@Redward...

Vatalla would soon barge into the Monster Hunting Club with a growl, unknowing of the seriousness behind the special folder on the table. The platinum blonde was drenched, her wild ponytail tangled up and undershirt wrinkled like some over-used sponge. From the smell, there was a hint of coffee and a mixture of scummed drain water. If he had turned to look, she would have given him the usual dead-eyed nod.

"I'm skippin' class today. Already in trouble, so figured why not. And I'm guessin' two lazy bums like us won't give a damn." she said to him before trotting over to one of the corners and blopped her aged over-sized shoulder bag down beside one of the empty desks.
Despite not being a foreigner, the rowdy teen had a distinct accent to compared to most people of the city. Perhaps it was from the part of town she lived in? The downtown area was a bustling community with many different tourists and travelers visiting at all times of the year, so it became a sort of multifaceted cultural hub. Port Crescendo was a beautiful and peaceful place, 'a jewel of the four corners', as many would proclaim to say. Especially on those exaggerated vacation advertisements littered about. Though, not according to Vatalla at this very moment. At this moment, it might as well been any other dump.

She quickly began taking off her dripping shirt, slapping it on one of the wall hooks meant for coats, weapons, or whatever, before digging into her bag for another. This new one was bright pink with a picture of a puppy with a machine gun. How cute. It would appear she had no reservations of anyone seeing her sports bra. Or maybe she was just used to Aito by now. The teen growled again as she snaked her arms through the loops. From her tone and everything, this could've been the result of a fight with someone, a run-in with some shady folks, or a simple 'accident' on the rode. Maybe all the above?

"Idiots... the whole lot of 'em... Can't a girl get her mornin' coffee and get to school on time? What is this? Gonna be my third strike of detention on the first week 'cause people can't stop bein' bloody degenerates for one sodding day? Looks like I'm all booked for Saturday again with my favorite client. Seeing as rent is coming up, I really needed their patronage. Really."

Her little rant was not aimed for anyone to respond or to pity. It was more venting, than any directed conversation. Finishing her little change, the pinkish girl falls down on the seat with a long sigh. She sniffs herself and curls her black-colored upper lip. Not flattering, but what was one going to do? Poking back into her bag, her hands scramble about the scattered contents until they fish out a narrow, heavily stickered box and long strips of parchments. She seemed to have been holding her breath this whole time, and was immediately relieved upon seeing the papers. Not a stain or drop on them, luckily. Immediately, she begins to to work on a doodle of something half-finished. The image looked to be a weird blend of a canine skull, a laurel of black roses and nails, and some winding cobras. The typical edgy fanfare.

"If you got any work today, I want in. I'm rearing to lay my hands into somethin'. And it be legal. I know that person of the club doesn't like me too much. But they'll have to live with it. I won't leave until I help you guys beat up something. Don't even care about the pay today." she says off-handedly, not lifting her paled eyes from the inking.

Vatalla knew she wasn't part of the club officially, but since they sort of do the same thing, sometimes they, namely Aito, would ask her to join in on hard missions when hands are low. This time, for the first time, she was the one asking. She was on troubled terms with a few of the members, being something of a dangerous act and all, with a snarky loud-mouth to boot. She wasn't the type to mince words when life or death were the stakes, often calling people out on their bullshit. She couldn't care any less about them being 'mean-spirited', but being a haughty tart was another matter entirely. So she was usually, in secret, dealt smaller claims on the bounty at the end of jobs. Yeah, 'secret', was a funny way of describing it. There was a wonder why she still associated with the Monster Club in light of her treatment, keeping quiet about the matter entirely. Maybe she just liked letting lose her pent-up anger that much. Or was it something else?

...

Icarus took his lunch on the roof today. This wasn't anything unusual for him. Last week he'd taken his lunch in the lunchroom, in the courtyard, in the auditorium, under a stairwell, and in an unused club room. Each had had their own charms. The lunchroom had been a symphony of voices and activity, the sounds all building on one another until it was all just one big sound. The courtyard had featured the sweet wet smell of freshly cut grass. In the auditorium every sound he made was amplified and played back to him. Under the stairs had been cozy and enveloped him in a shroud of shadows, making him feel like he'd discovered a secret place. The club room was clean and white but when he looked a little deeper he still found evidence of the people that had been using its last year, marks carved under desks that proved this place had a story.

For the rooftop the charm was definitely the view. From up here he could look out on the beach side jewel that was the city of Port Crescendo. Sparkles shined off the windows of high-rise buildings. Cars and people hurried along, heading for work or home or out to a shop or out to eat and he felt the rhythm of the city sweep over him and was nearly overwhelmed by the majesty of it. This was something that worked. It was enormous, sprawling, chaotic, a million different people from a million different places coming in and out and yet it all combined into something that worked.

The sight was well worth the risk of coming up here. Technically he didn't think he was allowed to be most of the places he had eaten lunch, but the school was just so big, especially compared to the five rooms he was allowed into at the Institute, and the only time he had to explore it was right now. So there he sat, enjoying the gentle breeze and the rhythm of life, and ate.

He saved the apple for last. He picked it up, held it in his mouth like a luau pig, and took a deep breath through his nose. Then he sent a call out through the Enlil Network to the Institute. A white a hot stab of pain gouged its way through his temple as the connection was made and he felt juice dribble down his chin as he bit into the apple. A moment later the flickering image of Dr. Johannes was in front of his eyes and the pain was just a weird inch in his scalp. He spit out the apple and waved hello. "G-g-g-good afternoon D-d-doctor." he said. "M-midday ch-ch-ch-checkup."

Dr. Johannes was a heavy set and pale woman, with auburn hair done up in a tight bun on her head and a kind face. Between the flickering and image tearing Icarus could almost make out her smile. "Good afternoon to you, Icarus. How are you today? Any changes? Feeling better? Worse?"

Icarus ruefully shook his head. "N-no changes." He'd had been hovering in the Lagrange point between "better" and "worse" for over a year now with no sighs of moving. It's partially why they'd agreed to let him out of the lab. Maybe exposure to something in ordinary society would prompt some change.

"Well, that's good." She said, sighing with a mixture of disappointment and relief. "I'll see you when Steven brings you back then."

"I c-c-c-could ride the train." Icarus said quickly. He couldn't really tell, but he thought he saw he smile drop at that. Nevertheless, he pressed forward hopefully. "Or I c-c-c-could wa-w-wa-wa-alk b-b-back. T-the Instit-t-t-tute isn't th-that f-f-far. S-s-s-steven doesn't have to c-c-c-come get me."

Somehow he could feel her stare through the damaged feed. For a while that's all she did. Then she said, in a sad, hard voice. "Icarus, I understand that this feels smothering. But the Institute agreed to let you come to this school because it is a controlled environment. There are people here to look out for you. If something were to happen to you in some random place where you shouldn't be then it could be hours, days, before anyone lets us know. You understand that, right?"

Icarus hoped that he was coming through on her end badly enough that she couldn't see the blue sky behind his head. He nodded, dejected.

"Why don't you join an after school club?" he heard he say, voice softening. He perked back up at that. "Club sign ups should have begun by now. If you want to stay out longer I'm sure I could convince our administration that you'd be under proper supervision under their care."

"You me-me-mean it!" He shouted.

"I mean it." She replied. "Don't just go and join the first one you find though. Really think about this. Don't join just to quit and try something else. And don't try and join all of them! You'll have responsibilities. Icarus, are you listening?" He had been nodding dreamily along to her words but his eyes were already somewhere far in the distance. She shook her head. "Well, so long as you're having fun. See you when you get home."

The connection and Icarus felt that weird itch go away. A club. If he could prove he was all right in a club, maybe they would let him go other places. Icarus smiled, picked up his apple where it had landed on the ground, and bit into it. It somehow tasted sweeter.

A lot of people were under the impression that smithing only took strength, and that George was some kind of meathead for doing such a thing. Hell, there were several other children of wealthy families that snubbed their noses at him because he'd chosen such a 'rough' looking class whereas they were all about refinement and nobility and all that. George had stopped caring about all that at about 12.

If one were to find a certain tree in the courtyard right now, they would see a random inventory screen floating with no apparent user nearby, and they would probably think their Enlil interface needed a reboot. However, that was in fact George's tablet skill <<Forge Space>>, a pocket dimension within the Enlil Network itself. He didn't have a free period next, in fact he'd been missing class intermittently throughout the previous day and today as well. Skipping classes only a week into school was surely the sign of a rebellious oaf, uncaring of his own family's image, but to be fair, he was doing something important.

Okay, so not really. Mostly he just didn't want to come.

He'd spent the time forging Damascus Steel. It was a good demonstration of why an enterprising Blacksmith had to be well-rounded, and not focus solely on strength. To make it you had to slowly heat and then cool iron ore and charcoal in a crucible, over a period of 24-48 hours, and you would have to repeat the process until the carbon completely mixed in with the iron to create the steel. Then, after making the ingot, you had to make sure to hammer it at a low temperature compared to other metals.

Precise temperature control, at least with a traditional forge, needs a healthy mix of dexterity and perception. He could learn to do it without either stat, but it would be harder to get consistently good results without the stats. The Jordas family was all about the consistent quality of their weapons. In fact, Damascus Steel was one of their signature techniques in the olden days. It could vastly improve the quality of a blade made with low-quality materials, and had superior edge retention and durability. Modern techniques and wider availability of higher quality steels led to the art slowly fading away, until only modern hobbyists really made it.

He needed intelligence to be able to research lost techniques, or pinpoint the origins of modern techniques and adapt them to a traditional forge. One might ask why he should even bother with something like that, and the answer was his unique skill <<Soul Forging>>. Weapons had a 'soul' of sorts but it wasn't something like a consciousness, although they did also have something similar. Each weapon has a certain pride. Pride in their appearance, the pride of being used, or the pride of surviving countless battles all led to the creation of a 'soul'. <<Soul Forging>> allowed him to blur those distinctions and allowed him to bring out the soul of a weapon just by making it himself.

Of course, since the weapon hadn't been through any battles to forge its own characteristics, any extra capabilities were bound to be simple. They were mostly tied to their physical nature, and what was outstanding about them in that respect. To that end, forging this Damascus Steel sword was mostly for experimentation. How would it change based on using different techniques?

The final swing of the hammer rang out.

"...Phew, alright, now for the final step." George said, wiping sweat off his brow.

He put the newly hammered blade back into the forge. After hammering was completed, the blade needed to be heated until it was cherry red. Then he would need to quench it, which was where the real sticking point was. Damascus was a delicate material to forge with. There were many ways to quench a sword after forging which changed the way the blade ended up. Quench the sword in something too cold and it would crack and become brittle. Quench it in something too hot and it'd end up too soft.

The closer you ride the tightrope, the better the results, and to ride that line as close as he possibly could he was using an acid solution to quench this sword. An acid solution cools in possibly the quickest time, but it also had the highest chance of cracking the blade. He'd practiced as much as he could with acid quenching but he hadn't done it on Damascus Steel yet because it took too long to make himself. It would be alright if he failed, but he didn't want to fail.

He pulled the blade out of the forge at just the right time. He quickly scooted over to the barrel which had his acid solution. He plunged the blade into it, set a timer on the Enlil Network's time interface, and then began stirring the solution with a metal rod.

It was important to clear the steam from quenching by stirring the liquid because it would cool the blade even faster. Once the blade was at room temperature the quenching was finished, but even high levels of perception would have trouble judging when that was without experience. Through his testing with acid quenching he'd developed a base-line based on the temperature he would be heating the Damascus Steel to which was now counting down on the timer.

3, 2, 1... He counted off.

He pulled the blade out just as the timer hit 0. No cracks. He breathed a sigh of relief as he moved it back to the anvil and wiped off the remaining acid. It came out exactly as he'd wanted it to. The way to tell the difference between true Damascus Steel and a pattern welded steel sword was that Damascus Steel's pattern was much more chaotic. Pattern welds could have long lines whereas Damascus is almost truly random.

The blade he made was for a scimitar. He only had the blade right now, and it would eventually need to be tempered, attached to the handle and sharpened, but that could wait until later. Even in its current state he could test out his hypothesis.

He put held it up by the end and said "<<Unleash>>!". A yellowish aura spread along the length of the blade. It wobbled and pulsated, its shape similar to the blade's pattern. The other acid quenched weapons he'd made didn't do this, it looked like the pattern was the reason for the difference. He put a gloved finger to the blade and quickly drew it back once the blade started hissing. A little bit of the fingertip was smoking.

"Acid, huh?" He said.

It looked like the blade's power was acid. It seemed to be a lot stronger than normal acid, but was the range was limited to contact. He released his skill and the aura faded. It seemed like the pattern glowed yellow in places as well. It seemed to be a success but George felt like the blade was... incomplete. Not just because he didn't actually have it in the handle yet, but because he didn't have much more he could really do with it. Maybe when he'd leveled up some more he could, but for now, it was time to get back to class.

---

"Fuck, that took way too long." He muttered, stretching a bit.

Normally he was mild with his talking but he allowed himself some profanity every so often. He checked the time to confirm that it was the end of second period. 3rd period had a class he wanted to go to but there was somewhere he had to go to first.

He looked up from the courtyard towards a certain room on the second floor. The Monster Hunting Club. Since he had a lot of spare time due to not really accepting duels and not formally being part of any club, he did repairs for the Monster Hunting club to polish his skills. Just a bit of sharpening, a bit or readjustment, that sort of thing. He had a bunch of weapons from the first and second years who weren't very good at keeping them in shape themselves. He'd also gained a reputation for it, as people had reportedly said that their weapons seemed sharper than normal, or something like that.

The reason he didn't really accept duels was because he got challenged a lot. Try as they might, they hadn't been able to keep it a secret that Díno Bando, the rising star of the Jordas family who had at first seemed to have long since left George in the dust, was not only defeated by him in an unofficial duel but was also put into the hospital for quite some time.

Díno was a holy terror in ranked matches. He never even needed to use his tablet skill to win fights, not that anyone knew what it was. And George, scruffy-looking tardy George, beat him that badly? He got so many requests from people trying to find out how strong he was, but it's not like he could show them that easily. Most of his combat effectiveness was pure lethality. You take a hand-grenade to the face and it isn't going to end well for you. He didn't really have anything besides that so it wasn't a good idea to fight people he could potentially lose to without it. He still had a reputation to uphold that wasn't just his.

He looked up towards the club room windows, one was open. Sure he could go inside and take the stairs but this was faster. He climbed up a nearby tree and jumped for the sill. He caught it with one arm and used the other to stop himself from smacking into the wall and making a scene. He pulled himself up to the open window and stepped up. To his surprise, Aito was right in front of him.

"I finished all the repairs," He said, fishing around in his inventory.

One thing he'd found out was that if he went to his tablet skill screen he could take out the crates from inside <<Forge Space>>. It worked sort of weirdly because putting another crate inside <<Forge Space>> didn't work and it got ejected out when George exited like everything else did that wasn't on the anvil, a weapon rack, or in the forge. A crate of weapons would normally still be too heavy for George but it just slipped out when he did it this way.

He knew mostly everyone in the Monster Hunting club because he came around so often. He mostly did repairs but he did make a weapon for some of their members to practice with. Adding monster materials did interesting things sometimes, but not too often.

"Oh, dude, you're going to catch a cold or something," George said, noticing Vetalla in the club room. She looked a bit tired, but she always seemed to look tired.

He opened his normal inventory and took out a folded towel. He smelled it quickly to make sure it was a clean one, before using <<Throw>> to toss it at her. It opened in mid-air just as he wanted it to, and if she didn't dodge it would wrap around her head.

"Always gotta dry your hair properly." He said. Then he turned back to Aito. "I'm gonna go to class unless you got something for me, class ain't that important for me anyway."
@Redward@RyuShura

@Redward@RoflsMazoy...

Vatalla was focused on her ink sketch mostly throughout the conversation. But when he began to divulge more pressing information, the quick strokes and lining became increasingly slower until she finally stopped and looked up at Aito. Whatever he said must have got her full attention. The pale, pupil-less eyes were sort of eerie this close up, and seemed to gaze past him. Somewhere, it was like something other than Vatalla was watching him. Though only for a split second.

"Secret mission, eh? What are we, undercover agents now? Didn't take you for much of a '007', myself. Much less charming." Vatalla says, giving him a smirk, "Hey, and no pay at all? For once, I might be overjoyed. It just means that club member, whose name I shall not have the distaste to utter, won't have any reason to whine about me joinin' in now. I'd take that over some rent money any day. Besides, you've got a girl all excited. It'd be a shame if you let her down now..."

She then bites on the tip of her tongue playfully, giving him a quick wink. Aito was always so calm, so she always tried different ways to get a reaction out of him. Whatever his reaction, or lack thereof, the girl quickly leaned back in the seat and stretched out her back. "If something's bad enough to be kept under wraps, that means it's gotta be something strong." she adds.

The milky blonde was smiling now, sighing happily as she cracked her slender spine against the edge of the chair. It seemed the very thought of fighting put her in a good mood. Or was it because she could hang out with the club without any qualms? It might've been both.

As she was finishing her stretch, and Aito moved back towards the windows, an unexpected visitor started coming into the clubroom. From the outside of all places. Before she can get a good look as to who it was, or associate the familiar(?) voice, a wadded towel was sent flying her way. She planned to merely move her head to the side to dodge it, but as she did so, the thing magically unraveled and caught her smack in the face. At least it would have, if she didn't go ephemeral in that last second. With a shuddering pop, almost like a faint whisper, Vatalla was replaced with a smokey, indigo figure. It looked something like a hazy silhouette. Then, in the same second, she was back on the chair with a second shimmering 'pop', looking bewildered as ever.

"Um..." she muttered, looking back at the towel sliding off the wall behind her.

She was figuring out how to react. Anger was the first thing she felt, the natural reaction of having something thrown at your face for no reason. But also a bit of confusion. How did any of this sequence of events follow proper logic? Window + Man = Towel? No that didn't make any sense at all. Then it hit her. George. Only one person would things in such a fashion that defied all normal convention. Yet, somehow he was quite the brilliant mind in himself. His reputation for doing handy work all around the school is large enough for someone who doesn't get involved with, largely out of disinterest, to a majority of school's internal drama to even know. How does he exactly do these things? Well, she didn't know herself. It surely didn't look like the objects he made worked from any normal scientific angle. Guess some things are simply beyond understanding.

"Thanks...?" she said with a slight laugh, picking up the woolly cloth and wrapping her long curled hair in it. She had made sure her hair was not dripping when she took off her shirt earlier, but it helped nonetheless in absorbing some of that dank smelling odor.

Vatalla looked to 'Jojo' with a raised brow, stepping up and moving towards the doorway. She left a nasty puddle there. Wouldn't want anyone slipping, now that she had something to clean it up with. On the off-chance that, who knows, a person who actually used doors comes along. Yeah, silly notion, she knew. "I see you still think that stairs are a 'waste of time and energy'." she says jokingly, while passing down the isle of desks and chairs, "And maybe a nice warning of 'catch' next time, when you throw something at someone? Just a tip. Don't change yourself too much though. You're a fun guy."

Laughing to herself over the matter, Vatalla silently wiped the floor and allowed Aito to speak. Hearing the last bit, it seemed this 'little' case was a much bigger deal than she thought. Normally, they just do their duties, hunt something given the chance, and go home before nightfall. Any activity beyond that was deemed too dangerous, unless they had supervision from staff. If the chairman wants club members to pull so much extra responsibility, that means something really big must be up.

Halfway finished, she spoke up, pointing to her black-lined eyes. "What's sleep anyway? Besides, if you're gonna be doing some 'hero' work, I gotta be there to punt you down a size. Can't have you growing an ego on us."

...

"Sign me the hell up for that," George said. "As long as it's not next period I'll be good."

Next period was History class, one of his favorites which you wouldn't figure just by looking at him. He was found something fascinating in about pretty much every part of learning about history; learning about people, learning about dates relative to current times, olden day technology and culture, all that cool stuff.

Wait, I'm a fucking nerd... holy shit.

That was a fresh realization. He'd always thought he was too bad at studying to be a nerd, but there was always time to become one when you were this young, it looked like. Apparently Díno wasn't a nerd because he was also athletic, and he also didn't seem to display a preference for a certain subject. The sticking point was probably the latter, actually, but Díno studied an awful lot more than he did.

A night mission sounded fun as hell. He could light some torches and blow stuff up, except that was probably going to damage the school so he probably couldn't blow stuff up. Still, the third floor was kind of big. He was assuming a few more people would be coming along by night-time, and the more people there were the safer it was probably going to be. Still, there could always be too many people but Aito seemed to be good at discretion so it would probably be fine in the end.

"You can keep the towel if you want to," George said to Vatalla, walking over to the door.

Vatalla reminded him a bunch of Díno sometimes. Mostly it was like they were both holding a grudge most of the time, except Díno did it more of the time, or all of the time, actually. It felt like Díno had a grudge against the whole world, which probably wasn't too far off. Vatalla didn't seem to have a grudge that big.

"Also I'm going to go pick up that crate after school," He said, poking his head back into the door to shoot a final message to Aito. "Don't let somebody pick it up and take it to storage again, took me forever to find it after last time."

A few seconds after he walked out the door, a faint "Fuck!" could be heard, followed by the sound of George slipping on Vatalla's water trail from the hallway. The next person to enter the club room would probably see a slightly disheveled George getting up to his feet and walking away.

@Redward@RyuShura

As Akira walked down the hall with his hands in his pockets, most would assume he was skipping class. Many people thought of him as a delinquent, an unfortunate rumour spread last year that never went away. In reality he was about as far from delinquency one could get, right now he had a free period so he was just wandering around to see if anything interesting was happening. Another rumour about Akira is that he was a famous thief who stole from assholes who tormented others, not that it could be proven. In a world where <Thief> was a common class it was hard to prove any one person was behind crimes. Not to say the rumours were wrong, they were quite true actually. Which lead him to the reason for his wandering, maybe if he was lucky he would find some asshole in need of attitude adjustment.

As he pondered his actions for the next hour he happened to step on a piece of paper that had been left on the floor. "Jeez, it's not like it's hard to find trash cans around here." Akira kneeled down to pick up the paper, turning it over to reveal a recruitment poster for the Monster Hunting club. He hummed to himself lightly, looks like he just found himself something to do.

---

As he approached the class Akira couldn't help but notice a boy around his age looking a bit bruised as he picked himself off the ground. He scanned the floor to figure out what was so slippery, quickly noticing the trail of water leading inside. Akira carefully made his way around George, watching his step so that he wouldn't look like an idiot to whoever ran the club.

Knock knock! He knocked on the open door twice, entering with a guarded expression as he looked around. "Pardon me, is this the Monster Hunting Club? I found your poster and was wondering if I could join." He held out the poster in his left hand, looking at both Vatalla and Alto as he was unsure which person ran the club.

He sat alone, as he always did, out in the courtyard under a birch tree. He had always liked the birch, shedding their young bark to reveal the pale white wood underneath, as if they were casting off their shell to reveal some sort of purity. He had left all the ones he considered "friends" behind when he moved to Port Crescendo from the Western Shore, and didn't much care to put forth the effort of making new ones. No, it's better this way. Safer. People have always bored me anyhow.. Though, I do miss the comfort, at times. Yoshi stared at the half-emptied thermos he toted about, The smell is a little more noticeable today... He poured it on the ground and turned his gaze toward those gathered amongst the gazebos in the courtyard.

He liked to watch the people from a distance and imagine being able to intermingle with them. Though, every time he had tried in recent history, either he or the other party had simply not 'clicked', always devolving in to a painful silence. Maybe I'm just being stu-- A voice interrupted him, slow-spoken and calm. Cold, but intent. "Stupid? Yes. You've always been quite good at doubting yourself. It's what makes part of this so easily achieved.." a snicker followed the latter part of the statement.

"You've achieved nothing, so go back to your hole." He spoke sternly, but felt weakened by the confidence in the Imp's statement. Easy... Surely I'm not that easy. I've kept them at bay this long. Wouldn't they just get on with it, if it were that close? He anticipated a response before it was given. Don't answer that, I wasn't asking.. A feeling of stillness came over him. He had felt it before, but never out in the broad view of prying eyes. A slight gasp, followed by a whispered protest. "Shit... Not here. I need to get somewhere." He tried to stand, but his knees were weak.

He continued to whisper to himself, as if to coach, as his thoughts were too loud to hear himself. "Okay. One thing from each sense, right?" The caretaker was pruning the hedges nearby. SNIP The sound of the shears echoed in his mind over and over in his clouded state.

"Shit... I..." He gripped the edge of the bench."Wood. The grain of the wood, right. uhm..."

A breeze kicked up and carried the scent of azaleas towards him."Flowers. Gross."
He racked his mind over, trying to remember the five senses, he couldn't keep in order which he had recognized and which he was lacking. "Sound, touch, smell... smell... uhm.. Damnit." Dizziness began to overtake him. He felt as though something were pulling him away from the courtyard."I'm tired... Touch..." He bit his tongue, drawing a bit of blood, hoping the pain would ground him back in the waking world. "Taste. I taste pennies." a ruby colored bead dripped from the corner of his mouth, slightly agape and it worked, for half a moment.

Pulling at his hair and trying to remember which sense he hadn't indulged in the excersize, the tug at his scalp was all that was keeping him awake."NO. No.. This is just more touch.. Damn it. This is so simple, why do I always have such a hard time with it? Weakness. Simple weakness."

A new sound rang out, the smooth and sort of sing-song voice of a young girl. A freshman, at that. "Hey there... Are you alright? You look sad." A new touch and sound came as she sat on the bench beside him, shifting his seating slightly as the old wood beneath them creaked beneath the load. "I'm... I'm fine. Thanks, though."
"You're not. But I can help, I think! Just look at me, okay?"

Sight. I've not looked. He raised his head to meet the gaze of a girl with raven hair and a soft smile, her scarlet eyes piercing his of emerald. He was awake, but confused. Normally, he could read people, but her.. Something was different. The kindness was genuine, but there was something in her stare. She was looking in to him, instead of at him.

"I'm Rosalie, but my friends call me Red." She said with a slight tilt of her head. "Oh, dear, we can't have that." She pulled a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and dabbed the blood from Yoshi's chin. "Well. I told you my name. It's rude not to offer yours, don't you think?"

"I.... uh.. Yoshi. I'm Yoshi."

"Pleased to meet you, Yoshi. I felt that you were distressed, and it troubled me. I think that you're lonely. And I know just the thing to remedy that! There's a club I heard of that plays all sorts of really fun games outside of class, and I'd like you to come with me! They'll take me more seriously if I show up with an upper-classman, anyhow."

He had never been fond of clubs, or socializing. "I... I'm no--"

"Of course you're sure! You're sure that you don't want to, but it's for your own good! I won't accept 'no' as an answer." She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, and his knees stopped shaking. He didn't know what to think. Who is she...

"Well? Is it a yes yet? It's the only real answer, after all." She gave him a warm smile and a gentle tug, beckoning him to go with her. For the first time in a long time, he was intrigued. With a drawn out sigh, he gave her the response she wanted,"I suppose I must, if there is but one answer. Which club are we going to, anyway? Something boring like rugby or SpArena?"

A soft laugh came in response. "It's called the Monster Hunter Club, and it looks like the most fun out of them all!" She pulled at him once more, and they made their way toward the main building. Passing the crowds of freshmen and upper classmen, still in a daze, Yoshi caught bits and pieces of conversation. Everything from typical gossip and banter to the more serious tones of how monsters had been getting not only bolder; but bigger and stronger.

Why am I even allowing this.. He was rarely influenced by the will of others, often simply walking away from situations in which 'peer pressure' was utilized. But there was something about this girl that made him more comfortable in the 'follower' sort of role. She had, after all, been the thing that finished grounding him back in to reality.It could have been bad, had I slipped in public like that..

Rosalie, half skipping, was eagerly tugging at Yoshi's wrist. Brushing past nobodies and professors alike. Every so often, she'd turn her welcoming smile back, as if to be sure that he was still behind her, despite the certainty of her grasp. After a short while, they made their way to the second floor of the main building on campus. A black sign with bold, golden letters read 'MHC H.Q.' This is the door she chose to open.

Upon entry, Yoshi shifted in discomfort. They were both trained hunters, after all, and between them stood a slender and ghostly lad. The noise of the door opening had directed all their attention toward it. He had never been comfortable with eyes on him. Like spiderwebs brushing on my skin... He turned to Rosalie, as if she'd take the spotlight. Instead, she placed a hand gently on his back and nudged him forward.

"Go on, then! By the looks of it, I'm sure they'd love to know our names and why we're here! Introduce us, if you would!" She took a step backward, giving him the foreground and curtsied to the occupants of the headquarters.

He looked around the room, analyzing everyone inside. He had always tried to remain aware of his surroundings, and understand what was going on around him. A calm, collected young gentleman, observing every movement in the room and gauging it, albeit somewhat half-heartedly and a girl with tattoos all over her body and a piercing gaze. He got the feeling the boy center of the room wouldn't be seen if he weren't intentionally showing himself.

"H-hey. Uhm.. We...." He froze. He'd never been good with strangers, let alone a crowd. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the words to use. Just as he felt his face begin to flush, he also felt a gentle hand pushing him aside, and she stepped forward.

"Hello!" a harmonious voice rang out amidst the room, cheerfully calling more attention to the duo."My fried here is just a bit shy amongst new people, don't mind him. My Name is Rosalie, but you can call me Red! We're just looking for a club to join, and this one seemed the best option! I'm not much one for something like carpentry, and, as you can see, my friend here wouldn't do well in something like theater in front of a crowd!" a soft giggle followed the statement.

She turned to him with a smile, as if asking his permission, though a bit more pressing. Yoshi nodded, and turned his gaze toward the calm young man leaning back in his chair."We'd like to fall in to the ranks of the MHC" 'whatever that is' If you would have us. My name is Yoshi." The two exchanged looks, and he got the feeling that he had interrupted something important."Well, uhm... What exactly are we doing here?"

---

School seemed a little boring at times; Aoife would often find herself looking outwards, where her everyday seemed like a different page from a novel. Now, she felt like she was listening to the same song over and over.

She sighs, turning her book to the assigned page and reading with the rest of the class. Her chin was rested on her palm. Even if she had her eight hours of rest, she felt her head getting woozier and woozier.

'drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!' Aoife's head shot up at the sound of the lunch bell! (Oh boy! oh boy!) Even in her upper-class life, she still enjoyed the little joys.. such as food.

She raced down the flights of stairs, almost literally flying to the front of the lunch line to get whatever she could get her hands on. Whatever she got would reflect on her monthly lunch bill. All expense paid by the gracious Libra Von Reinhardt. She could feel her mouth water just by smelling the burger meat, and the pasta.

@MordecaiThe 1st@floodtalon@Redward...

Vatalla raised her eyes at all the new arrivals, standing up from her cleaning work. It was kind of weird for a sudden surge of students to want to join a club right smack between class periods. Some of them looked the sort to be ditching anyway, but this isn't exactly a good place to hide. Nor was it the club's active hours to be expecting any members to be here. This was supposed to be secret, after all. Right? Actually, the last bit got to her a bit. How did they even know they were there? Then it crossed her. Like a wet, sewer smelling towel slapping across her face. Ah shit. The puddles outside. She had left a trail straight to them. If some dinky students can find them here, than surely some teacher has the brains to. Even if some of them did appear to have it half put together.

"Sheesh, looks like everyone wants a bit of detention these days... I'm gonna warn you now. Not fun." Vatalla muttered, quickly moving outside and tossing the towel on the floor.

She then quickly dabbed the water around with it attached to her foot, hurrying up and down the hallway before slamming the doors behind her. Vatalla let out a stressed huff. She must've looked silly, but she didn't care. Getting caught now was not an option. It was a slippery mess in the hall still, but it wasn't as obvious unless someone actually went and slipped on the stuff. She made a mental note to apologize to Jojo later on. Not because she caused him to fall. But because she secretly laughed at him for it. Anyway, that shouldn't be happening again. Most likely. This was the area on the second floor with all the club rooms. Clubs that shouldn't be active right now. Aside from this one. But no one really knew that in the first place. Which confused her all over again. Still, Vatalla didn't show any of it. If its one thing she learned long ago about this school; conventional logic, just throw it straight out the window.

After the little antics, Vatalla continued on as if none of that happened, brushing tangly hair strands out of her face. She didn't really look over anyone in particular. But the ditzy little girl didn't vibe well with Vatalla. As with any person who dealt with regular people on any daily basis, she got all sorts of bells ringing in her head.

"I'm not gonna question the thought process behind putting priority on randomly trying to joining a club during school hours, over that of getting to class on time. Speaking of which, there should only be..." she said, opening the clock interface on her Enlil Network just as the bell to the next class rang. She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, there you go. Now, if it was up to me, I'd kick you all back to class for ruining my personal 'break away from annoying people' time. Along with a rejection notice. But it's not. So... meh."

With that, she moved back to her desk, tapping Aito on the shoulder with a grin, "Interesting year we're gonna have, huh?"

Soon enough, the faint sound of pen scratches can be heard again as Vatalla quickly immerses herself back into work. She seemed a little bothered by the amount of people gathered around, but such qualms were swallowed over by her own focus.

"B-b-b-but I wasn't tr-tr-trying t-t-t-to Skip." Icarus pleaded as he stumbled down the hall, being led by the ear by a burly member of the disciplinary comity. "I wa-wa-w-was j-j-j-just l-l-lost."

"You got lost on your way from the cafeteria to the first year classrooms?" Asked his captor, not even turning to look at him.

"Y-y-yes."

"Both of which are on the first floor?"

The question hung ominously over Icarus's head like a ten ton weight. This gorilla had caught him up on the third floor, running for the stairwell. He'd been so caught up thinking about clubs that he hadn't noticed that he should have left until the bell was already ringing. The roof was much farther afield than any place he'd eaten lunch before. He should have known he didn't have enough time to reach class before it started. He wracked his brain trying to think of some way to explain all that without admitting that he'd been somewhere he wasn't allowed, but didn't have it in him. As they stopped in front of a door he decided to just go with the truth. "I'm n-n-not a cle-clever p-p-p-person."

"That's why you should be in class!" he barked, threw open the door, and nearly tossed Icarus in. Icarus flew in at a stumble run, nearly lost his footing twice, and managed to catch himself on the teachers podium and right himself. He looked around the nearly empty room and nothing about it struck him as familiar. It took a little delay for what was happening to sink it.

Icarus looked back at him. "B-b-but yo-yo-you d-d-didn't t-t-ta-take me to c-c-class."

"Nope. Welcome to detention!" then he roughly shut the door. The sound was like an axe hitting the executioner block. Icarus just stood there, supporting himself on the podium, face blank. After a moment his mouth creaked open slightly and he started letting out a low whine like a scared dog.

@MordecaiThe 1st@floodtalon@Redward...

There was a reason why she moved to the back of the room instead of giving out a name before. She was never into getting 'friendly' with a bunch of strangers. Especially knowing her own attitude. What was the point anyway? Going from a psychological standpoint, most of the people she meets will have already made a prejudgement whether they like her or not. Purely based on her appearance. And that's before she speaks a word. Based on personal experience, the disposition plummets even further after speaking. So, it's simply best that she just avoided all those things entirely. In following the 'optimal strategy', as they walked towards the third floor, Vatalla made sure to keep a noticeable distance away from the group. Let the person with good people skills handle all the dirty work. She was intent keeping quiet the whole way too. At least, until Aito put her on the spot.

She clicked her tongue once upon hearing his last words. There wasn't a way to weasel out of this one without making someone look bad. And she already knowing who it was gonna be.

Vatalla gave Aito a side-ways glare before clearing her throat. "Custom. Same as old 'Patchy' here." she said knowingly, swooping up now and wrapping her arm playfully around his neck. A little too 'playfully', he would soon experience, as her arm slowly tightened. Nothing too much though. Just a little bit of 'rough love', as she would call it. "See, my class is 'Hellcat'. Named it myself. Seems fitting, right? You don't have to agree with me. Anyway, it's nothing special. I just punch things and make sure they don't punch me back. And sometimes I do a little disappearing act. Like so."

Finishing off with giving Aito one last squeeze, Vatalla vanishes with the familiar 'pop'. The hazy indigo form swooshes through the air and the pale girl reappears again a fair distance away, now leaning against the stairway to the third floor. "Don't mind me! I'm listening very closely and very intently." she yells, while clearly going up the stairs without them.

...

---

---

The intense odour of lemon scented disinfectant permeated the cramped space of the janitor's closet. The room was dark, save for a glimmer of neon blue radiating from the corner. In the dim lighting, the silhouette of various cleaning apparatus could be made out along the rickety shelves. Piles of mops and brooms stacked haphazardly on the top shelf, boxes filled with old rags and sponges on the next and then finally a series of buckets containing a sinister looking substance which was most likely the cause of the suffocating stench.

Huddled in the corner by the ominous light source was a young girl, her eyes cascaded by two floating circles from which the electric blue light emanated. Each circle was a kaleidoscope of color and intricate markings, ones that most would instantly recognise as that of the Enlil Network. Next to her stood an awkwardly tall young man, perhaps only a year or so older than the girl. His mop of light brown hair was messy and knotted, a pair of crooked spectacles sat on his slanted nose. He was frequently re-adjusting his glasses and twiddling his thumbs, his lanky frame hunched over to try and fit in the small space.

"So, um," He broke the silence, warranting an irritated leer from Piper which caused his next words to fumble.
"I, uh, I-I just wanted to know when you'd be finished?" He instantly regretted asking as soon as the question left his lips. Almost expectantly, the young lady offered an arrogant tsk before swiping her hand out in front of her. At her fingertips,
a holographic panel expanded with various numerals and codes displayed. As effortlessly as a dealer spreads out his deck, Piper drew out similar looking screens in a large grid before turning to face the nervous boy.

"Well, Eric," She spat.
"M-My name's Etha-"
"Don't care." Ethan gulped at Piper's harsh interjection, but was otherwise silent at her bluntness. This young first year had gained quite a ruthless reputation in such a short time at the academy. Rumours of people being left nasty little surprises in their Network from an anonymous hacker garnered a certain respect of Piper's skills. Or was it fear?

"I graciously take time out of my busy schedule to do you a solid, and you thank me by complaining about my punctuality?! Hmmph!" Ethan was beginning to sweat, recalling an incident with his classmate in the last few days where his entire personal log had been forcefully displayed on the entire campus' Network page. He quickly stumbled to his knees, holding his hands clasped in front of him in an almost reverent manner. Piper smirked at the gesture.
"Much more like it! Now, let's see where those files are hiding. Widget, status report!" At her command, a new screen opened up to her left displaying a video feed of the outside hallway. A few students walked by, but it was otherwise empty. From the screen, a toneless, mechanical voice promptly spoke in response to Piper's query.
"Second floor hallway: clear. Third period has commenced." Widget's monotonous voice blared through the room.
"Excellent. I'm about done, Widget." Several screens began to flash with the same intricate markings that had appeared over Piper's eyes, various geometrical shapes shifting and reorganizing themselves to form a perfect circle. Once complete, the circle flashed green before several pages of valuable data unraveled themselves before Piper's eyes.

"Amazing! You actually got into Mr Barker's personal data!" Ethan's amazement warranted a devious cackle from the young hacker. Piper began to forward the information to Ethan's profile using a discreet channel, one that'd be relatively untraceable. If the school pursued it enough, they could probably find the source, but Piper doubted they'd be willing to go through all that effort for a few pages of homework answers. If she'd done it right, Mr Barker would be none the wiser to the invasion of his person Network profile.

"Naturally! My reputation doesn't do me justice, it seems!" Piper stroked her own ego, but Ethan was too eager to receive the answers to the homework he had failed to complete the night previously to notice. Just as the transfer was about to complete, the bar froze with Piper's signature encryption hovering in front of it. Ethan stared at her in confusion and was met with an outstretched palm.
"First, there's the matter of payment." Ethan nodded with an awkward smile, stuffing his fist into his jacket before placed a bag of pop rocks into Piper's hand. Piper's wicked expression softened into one of glee, immediately pressing a button to resume the transfer before ripping open the package with her teeth. With one fell swoop, she dumped the contents of the back straight onto her tongue. The tingling sensation of the candy paired so nicely with the bubbly sweetness. If there was ever a time to cry tears of joy, now would be the time!
Sweet ecstasy! God I haven't had one of these in ages! Piper's mind briefly wandered back to the strict rules of her household. The sweetest thing to ever enter that god forsaken place was fruit. One of the downsides to being raised by dentists. Wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket, Piper giggled before offering a polite curtsy to her client.
"Glad to be of help! And remember," Taking a threatening step forward, Piper glared up at Ethan with a look that could only be described as tantalizingly horrifying. "Keep this exchange on the down low. I think you've seen how I deal with blabbermouths." Ethan stepped back, rubbing the back of his head whilst offering a slow bow of gratitude. He made a brief comment about how he'd keep his mouth shut before rushing out the door. Piper waited a few moment before exiting herself, deciding it was too late to make her way to class now. Widget caught up with her as she made her way to the cafeteria, resting on Piper's shoulder before entering sleep mode.



The detention room was mostly empty, aside from maybe two or three stragglers spaced out across a few desks in the room. Each had their nose buried in their textbook, the supervising teacher staring down her long, pointed noise with discontent. Miss Harvey was notoriously stern and was disliked by most of the student body. Her eagerness to host detention was indicative of the pleasure she received from punishing kids. When the door slid open to reveal a few more students, which Miss Harvey immediately identified as Ellie Lunaclad, Osman Cain and Seisil Stamatti. Her eyebrow raised at the sight of them, a sinister smile spreading across her bony cheeks.

"What have we here? More delinquents caught in the act!" She proclaimed, her finger pointing to the ceiling in an almost comical manner. Striding down from her podium with exaggerated movements, Miss Bowers pointed a decrepit finger straight at young Osman. She reeked of cheap perfume. "Your actions disgrace the entire student body! You'll spend the next hour writing out the dictionary like the rest of this sorry lot!" The disciplinary committee member who brought them in offered a perplexed look at the teachers strange mannerisms, but was otherwise satisfied with leaving them in her care. As soon as the door shut behind her, Miss Bowers softened before snickering in a voice that was far too young and chirpy to be hers.

"Hah! What a riot! Can she, like, be any more gullible?" Miss Harvey's image began to fade away, twisting and contorting between her craggy, wrinkled skin and the smooth, freckled complexion of a young girl. Her wiry strands of gray hair flattened into long, gorgeous locks of auburn. Her bespectacled green eyes brightened into bubbly pink ones. Finally, her tacky thrift shop reject nun habit warped into a PCEA School Uniform. In a blink of an eye, Miss Harvey was gone and instead stood Felicity Day; a second year student who frequented the detention room. At the back of the room, Jayce Kyson offered a round of applause.

"Damn, that peformance was absolutely sick. What an absolute champ!
"Was a bit much, though. Tone it down a bit next time, Felicity!" Nico Zarc slid across a row of tables before slapping Jayce a high five. The two began engaging in a casual chat regarding the accuracy of Felicia's impression of Miss Harvey. Meanwhile, Felicity ruffled Osman's hair whilst offering a coy wink to Ellie.
"My Tablet Power. We've been using it since late last year to get away with skipping class. Pretty neat, huh?" Felicity sat by the door, checking her social circles on the network while messages began to flood her interface.

From the back of the room, Jayce called out to the newcomers.
"Yo, don't be shy dudes and dudette. He gestured to a few seats propped up near the table he and Nico were at. "Bring it up the back and then we can jive."

Before Jayce's invitation had a chance to be processed, Felicity rushed back to her feet and made a subtle whistling sound.
"Shit, another one already? Nico groaned, hopping a few tables to get back to his seat promptly. Jayce quickly opened up his textbook again whilst Felicity's form began to morph back into that of Miss Harvey. Resuming her place at the podium, she cleared her throat before beginning to lecture the three newcomers as another young boy was flung into the room.
"Well well! Yet another filthy degenerate to join the ranks! To your desks this instance!"

Zeke stared mournfully at the corridor floor. He was inconvenient; people kept bending their paths around him, giving him looks that ranged from uncertain to irritated. But such gifts went unnoticed, he was occupied, the floor had priority. A younger girl actually stopped to look at him, her gaze flickering back between the floor and his face, asking him something he didn't really hear. But she moved on, glancing back over her shoulder.

Could this be the work of an enemy's Tablet...? A frown curved his lips, a precise gesture. His facial expressions were like masks exchanged according to context, iconic, defined, immobile. Only his blue eyes moved as he took in the scene, considered, discarded. No. Such a power...could not be permitted to exist in society. Therefore, the answer is...

Voices wandered through the open door a dozen paces away, some familiar, fewer than that welcome. He shifted to Frown #2, which was deeper and had especially stern accenting, suggesting not just his displeasure but the existence of its gravely erroneous source somewhere in the world. A frown of judgment. Hammer and sword would serve for the awful Monsters that came lurching out of 'nowhere' to prey upon mankind; Zeke's frown was a weapon reserved for a far more dangerous class of entity, one whose pervasive corruption struck even to the heart of his beloved society. Someone was leaving the room, had difficulty with the catastrophe Zeke was observing. He offered absent-minded condolences as they went past him.

Ruffians. Riffraff. Class-skippers.

Technically, Zeke was skipping class as well, as he stood contemplating the horror of what he'd discovered. But only in a very technical sense. He was there, after all, taking notes and listening intently, just like he was hunting down rogue flyers for the Monster Hunting Club with a passion that bordered on fanatic, and wandering around the third floor, looking for trouble, and the first floor, following up on reports of some kind of cyber-organic animal that had gotten loose on the grounds. But those theres were a little different. A feed from the Enlil Network let him check in on those other selves, his shards, but he wasn't experiencing what they experienced. Mostly they had to relay that stuff back to him, which they were good at, so mostly


it worked out.

People were leaving the room in a clamor. Too many people. Zeke tore his gaze away, finally, from his personal abyss: a trail of stinking drain water splashed carelessly right up to the door of the Club. His heart sank as he saw the company Aito was keeping. Ruffians. Delinquents. Chaos...oh, Aito, couldn't you have picked a less harmful addiction? Hard drugs, loose women - well, looser, gambling with Club funds...

...anything but the adoption of these lost and suspiciously-discolored sheep. 'My fleece is white as snow' takes nurture as much as nature, you know. The taller boy sighed, and fluffed his immaculately-feathered hair, moving on to Frown #3 - one that blamed not only its subject but the shirkless world that had conspired to aid and enable wrongdoing - as he saw where Aito was headed. Oh, come on! Technically he could ignore it. There were application stacks to review, interviews to arrange, duties to perform - the opportunity for elegance. Where his friend was going, only gracelessness and disorder could be found, he could report to Cannon, bring things back into their proper alignments, but -

- but Aito was his friend. Sigh deepening into a groan, Zeke followed - almost making George's mistake as he skidded on a patch of water he hadn't yet added to his portrait of fell misdeeds. It got on his shoes, which were expensive, neat, and perfectly-fit. He hadn't yet developed a frown number high enough to encapsulate the experience; his face simply went blank at the sensation. The shard on the third floor, meanwhile, picked up his warning ping and made its way to the stairwell just in time to meet Vatalla with a close equivalent, Frown #7 - less a progression than a sideline into sorrow - a face that had 'for what blackened acts am I now made to suffer in this particularly terrible way?' written all over it.

"Well and welcome, hopeful Hunters! I see you're experiencing firsthand the courageous initiative and mastery of the present moment for which our Club has earned prominence - alongside our success rate, of course, and our delightfully low yearly fatalities - and eager to join us," he said through gritted teeth, raising his voice to be heard across the short distance and walking faster than was entirely dignified, "in this eminently approved and above-board field expedition Aito will of course assume full responsibility for having launched."

There would have been addendum, the increasingly-tortured use of formal language he knew was nails on a chalkboard to his closest companion - and serves him right! - but the Monster Hunter Secretary caught up to the herd just in time to hear Aito call Vatalla a 'freelance Hunter,' and the awful shock of that silenced him more effectively than would one of the Displacer's world-warping blasts. Damnit, Aito!

"Aw, man, I thought we got all of those things, looks like you lucked out. We missed one." Akira chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm afraid not, it looks like someone took a poster and failed to throw it away properly." The student who was in charge pointed to a table, offering a seat and asking for name. Akira glided over to the seat and sat down smoothly, a grace in his actions that most didn't have. "Akira Rura, 2nd year student. It's a pleasure to meet you Mr...?" He trailed off, fishing for a name for the leader of the club. Turns out he wasn't the leader, just an officer. The other person here wasn't even a member, but Akira could tell Aito wanted her to be.

Two new people entered the room, both seemingly with the same idea as him. One seemed very nervous and against being here, likely roped into it by the second person who was much more boisterous and outgoing. Akira studied the 2nd girl closely, the persistent smirk on his face fading into a neutral expression. Yoshi and Rosalie, he would have to memorise those names most likely. "Sheesh, looks like everyone wants a bit of detention these days... I'm gonna warn you now. Not fun." The girl with the tatoos finally decided to speak up, the smirk on his face returning as she formed her first impression of him already. Let's shake things up. "Actually, this period is study hall for me." Akira pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his nose, punctuated by the bell ringing and signalling a period change. "And now I have a free period. No rules broken here." A hint of humour shone in his eyes as Vatalla cleaned up her trail, an amateur mistake if you were hiding from someone. Aito apologised for taking so long, Akira had barely even noticed the time pass.

"Not at all, I have an hour or so to kill. Take your time." He waved off Aito's apology nonchalantly, getting up and following him as they left to conduct the interview. He wanted to know their <Class> info, he explained his own as an example. He was a <Displacer> apparently, a class centered around healing and protecting allies. His main offense likely came from his Tablet Power, which involved explosives and cloning in some way. He invited Vatalla to share her <Class> info, Akira decided to remain silent until she gave her response. She explained her class was a custom as well, this one called <Hellcat>. He noticed how she was very vague about what she did, other than her little disappearing act. Another member of the Monster Hunting Club showed up, this one seemed very uptight. He would be fun to mess around with.

Akira finally decided to speak up, time to introduce himself, repeating his name for the benefit of the new person. "Once again, I'm Akira Rura. My <Class> is <Phantom Thief>, a mix of a regular Thief and a Summoner. While I hide in the background, my Summon fights in the frontlines." He vaguely considered summoning Arsene to illustrate his capabilities, but decided against it and focused on a different entity in the Sea of Souls. He held his palm upwards in front of him as a ghostly card began to form, spinning in place as he focused on what he needed to pull out. The card solidified and Akira clenched his hand, crushing the card and unleashing the energy he had been gathering. "Such as this little fellow." A small lion like creature about the size of a dog appeared in front of Akira, staying near it's summoner like a guard dog.

@Leslie Hall@Redward

Icarus looked up at the severe looking woman, her tone cutting through his daze and dragging him back to the real world. He was familiar with that tone of voice, but he wasn't aware that it occurred naturally in people. Usually that sort of voice came from someone that was running on nothing but day old coffee and sheer bloody minded spite. He'd been the cause of more than his fair share of long hours at the Institute for already overworked interns and jumped back from the podium on instinct. You didn't cross someone that was in that mindset.

Straitening up, he thought through the implications of his being here. He was in trouble, and that wasn't good, but was it the sort of trouble that the Institute would care about? He had been up on the roof, someplace out of the way and unobserved, and that was something they would definitively care about. Enough to pull him out of school, maybe? Maybe. It was only his second week, and if the staff thought he was using this as an opportunity to wander around unobserved they might think the risk was too great to continue. But wait, that wasn't what he was actually in trouble for was it? According to the gorilla boy he'd been "skipping class." He hadn't known that Icarus had been on the roof. He'd found him in the hall. The hall wasn't exactly someplace out of the way. Would where Icarus had been caught be noted in his report?

Icarus was surprised to feel the sides of his mouth lifting up into a grin. Despite himself, he could feel excitement building. He'd been in trouble before, but he'd never been in trouble like this! When he got in trouble back home it was because the Institute knew he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be or messing around with something he wasn't supposed to mess with. He was always under observation. There was no opportunity to make up a lie or an excuse because all their information was first hand. This, though, was away from their eyes. Now he was the one with all the information and they had to rely on purely second hand evidence. The deck was stacked against him, but he had a chance to tip things in his favor if he played his cards right.

He remembered when Dr. Johannes had first played cards with him on one particularly boring day two months after his first BugFix. It was a simple game, he now realized. Old maid. At the time, however, the high he'd gotten from the experience of learning the game and playing against her had kept him awake most of that night. This was like that, he realized with astonishment. This was a game! This must be a game played by totally normal teenagers all over the world at all hours of the day. One built into the very patent/child dynamic!

By now he was smiling ear to ear. Were the risks inherent to this situation worth the experience of it? Absolutely!

Of course, he'd need to figure out the rules. He turned back to the teacher. "This if my f-f-first time. W-w-what are the rules of d-d-detention?" He asked excitedly. "How does it w-w-work? W-what do you tell our gu-guardians?"