. There were neat colons finishing each sentence, and a black line, exploring each other's parallel journeys to unravel the paper. Akiva Ichabod was weird in the sense that she got too much out of too little. Friends were a scarce wonder, and the few she had left, she was certain, had more or less erased their vision of her. Her thoughts were trailing backwards now, and she hid a mellifluous attempt at a smile. Her eyes peered up at him for a moment. Maybe it's... popularity, maybe the lack of it, maybe he was pacifist, maybe pacifists disgusted him - She lost her track of it, and instead snuggled a dark lock of hair behind her left, pierced ear, driving her name, age, parental information and what other formalities requested down onto the paper, like hailstorms. She had stumbled upon the field of trades, followed by a very limited vacancy for words regarding: Interests. She twirled her pen around, ballerina doing a flip, and repeatedly tapped the rounded end of it against the paper. She stifled a laugh as the newcomer reluctantly exited and entered, and eyed Xerxes with mixed irony and admiration. You'd make a very nice principal. She scribbled down her trades, but wasn't approaching with enough concentration for it to appear normal. A few dead teachers twisted in their ostensible, eternal sleep, as she wrote. It could've passed for the writing of a three-year old Pendragon. With learning disabilities, too. Akiva did not let her ignoration of the newcomer cease, and focused a smile intensely on the male sitting across from her. A very nice principal, yes, except for the wee fact, that the clothes regulations would perhaps be a bit off. "So," Akiva said, and her eyes had followed the track of her smile up to him, "What do you do here? I mean," she paused to come up with a more correct way of phrasing it, but couldn't, so she raised her paper and pointed to the area that involved trades and interests, "What did they make you write here? Besides, of course, being the keeper of politeness." She smiled wider at this, in a friendly manner, and gestured towards the new one in the door. As her hand pointed out towards the door, a cold shivered through her, and instinctively, her gaze averted from Xerxes and fixed down to the table. She dropped the pen. If there had been one thing her parents had never tolerated, it was her lack of ability to "switch off" her empathy, as they had so nicely phrased it.
<blockquote><font color=#331123 face=tahoma>The teenager might be a scholar, someday. He was smart and had various trades to choose from, in order to keep himself employed and alive. Yet he was also a rebel. What sort of group would let him speak for them? Earrings, dark clothing, and likely to have more tattoos by that point in time. Considering the fact that he enjoyed the idea of making his own. Possibly vines wrapping around each finger in a neon green. He was quite capable of using either hand to make tattoos. Xer had made sure that he learned that, since it was an important tool, at least for the black-colored pendragon. To be able to etch his own tattoos on both hands, instead of just the right one, seeing as his left hand was dominant. Shaking away the thoughts, the male concentrated again on Akiva. Far more interesting than tattoos, at the moment. Someday she might be a friend. Though he would like to say that she already was, he had very few "pals", and they were often the kind that were like him. Either they were regarded with respect - and a bit of fear - and properly avoided or they were bullied. Most learned not to bully Xerxes or anyone who he hung out with, though. Tenor was no bully. He beat up those who harmed others or himself. Who started it. Then he might appear to be a bully, but it was just fighting back. Which was why he often got out of trouble and the consequences. It wasn't his fault that Xer couldn't get them to get off of him soon enough, right? If they had just backed off once they started to get their tails whipped, they would have been fine. Yet they persisted and so did he. That was only natural, right? At least Adun hadn't decided to make a major fuss. Instead, it would seem, the other male pendragon was actually going to try again. Though he didn't really get the point of Xer's message. The registering teen hadn't meant for Adun to just come back in after knocking. No, indeed, his intent had been for the other 'dragon to wait until he was given permission to enter. Yet it hardly mattered, he supposed. Had Tenor been Demori, Adun would have been turned around and sent back out to try it again. Though Hart would have been displeased, by that point, enough to make Adun sit out there for a prolonged period of time. There were quite comfortable seats out there, though, as Xerxes knew only too well. How often had he come to the office, in trouble or for other, more acceptable reasons? Too many to count, that was for sure. Usually in trouble. As Akiva spoke in inquiry about the hobbies spot, Tenor blinked and peered down at it in idle interest, making sure he was looking at the right box. Well, they were taking information earlier than they had when he first got here. Interests hadn't been a part of it, back then. They had told their Principal, later on, if they were interested in joining a club of some sort. The gesture at Adun caused his gaze to flicker momentarily from the paper - and Akiva - back up to the other male, who had spoken moments before. The slightest shake of the student's head was given, body leaning back in his chair, eyes focused on the other male in contemplation. It was Hart's rule that no one registered outside of this room and no two pendragons registered at once inside of it. Hell, though, rules were meant to be broken, right? At least that was how Xer had always seen it. <font color=black>"Yes, this is the registration office. As you can clearly see, I am busy. If you would like to fill out registration forms, I can give you a copy to begin work on while I finish this fine lady's registration."</font> Xerxes commented with a vague quirk of his brow, disinterested in the fact that Adun may or may not want to actually do as was suggested. Toying idly with the chain that hung from the left side of his pants, the teenager finally regarded Akiva's question with a mock serious look in his eyes. <font color=black>"Well, you see, you have to tell them what you like to do. If you have hobbies that aren't part of your trades. Such as taking photographs or drawing, so that they can get you into extracurricular clubs or after school classes. At least they'll offer them to you. Rather strongly suggest is a better term for it, though."</font> Tenor responded with a faint grin. It was true. Demori would send Akiva a lovely packet on the various clubs and extra classes that might interest her. Usually they were asked to take at least one elective a year, which could be replaced with a club, if one was truly a member. Xer was part of various clubs, but his multiple trades made it hard for him to attend every meeting. He still counted, though.
Adun took notice of the his voice, "ok i'll take the forms and wait outside. and i'm sorry i barged in earlier, its been a rough day." he said, walking out of the room and sitting down. "might as well get started." Adun's handwriting wasnt exactly neat. far from it in fact. he hadnt exactly been given a educational upbringing. heck, how could he if his parents werent even there when he was 6. he had lived in the wilds, and was very well developed, both mentally and physically. "hobbies? hmmm, i guess practicing my sword skills, training, and experimenting with my abilities." today had been a rough day, mainly because it was the day his parents left for earth. they had told him that they would be back within a few months, so he didnt need to worry. that wasthe last time he ever saw them. without his parents, he had become cold and unfriendly, feeling abandoned. he lived in the streets, and took notice of how others fought. he quickly became an excellent fighter, and often beat up robbers for fun. after 1 year on the streets, he went to the forests and became the adun that barged into hart demori's office.
She had noticed it the very second it boomed into existance. A long, narrow shadow trailed across the right-hand wall, ashen against the dull-hued room. A flicker of sunshine sparked against her irises, but she hardly let it disturb her, nor the fact that it was, perhaps, a notion from the sun, to remind her that it was after all he, who had created this shadow. Her eyes tended to it, rather than Xerxes, and vainly attempted to parse it as everything it had never been. The pencil lay in front of her still, glowing dimly in the trademark colours of the academy. Crimson, with fine, gilded writing, detailing number and - in a much bolder fashion - the school that the pencil answered to. She liked it very much. Did he mean to be that way, though? Her eyes drifted loosely away, then back, the shadow, a point - she reached out for the pencil, and took it again, fiddled with it, raising her gaze to the one of Xerxes Tenor, fiddled some more. She would be eighteen this summer, eighteen no less, no parents, no Fania - and the eyes, once again upwards, her lips tightening immensely below her teeth, as they dug into the soft flesh. A fine lady. She quenched a smile. That never works well, though. After trades and 'Botany, music, literature' - fine things for a fine lady - her pencil dashed away a bit on the line, and pondered whether to write more. She studied the teenager carefully, and it brought her a pang of regret. A guy was eye to eye with her, his feet kicked up on the table, bringing even threads of carelessness and giddy happiness to kick about in her. He was everything Akiva Ichabod had never had; a spark of rebellion. And even still she played along, danced, as though she had been torn from the plants and herself, and she regretted not to have a cause herself. Anti-grader? She thought of her parents for a brief moment, Othieno Ichabod in particular, but couldn't. She chuckled. It was a clear laugh, and so audible that it echoed through the sunlit room, with its multitude of dusty books guarding it, and dissaproving of the noise in the fashion, that ought to have left her full of shame and regrets. Akiva, however, only ceased slightly, wiping off a chuckle and regarded Xerxes with a playful smile of mixed admiration and carelessness. "Oh, I'll pray," she started, with a mild look to her face, recomposing her features, "That I won't be signed up for a choir - I'd dare you to take over this school, even, to make sure I didn't." She had eased up a little now. The tone of irony in his voice had startled her into the laughter, and it had frightened her a little. She shook her head slowly, like an old clock, and then scribbled down her signature in the most childish way. She considered the papers, and wrote in the same fashion, a point at the line of interests - daydreaming. Heaving a contended sigh, she scooted the papers across the table at him with the point of a claw, and let her green eyes trail up to his face. From the taste of a cigarette to this - She considered it for a moment, but came to the same conclusion at every angle of seeing it. She thought very much of Xerxes Tenor, current principal-in-charge to her, as it was. The shadow had dripped off the wall.
<blockquote><font color=#331123 face=tahoma>Xerxes was an interesting fellow, to say the least. He had a certain charismatic charm that was entirely accidental. Most didn't know what to do with him. Troublemaker extraordinare and quite capable of pushing just the right buttons to annoy someone. Spindly and weak though he appeared, no one, as of yet, had managed to defeat him if they challenged his right to anything. Tenor was a strongly opinionated beast who would willingly fight anyone who dared to contest the truth of his ideas. Not that he would beat someone up just because their views were different. In fact, beasts who thought that only their opinions were valid annoyed him to no end. It was these that often ended up fighting him because they insisted that they were right and he was wrong. As long as both concluded and agreed that both were right or, at least, that they had the right to have whatever opinion they wanted, it was fine by Tenor. If they decided that they were going to go and say he was wrong and should change what he thought, though, they would be sure to get themselves an angry Xerxes. One who would rip them a new one before the day was done. That was something bullies had learned the hard way. An abrupt twist of his fingers brought Hart's favorite pen to his lips, the cap slowly chewed on habitually by the dark male. Yet it was actually more of something done for show, seeing as he didn't tend to do that in class or anything. Perhaps it was truly a lost habit, one that he had owned once, yet now found scarce reason to use. At the moment it was mostly out of boredom, though he quickly stopped, and grabbed a peppermint instead. There was a whole bowl of them right next to his elbow, after all. Demori didn't usually tend to have one popped in her mouth, but others that visited liked them, so anything to comfort her visitors. Unwrapping it slowly, he slid the red-and-white candy into his mouth, delighting in the tastes that almost instantly assailed his taste buds, stirring new life into his rather lazy tongue. Ears flicked forward gently, listening to the amusing laughter of his current companion. There was a lovely sort of ring to it. One that eased him, slightly, in his worries about who she might be, underneath the quiet politeness represented for the sake of registration. At least he hadn't been given any more trouble by Adun, that would have just made Xer's day, though, to have to toss the newcomer out on his tail. Because Tenor would have physically removed the registering pendragon if he hadn't toned down and become polite. Which would have gotten him into more trouble, but hell, he never really had cared. Except when he first started coming and was still a bit self-righteous. Back before he was sent to the Principal's daily. Now it was a routine and Demori expected to see him. Saved up tasks to hand to the unruly student when he appeared. Sometimes she even just let him off, allowing him to wander the grounds and catch some fresh air. That was on the less busy days, though. Now he was going to start getting paid for this job, though, which delighted the teen, because he wanted a bit of pocket change. It would definitely be a "plus" in his book. As Akiva spoke, a grin graced his features, a solemn nod given, before a reply was made. <font color=black>"Ach, choir. It isn't all that bad, except too many of the preps go there."</font> Tenor replied, taking the registration and glancing over it, then stamping it with a little red mark that indicated it had been viewed and was valid. One that he kept in his pocket - or Hart did, when she was here - so no one could fake it. <font color=black>"Everything seems in order. Any particular roomie that you want or shall I choose? Perhaps a boyfriend that you had hoped to room with?"</font> Xerxes inquired with a subtle, sneaky smile.
