Timestamp x Tessera 36, 81379 Character x http://shadowlack.com/persona.php?id=771Pyemme Ryubi Djaam</a> Wearing x the PR classic. Denim jeans, flip flops, and a white linen halter top, under a mid-thigh-length, slender leather coat PR tapped her pencil expectantly against her open notebook. She wasn't hungry, and didn't even have a tray of unappetizing cafeteria food in front of her; instead she was taking this lunch break to write an essay. The Meaning and Importance of Fairytales, read the Psychology apprentice's paper. Beneath the title, however, the page was blank. She groaned in frustration and layed her head on her folded arms. Face-down, she glared angrily at the essay which now rested mere centimeters from her nose. She had all the sources she needed - a small pile of books loomed beside her on the bench - but the inspiration simply would not come. She was one of the most gifted minds in her trade, why couldn't she write a simple report on children's stories? She lifted her head a short distance and slammed it down on her arms in self-rebuke.
Character: Vyjats Fulcaj Wearing: Faded Jeans (His favorite ^^), blue sleeveless shirt. Bare feet. Vyjats stood in the middle of the acadamy cafeteria, holding his tray, with some old, disgusting chips and a bottle of water. He just went out of class, and suddenly felt a faint hunger, Running to his room, can't wait to take a bite of the sandwiches who were kept in his dormitorie. They were gone. Vanished. He had to come to the cafeteria. The cafeteria was full of students. Chatter was heared from every corner and table. Vyjats looked around, his eyes keep seeing full tables, occupied seats. Until, a single table. With only a 'dragon sitting next to it. He came closer. She seemed hopeless. Bumping her onto the table, made him jump. That's the only place left, he thought, and sat quietly, staring at the hopeless looking one before him. "Hi", he said, murmuring, "Are you OK?"
"Hmm?" PR looked up quickly in surprise, her head rising with enough startled speed that her three pairs of gold earrings jingled sweetly. She blinked at the arden, her golden eyes scanning him quickly - he was small! - before she decided on an answer to his question. Uninterestedly, she lied, "Oh, yes, never been more so," before looking back down at her notebook. Running her eyes over the single line of text she'd written, she sighed loudly. "Not really," she admitted, never looking up from the paper. Her face was sheilded from view by the curtain of moonlight-blonde hair that fell over her forehead, so her dejected and utterly defeated expression was hidden.
Vjyats took a couple of greasy chips, and threw it into his mouth. Chewing them, without any will to do so, he looked at her as she lifted her head and her earings jingled. He didn't notice them before. Well, her head was covered. "I heared that", he said quietly, and took another chip into his mouth, and disgust crossed his shy face. "What...", he started but stopped for a few moments. He wasn't sure if he should ask this kind of interfering question, "Happened?", he finally finished. She looked too much depressed, so he can't just leave it that way.
PR shook her head slowly, glancing back up at the arden. After a moment's consideration, she spun her notebook around lightly and slid it across the table towards him. "Here," she said, "it's what's not happening that has me in this funk." Her flowing cursive spelled out the title of her paper, The Meaning and Important of Fairytales, but the page was woefully empty underneath. She cradled her head in her hand, fingers twisting around the base of one of her curling ebony horns. "I don't think you can help me, though. It's for Psychology," she lamented. No one could help her. Not even Bruno Bettelheim, one of the world's authorities on fairy tales, whose books were sitting beside her on the bench. "I need a sudden burst of inspiration," she decided with a laugh, "or I need to just give up."
Vyjats took her notebook, and glanced at it. Actually, there was nothing to glance at, except for a long title at the top of the empty page. He put the notebook softly on the table and slid her back. "Well, I'm not good at Psychology", he said, and didn't say another word. After a few moments, and a few greasy chips, that were accompanied by an awkward silence, he felt that he has to say something. The silence was annoying, and his ear might start to twitch. "Maybe you just need some rest", he said calmly, thinking an advice might be good to break the irritating silence. He grinned shyly, as another advice popped into his head. "Or you can think about your favorite fairytale", he said, and was sorry he did that the moment he finished the sentence. Argh. Idiot., he thought, mad on himself, Why would she have a favorite fairytale. She might think I'm still a child inside. Oh., he thought in a paranoid way, as he often did.
The lukuo gave Vyjats a long, strange look, as if he had just drooled on the table. "My favorite fairytale?" she asked incredulously. It was not that she didn't like fairytales, as she'd chosen this paper topic for herself, but rather that she hated the fact that she enjoyed them. It was a guilty pleasure of hers; she loved a good story, a good fantasy novel, or something sweet told aloud to her on a quiet evening someplace warm and cozy. It seemed immature and silly to her, and she'd hoped that by analyzing it with psychology, she would be able to take away the magic of the tails and train herself to stop enjoying them. She wasn't getting far, though. Of course, her answer to the arden's question was quick and sharp. "Well, the tale I detest the least is probably 'Sinbad the Seaman and Sinbad the Porter,'" she said coldly, as if fairy stories were beneath her. Suddenly her eyes narrowed in concentration and her pencil tip began tapping against her notebook. "There's something there..." she thought aloud, beginning to write, "there's the dual nature of the personality... id versus ego and superego..." Soon her pencil was flying in a frenzy, taking down words as quickly as she could think them up. Stopping for a moment, she looked up at the arden, biting her lip gently. "Thanks," she told him with a warm smile that suited her honey-colored features. "What's your name, by the way? I mean, I should give you co-author credit on this," she laughed.
Vyjats watched her as she started writing swiftly, amazed. A minute ago she was so depressed and couldn't find anything to write, and now she can't stop writing. He never thought his advice will be helpful, somehow. Vyjats laughed nicely at her little joke. "I'm Vyjats, he said calmly, a small grin spreading on his face. "And you are...?, he asked her politely. But suddenly something weird about her and her work came into his thoughts, and before she had the chance, he decided to ask her about it, but politely. "Can I ask you something?, he asked politely, looking at her with a curios look in his eyes, who narrowed as he thought about it, the question that he wanted to ask.
The lukuo continued to write, short blonde hair tossing as she turned her head quickly back and forth, her eyes striving to keep up with her darting pencil. The ideas were flowing now, more rapidly than she could write them down. This is going to be an amazing paper, she congratulated herself mentally. Only half listening to Vyjats, she gave her routine response to his first question: "I'm Pyemme, but please, call me PR." At his second question, however, she had to look up curiously, breaking her concentration. His eyes watched her with a focused intensity, as if the arden were trying to probe the inner contents of her mind. "You can ask anything you'd like, but that doesn't necessarily mean I have to answer," she replied with a nervous laugh, tossing her hair out of her eyes with a swift shake of her head, setting her earrings a-jingle.
Vyjats watched her writing carefully. The way she wrote, with such enthusiasm. made him feel more curious to the answer for the question he wanted to ask. It seemed really weird, he just had to ask her about it. He couldn't find a reason to why she should do that, but he still wanted to ask, even if the answer will disappoint him. "So...", he started asking slowly, playing anxiously with the red string on his right arm, "If you detest fairytales so much, why did you choose to make a paper on it?", He stopped, breathless, and was relieved he finally brought that up. He stared at her impatiently.
PR heard the anxious, preemptive "so," and looked up at her companion curiously. Her psychologist's eyes watched the arden carefully, noting every peculiarity of his movements, every slight tonal quality in his speech, every look that crossed his face. She focused her golden glare briefly on his fingers, fiddling with the string on his arm. He was nervous. She couldn't imagine why. "The topic was chosen for me," she lied coolly, letting nothing change in her demeanor or voice. She shrugged and smiled, as if this was simply a fact of life she had to bear. Resting her elbows on the table, she clasped one of her hands in the other and rested her chin on them, keeping her eyes fixed steadily on Vyjats'. "So what are your trades?" she asked sweetly.
Vyjats noticed her staring at him weirdly, ant he became more nervous, which was expressed with playing with his red string even more anxiousley. He couldn't wait until she'll answer already, not just because he wanted to hear the answer, but also because he was nervous, that he was sure she noticed it. He didn't want anyone to notice it. Finally, she answered. Not exactly what he expected. He thought he'll got an interesting answer. He sighed, a both disappointing and relieved sigh. "Oh..., he said quietly, and smiled shortly. He stopped playing with his string gradually, until he completely stopped. He wasn't nervous anymore. At least not like he was a few moments ago. "Well, my trades are Dream Weaving", he smiled as he mentioned his primary trade, "My favorite", he said happily, " And my second trade is languages", he said blankly. "What are yours, besides Psychology?", he asked her, interested. He wondered what trades this weird 'dragon might have.
The thill watched idly, curling her silken blonde hair around her finger, as Vyjats answered her question with mounting confidence. He didn't seem to be nervous anymore. She wondered why, and almost wished he still was. "My second trade," she answered, squinting her eyes at the arden disconcertingly, as if she knew a terrible secret, "is telepathy." She grinned, showing her pearly teeth, trying to make him uncomfortable once more. "What is dream weaving, anyway?" she asked curiously, letting her smile show that she could read his mind for an answer, but preferred to ask instead. Instead of curling her hair, she began to fiddle with the rings on her right hand, jangling the many silver hoops together as she waited expectantly for an answer.
