<center><table width=350 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c249/miseryx/attop.png" height=198></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f> <div align=center></div> Mia 18, 81380 <div align=center></div> It had been so long. It was almost mechanical, the way he moved. Powerful paws struck at the air, tumbled it down, pushed it flat, and strove to strike again in a looping dirge of a cadence that seemed without end. He moved with the effortless ease of a well-oiled machine, functioned with the cold efficiency of a highly advanced computer. An ebony-taloned pair of digits ran through lustrous raven tresses, tangled with the black plume of an Audlakh, beneath which a thick, jet mane slinked down his nape in soft fur spikes. The dark monster was clothed only in a pair of tattered black shorts, held by a thong of leather, to which was strapped a long dagger, sheathed in silver-studded black leather. Over the right shoulder was slung a pair of pregnant rucksacks, both near bursting to the seams. Though both forearms and shins were tightly wrapped in white bandages, knotted ridges of disfiguring scar tissue protuded from their covering. But he was not without fault. There was a weariness in his pale blue eyes that flared with pain, a certain lack of something that had come before. The malfunction that had maimed him so long ago was worsening. A virus that couldn't be purged away. Something that, once opened, was irretrievable, irremovable, indeniable, and unstoppable. It was infecting him from the inside. Feeding off of his every heartbeat. That parasite - that miserous depression- had taken hold of him now. He knew it'd never let go. He had to admit his weakness. Had to face it somehow, in the place of his rebirth. He hadn't been able to find it when he’d returned home. Still he had possessed no answers. Nothing. Only a reaffirmation of his shortcomings. He supposed he should have been thankful, though - the very parasite that was eating him alive from the inside out was keeping him going. But to what end? And upon what exodus? His name was Attrius. The abysmal ‘dragon-Yki walked onwards, dying a little with every step. He remembered. He remembered with every accursed pawstep. Appendages were leaden now, heavy with dread and hopelessness. And still he forced himself onward, biting into the pain with every ebony-taloned step. It was agony that drove him, agony that hindered him. Alarum before him, alarum behind him. There was no sanctuary here. No refuge. Thickly-furred soundcatchers, the left dnagling with two silver hoops, were thrust forward on his magnificent head as he progressed, tanzanite eyes as bright and hot as twin pools of throbbing, seething liquid sky. Every moment ached with an undercurrent of antipathy. Every breath rasped from his parted, panting muzzle was laced with heated passion. This was his renewal. This was his destruction. His. He slowed his steps, hackles flaring to life in a ripple of obsidian fire along the masculine curve of his powerful back. The ebon brute arched his tattooed shoulders, vertebrae following that shift in a brief display of resignation that unconsciously mirrored that of the shadow incarnate who stood now beneath him. Here was a phantom creature of shadow and ash. </div></td></tr></table><center>
<table width="350"><tr><td style="border: 1px solid #FFFFFF; background: transparent; padding: 5px;"><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'><span style='color:#CCCCFF'><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>out of character · we are your children</span></div><div align="justify"> Hope you don't mind if I decide the time of day. You didn't include it in your post, so I took some liberties. Kick me if it isn't at all what you had in mind - I'd be more than happy to change my post. x_x </div><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>in character · coming in with spray cans of paint</span></div><div align="justify"> The sun sank ever so slowly over the horizon, the honey-golden globe eaten alive by the mouth of the mountains, their crags and peaks standing up like crooked teeth against the watercolor sky. The lukuo found herself having to squint more and more as the sun set, leaving the room awash in shadow and casting her book into darkness. The white pages dimmed to gray, and the words seemed to melt together under the scrutiny of her icy blue eyes. The book had her enthralled wholly and completely, so that she didn't even notice night was approaching until she found it impossible to continue reading, and was forced to look away from the unintelligible text. She blinked rapidly, clearing her gaze and her mind of the words. How long had she been sitting there? In the early afternoon, the seat had been well-lit and warmed by the light coming in through the window, and now she began to feel the chill of the shade. Slowly and carefully she unfolded her legs from where they'd been crossed beneath her - her joints ached from the continuous pressure - and placed her unshodden feet lightly on the floor. Her book folded closed with a loud clap that rang out in the hall, and she tucked it into her small bag as she stood. She made her way towards the nearest door and out into the brisk air of mia. A breeze caught her cropped golden hair, sending it flying about her face so that she had to put a hand up to stop it and tuck the locks neatly behind her ear once more. The wind also tugged on her golden earrings, making them jingle together merrily. The cold was refreshing, waking her up fully from her trance-like foray into the world of Vjaop's dream interpretation, and she took a moment to hug her bare, golden-furred arms and savor the sensation. A movement not too far off caught her eye, however, distracting from her enjoyment of the climate. It was an arden, shadowy and dark, who seemed to be wearing even less clothing than she was. Her eyebrows rose in a flicker of curiosity. Pyemme had never seen him on campus before, which suggested to her that he must be a new arrival, but then again, why would anyone enroll at the Academy in the middle of the school year? He seemed to walk like there was some grim specter hanging on his footsteps, treading his same path and enshrouding him in darkness. She also could not help but notice the bandages wrapped around his limbs. All signs pointed to- Case study! a voice sounded in the psychologist's head like the ringing of a little silver bell. She was already striding nonchalantly in his direction before she realized what act she was about to commit. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"Hey, you aren't new here, are you? I don't think I've seen you around."</span></div></span></span></td></tr></table>
<center><table width=350 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c249/miseryx/attop.png" height=198></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f> <div align=center></div> Don't mind. <div align=center></div> Umbra shadows laced forest floors, a cold breeze mingling pine with the scent of rich earth. Mountain peaks crested by granite melted into the clouds until they seemed to parade right up into the sky. Fog slowly receded, revealing an ever-widening clearing of shadow-brindled trees out of milky mist. Slowly, the world awoke hushed and luxuriously green. Birds shook the water from their feathers and burst into exited song. The heavy, humid air softened the the gentle dripping of the rain-drenched jungles, and the moist world stirred and crept to life. Each fresh-washed leaf, fern, flower, tree, suffused the air with pugent fragrance. Life flourished everywhere- a multicoulered crest of mosss and lichen dappled each rain-glazed rock and rotted log; tiny intricate flowers bloomed in delicate arrays smaller than the iris of a woodpecker’s eye. Then came the moment when the sun at last burst forth from behind the horizon and slanted long rays of hazy golden light across the courtyard. For an instant, silver droplets sparkled of leaf and blade, frond and web. Then the rocks took on a ruddy glow of their own, and the sun-flamed trees came ablaze with inner light- dark smouldering evergreen and velvety glowing emerald. Fields of wildflowers shimmered in sunlight, brilliant oceans of color. Stilled lakes reflected the clouds like pools of sky down-poured and collected in earthen basins. The warmth of the sun was distant, challenged by the cold wind soughing through budding limbs; black-bottomed clouds embraced the white-walled breastworks of the mountains.. Rippling shoulderblades crooned under a pelage of obsidian silk. Every last inch was thickly furred, muscular, and well kept. His size, for a ‘dragon, was most unusual. A careful mix between strength and intelligence, clearly evident by the sparkle of glared, sky-colored eyes. Densely furred sonars twitched. A sigh infiltrated his nostrils, attention flirting towards the inner keep of the courtyard. There he sat, steely stare vehemently locked on the horizon, delicate ear tips swaying from front to behind. She'd swept up from the accursed earth like an exquisite whirlwind of gold-wept beauty, a femme fatale to the most mysterious degree. Ebon horns swept from the base of her auriferous tresses and curled to her cheeks. Sinuous appendages unfurled like wings of obsidian, hackles flaring like wildfire along the sleek curve of the half-Yki’s muscular back. Every bated inch of his powerful musculature was clenched, coiled with agony. His eyes, those sky-tinctured pools, were aflame now with tanzanite antipathy. They burned. They scorched. They seethed. He calmed himself as silken words permeated from the Luoko’s golden maw. He answered in a plush baritone, holding out a velveted paw, offering a handshake. <font color= "#abcce4">“I just came here from the west."</font> he said. <font color= "#abcce4">“The name’s Attrius." </font>He paused; stared deep into the liquid depths of her eyes. <font color= "#abcce4">“Attrius Infernus."</font></div></td></tr></table><center>
<table width="350"><tr><td style="border: 1px solid #FFFFFF; background: transparent; padding: 5px;"><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'><span style='color:#CCCCFF'><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>out of character · an insect's iridescent sheen</span></div><div align="justify"> Oh good. ^^ </div><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>in character · the bluest eyes I've ever seen</span></div><div align="justify"> Pyemme almost immediately regretted approaching the arden. She mentally cursed her insuppressible impulsiveness. His eyes swiveled to meet hers, and only some small fraction of her mind seemed to call upon the fact that the two pairs were of a similar hue: icy cerulean, but his intensified by the darkness of the countenance into which they were set. The remainder of her consciousness, however, was immediately consumed by the aura those oculars emitted. The foreign 'dragon's glare radiated with hatred that burned like electricity, searing-cold voltage that started in the pit of her stomach and circulated through her limbs, to the tips of her fingers and toes. She froze for a moment, unable to move under the weight of his watchful eyes. The moment did not last long, fortunately for the thill. He visibly cooled as the harmless timbre of her greeting seemed to register in his hearing, and her body was freed from its fearful petrification. With one hand, she tightly clutched the shoulder strap of her little white messenger bag, and with the other she pushed another lock of windswept hair away from her face. Though she was uncomfortable, she convinced her body not to look so; she took a casual posture, one knee bent and hip cocked to the side, her ankles gently brushing together. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"The west?"</span> she said, forcing a wry smile onto her face, <span style='color:#9966CC'>"how vague."</span> She put her own hand out to accept the arden's handshake, slowly, but not reluctantly, only as if she were tired. Her hand seemed to disappear in the arden's shadowy-hued grasp, she noticed. In fact - his body was larger than hers in all proportions, from extremities to core. He was so large that she had to crane her neck backward just to look into his face when she spoke to him. Of course, it didn't help that she herself was amongst those pendragons on the smaller size of the bone structure spectrum. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"I'm Pyemme,"</span> she said in response to Attrius's introduction, <span style='color:#9966CC'>"Pyemme Djaam, student psychologist here at the Academy."</span> In regards to her profession, she had just picked up a few interesting facts that might contribute to her case study of this peculiar individual: he had some aversion to admitting his specific area of origin, and his name was in neither the English nor Ramathian languages. She stored these small pieces of data somewhere in the more analytical sections of her brain. The thill crossed one arm across her body and used it to cradle the elbow of the other, tapping her lip thoughtfully with a forefinger as she conducted a visual sweep of the arden. While he was repulsive at first glance, she found this was not at all because of his looks. She could not help but notice that he was more than a bit handsome, although his body language and the fire in his eyes repelled her as if they were both like-charged magnets. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"So, what are you here for?"</span> she asked with a tint of humor in her insidious voice, phrasing the question as if trades were crimes and the Academy were a prison.</div></span></span></td></tr></table>
<center><table width=350 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c249/miseryx/attop.png" height=198></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f> <div align=center></div> Atti's going to flirt a bit. <div align=center></div> Strangled sun rose lightly in the skies, bloody crimson and golds surrounding the brute as it took it's place among the heavens. Some called it dawn, but to others it was just the start of another day to suffer. A light wind had begun to blow; snow still pelting down from the night before hadn't started to lighten up, or even show signs of stopping. Flake after chilling flake hit hit the ground. The temperate blanket that once sat covering the territories was increasing at a speed few could imagine. Attrius attempted to peer through pregnant skies, monochrome clouds inadequetly covering the day-star. There was little warmth here though, winter settling it's frozen fist down on the forsaken grasses and biting at the remaining trees. Emerald tips swayed in the wind, their needles the last sign of living vegetation left in winter-covered lands. Blood was the only thing that ran true through his veins, hatred for his father and the Graders pumping past blackened chambers. When he was born, Mother Nature broke the mold, and burnt it. The raven half-Yki a simple mistake. Beauty burned in his tanzanite gaze, rimmed with the faintest lines of navy. In return, to honor his very existance as his maker, as the being that had allowed him to be, he had killed him, patricide his holy crusade. The black monster had murdered his father, ripped apart his body and had eaten the vital organs that made him live. Heart, lungs, liver... all the flesh had drove him had made his throat burn as it was delivered down. He'd do it again if he could have; talons ached to feel squirming flesh beneath him, to hear the cries and pathetic sorrow-filled moans of his dying patriarch. His father had been a bastard- a murderer, a rapist, a sinner. Just as Atti himself was. Dagger-like teeth flashed in the wincing sunlight as coal lips curved into a ragged grin, flakes coating his back in a tender ivory hue. She was utterly magnificent. <font color= "#abcce4">“It’s a beautiful name," </font>he murmered. Reminising was over, Atti's mind filled with what some would call horrors, others, accomplishments. <font color= "#abcce4">“And so are you," </font>he said. Tales of gruesome death followed the male like a fly on a carcass, the brute' life a devil's diary's, his brain able to remember all the wrongdoings he had done, all the sins he had commited. Blood had been shed so frequently in his life, it was a wonder the oblong muzzle wasn't stained crimson. Perhaps he needed a psychologist- and here was one in front of him. Wind whistled solemnly, the ice of Mia still echoing in the weather. <font color= "#abcce4">“I’ve come here to finish my education,"</font> he said. <font color= "#abcce4">“ I’m an Apprentice in Healing and Tattoo Artistry."</font> Gaze of liquid ice was set on the Luoko’s own. <font color= "#abcce4">“I’m still staying out here in the open,"</font> he said. The black arden was almost ashamed- he still didn’t have a dormitory. <font color= "#abcce4">“I’m sleeping in a lean-to. I mean, I’ve lived that way for a long time. I haven’t been a real bed for ages, and I don’t have a dorm, so… yeah."</font><div></td></tr></table><center>
<table width="350"><tr><td style="border: 1px solid #FFFFFF; background: transparent; padding: 5px;"><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'><span style='color:#CCCCFF'><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>out of character · you can't escape the jails</span></div><div align="justify"> Naughty boy. x3 </div><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>in character · or the crucifier's nails</span></div><div align="justify"> Pyemme refrained from blushing as the strange arden charmingly complimented her, only deigning to give him a knowing smile. It was not a strange situation for the lukuo, as her attractiveness garnered her more than a few suitors - she flirted incessantly with whoever was willing to return the favor: males, females, students her age, even graduates much older. But never because she was genuinely interested, romantically, in a person. It could be said that Pyemme wasn't capable of romance; just calculation. She flirted because the playful acting gave her high ground in the power struggle of an encounter. Engaging in flirting gave her some measure of control over another 'dragon, and there was nothing in the world she enjoyed more than control. It made her feel comfortable, safe, and self-assured. In any other situation she might have flirted with Attrius, but not this one. It was regrettable, but she simply could not. He was very handsome (a thought which, despite her efforts, would never leave her mind. Each time the wind tousled his silky, raven fur she remembered) and, apparently, willing, which was always a necessary factor in the equation, but it would clash with her principles to do so. It would be a psychologist-client relationship, though the arden himself wasn't aware he was a test subject quite yet. It was against the code of all doctors, all scientists who worked with people. It wasn't healthy. The thill closed her eyes as a gust of wind whipped at her face, then reopened them to find Attrius's gaze fixed curiously on her own. It was a little off-setting, but she was not so easily fazed. She mirrored his stare, cool and blue, watching his face for expression as she listened to his words. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"You live in a lean-to?"</span> she asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows at the arden. Pyemme found that somewhat hard to believe. Dorms were readily available to any student at Janardan, and all one had to do to claim a room was to register at the office of the Registrar. Perhaps he didn't want to live around other pendragons? But when he continued on, about his life's lack of real beds, a tone in his voice seemed to denote some longing. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"Would you like a dorm?"</span> she asked with a smile, folding her arms across her chest. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"It's easy enough to get one."</span></div></span></span></td></tr></table>
<center><table width=350 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c249/miseryx/attop.png" height=198></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f> <div align=center></div> Short and crappy. <div align=center></div> The sultry and spirited golden fae let a string of words slip from her maw. And Atti found himself turning to her as a worshipper would turn to his goddess. He was caught, ensnared in that stare of downpoured sky, and he couldn't be happier. As her gaze flickered like a whisper of blue flame over his form, he found himself warmed from within, and was again stirred with a feeling he understood to be fervent respect, and perhaps, something more. "You live in a lean-to?" Her voice was the voice of an enchantress. The name Pyemme suited her, the exotic nuances of those syllables spreading like spiced wine over the tongue. The obsidian healer’s piercing ice-tinctured gaze met hers, a half-grin curving up the corner of his handsomely-chiseled muzzle. And then the golden goddess’ voice carresed his lobes once more, and every once of his attention was centered on her. "Would you like a dorm? It's easy enough to get one." The sky-blue gaze that was Attrius' undisputed trademark touched upon Pyemme’s once more and sought to meet the other's mirror gaze. A ragged grin spread from coal lines. <font color= "#abcce4">“Are you saying you’d share one with me?"</font> he said, voice running with an undercurrent sultry and seductive. A smirk played upon his lips. <div></td></tr></table><center>
<table width="350"><tr><td style="border: 1px solid #FFFFFF; background: transparent; padding: 5px;"><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'><span style='color:#CCCCFF'><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>out of character · I wish you'd get up, get over</span></div><div align="justify"> It's okay, we all have our short, crappy posts. See? Mine sucks too. xD </div><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>in character · get up, get over and turn the tape off</span></div><div align="justify"> Pyemme blinked incredulously at the arden standing before her. "Are you saying you’d share one with me?" The words fell on her ears like violent hands, rushes of air against her delicate eardrums. No, she hadn't been saying that, she had only meant to offer to guide the stranger to the Registrar's office, where it was free of charge and quite a simple procedure for a Janardan student to acquire a dorm. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"That's quite a conclusion to jump to,"</span> she told Attrius in a voice darkened by something like accusation, furrowing her eyebrows in thought. Her right hand once again wrapped around the shoulder strap to her messenger bag, holding onto the course material as if it were a safety belt that would protect her through the crash-course that was this strange meeting with this bizarre pendragon. Like a clockwork machine, the mental functions of a psychologist began turning and whirring in the thill's brain. He made that impossible leap because he himself must want to share a dorm with Pyemme. It was a common enough occurrence - some analysts called it projection, when a person attributes one of their own sentiments or qualities to another, without conscious knowledge. Only the littlest gears in the mechanized thought process had to work to solve this mystery, and they slowly ground down to a halt, leaving the lukuo's brain free for thoughts of any other sort. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"Are you saying you'd like to share a dorm with me?"</span> she said in retort, using the arden's own phrasing to echo the question back. She let her mouth turn up into a teeth-baring grin, the flash of crystal white fangs peering out from between thin, dark lips. But what if his answer was yes? Pyemme often thought about taking a roommate - she was one of three pendragons who lived on the lonely ninth floor of the dormitory, and at times she would have welcomed company with open arms. But this 'dragon? He was beautiful, yes - devastatingly so, she might say - but she still didn't know if she liked him. Or if she trusted him, which was a far more important matter.</div></span></span></td></tr></table>
<center><table width=350 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c249/miseryx/attop.png" height=198></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f> <div align=center></div> Short, but it's better. <div align=center></div> Attrius was aware that something had happened. The snow was stopping. That didn't matter. But - he would've liked to know how it had happened, how everything had come about. Because his goddess was staring at him, and her words of derision still echoed in his ears. He backed a few paces away from the golden thill, and paused. Her stare of disapproval knifed through him, made his eyes burn with a feverish intensity and stabbed through fur and flesh and blood to his very heart. Almost imperceptibly, the stalwart male's eyes widened. Just before they went blank. Suddenly, Attrius was stoicism incarnate. The change wasn't such an ostentatious one; on the contrary, it was so subtle as to be overlooked. A faint shuttering of his sky-colored eyes, a dousing of the icy flame, leaving behind not even the barest residue of emotion. He did not speak, simply dipped his muzzle in an apology- more of an acknowledgment of her ire. He wanted to tell himself that he hadn't expected her to, but he had. And somehow, that made things much, much worse. But what could he do? He couldn't make her. But he wanted her so bad. "Are you saying you'd like to share a dorm with me?" <font color= "#abcce4">"I- yeah,"</font> he murmured softly when he could speak again, lifting his aristocratic muzzle aloft and meeting her beautiful, beautiful gaze head on. His baritone voice was infinitely quiet, a little hoarse, and completely impersonal. There was nothing of the old warmth in his voice now, but he knew now that somewhere, somehow, he'd might have lost his chance and fallen from grace. She wouldn't notice. She probably wouldnÂ’t care. It wasn't her fault. <div></td></tr></table><center>
<table width="350"><tr><td style="border: 1px solid #FFFFFF; background: transparent; padding: 5px;"><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'><span style='color:#CCCCFF'><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>out of character · I don't want to jump in</span></div><div align="justify"> Sorry for the wait. x_x </div><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>in character · unless this music's thumpin'</span></div><div align="justify"> Though she was a psychologist by calling and prided herself on her ability to analyze the behaviors of pendragons, Pyemme altogether missed Attrius's sudden shift in disposition. His gaze became hollow, his voice dropped to hushed, low tones - she hardly noticed, only concerned with the content of his speech. He stepped away, as if repelled by the disapproval in her voice, but the action went unnoticed. The thill only averted her azure gaze to the ground momentarily, towards her bare feet, nestled restlessly in the frozen grass of the Janardan courtyard. The idea that he should want to share a dorm with her was shocking, but not one that she could immediately dismiss. After all, he was one of the most handsome creatures she'd ever laid eyes upon. No, don't think about that, she scolded herself, directing her gaze back towards the arden's face in defiance of her own subconscious feelings. He was her new project, her case study, and keeping him in close contact seemed a practical way to observe and analyze his behaviors. It was strangely logical that they should share a dorm. And after all, he was new to the school. She was a seasoned veteran of academic life, and at least for a few weeks, living with her could be an invaluable experience for a mid-year newcomer. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"I suppose that would be alright,"</span> she said slowly, hesitating between words as if she were rethinking her decision even as she uttered it. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"At least for a little while, until you manage to register for your own dorm."</span> </div></span></span></td></tr></table>
<center><table width=350 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c249/miseryx/attop.png" height=198></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f> <div align=center></div> I understand; I'm really sick right now, and this piece of shit is what's supposed to be my post. <div align=center></div> In a sea of molten flame swam a fiery ball of star, hovering almost cautiously on the horizon. Night would settle soon, smothering the world in hoary shadow. Coal lips rose from their straight and somber position into a closed-lipped ragged half-grin. Pools of abmysal sky stared towards the golden Luoko. They seemed to have begun to flare with a spark of emotion once again. Attrius attempted to catch Pyemme’s beautiful, beautiful gaze. The words that issued from her shapely maw were not cold as before, but the speech of “…at least for a little while," seemed to hold an air of derision. He glanced at her, eyes glowing with iced flame. “Do… you want to go to our dorm?" A moment later, he realized the mistake he had made. “I mean, yours."<div></td></tr></table><center>
<table width="350"><tr><td style="border: 1px solid #FFFFFF; background: transparent; padding: 5px;"><span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'><span style='color:#CCCCFF'><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>out of character · I'm not here</span></div><div align="justify"> Aww... -petpet- I'm sorry to hear you are/were sick... So. Shall we start a new thread soon in the Dormitories forum? :3 </div><div align="right"><span style='color:#9966CC'>in character · this isn't happening</span></div><div align="justify"> Seeing the look on Attrius's face sent an icy shiver down Pyemme's spine, setting the fine line of hairs along her vertebrae on end. The smile seemed sinister, drawn on dark lips and set in a face as black as coal, like the anxious grin of the monster that lurks in the shadows of your closet as a child. It presented an eerie dischord, such a horrifying expression upon an otherwise handsome countenance. The lukuo found herself able to meet Atti's frigid eyes only for a short moment before she had to glance away, her gaze shifting immediately to the heavy wooden doors looming not too far off. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"Sure,"</span> she said in response to his question, flashing an uncomfortable smile when he quickly corrected himself. <span style='color:#9966CC'>"I'll give you the grand tour of all three rooms."</span> She laughed quietly. She shrugged her shoulders to indicate the direction of the doorway she'd exited from earlier, the one that led to the dormitories, and began walking towards it. To be moving her feet again was a relief - standing bare footed in the ice-encrusted grass was unpleasant, to say the least - and she hurried swiftly towards the building, desperate to be out of the chill of the oncoming winter's night. </div></span></span></td></tr></table>
Eep. I have a bunch of threads right now... do you think we could just close this one and say they went in; PR showed him around; etc.?
Sure, but as revenge I'm gonna take a couple of days to get around to posting in our concert thread. Kekeke. >:] Me so evil! x_x
