His eyes flicker. That's all. So you do notice other people. I'm almost jealous. He thinks, looking at the Kid for a moment, his expression inscrutable. He doesn't seem particularly special at first impression, no more then most of the school seems to be, but looks can be deceiving. He makes a note to approach him when the opportunity for privacy arrises, then resumes his prior brooding. Plans, stratagems and thoughts flash through his head.
The fact was, the school might be good for anonymity, but wasn't stable enough to support him for long. That would have to be remedied.
Last edited by Cracklord : 04-10-2012 at 01:54 AM.
He's quiet for a moment, thinking about his answer. He's too honest to offer much in the way of deception, however it's a little personal besides. "I find it to be an elegant pursuit, myself. Not as a martial art as such, but as an exercise. Besides, my father felt that the future peerage have an obligation to be more then reasonably competent administrators."
He shrugged. "Personally, I think I should aspire to be more then another man with an interest in fashion and superficialities, squandering the results of others labors." Which was true. He aspired to something more along the lines of self-reliance, unusual in this day and age.
"Possible." He says guardedly. If Lelouch dies, all his plans are up in the air, and he's as blind as the next man at the events ahead. It would certainly change the future, but not necessarily in a way he wanted.
"Of course, that leaves four unaccounted for. At least." His father had the right idea, he muses. Use your servant as bait, take out the other masters with a high powered sniper rifle, and don't worry too much about collateral damage.
Kidd thinks for a moment. "It would certainly be something. Also I could manage to get my hands on some of my own cloth should the need arise. The people in the background that others sometimes forgot, that helped win the wars.
The foot soldiers that people overlooked. They would be the black robed students. However when all was said and done they were fighting for a happy ending too. And when the war is done, they achieve their dream as well, and then metamorphosis occurs. Perhaps not of the body but of the soul! Of course I would make my own individual costumes to symbolize the change. If it goes well it should prove to be inspiring."
Kidd's eyes momentarily look up towards Ryuk. In a single glance he communicates that he can indeed see him. Before anyone can notice his eyes are back on everyone else as he says, "If you do mind Lady Ashford I would like to tailor most of the outfits. Maybe help with the decorations as well. After all symmetry is essential to beauty after all. I'm a little OCD about such things. It runs in the family, the motto is Precise and Perfect."
Maka and Soul
Maka walks up to King Brady and gently shakes him to try and rouse the lazy king from his slumber. "Um, your Magesty? It's time for school, please get up." Should this not work Soul would use his own method. Specifically getting a glass of water and splashing it over Brady's face as he yells, "Oi, mop top get up. If we gotta go to the h*ll that is school so do you."
At 7:00 early in the morning, Gary Bell wakes up. Totally on schedule.
Except he's used to being in his bedroom at home, and heading out to hang about with his co-workers at the Alphas Project with Dr. Rosen. And now he's by himself, in an actual school...with
One of whom IS SLEEPING BELOW HIM.
But his job as a secret agent, to be fair, inured him to new and bizzare situations.
So he gets up, and carefully tries to get out of bed without waking Shiki.
In fact, he tries to pretend that Shiki doesn't exist, carefully averting his eyes from the second bed as he goes to brush his teeth methodically, casually reading up on the morning's news and scanning the local networks. He continues doing so as he opens the fridge and get out a glass of milk, a bowl, and some organic cereal.
He hesitates...then pours out a second bowl before sitting down to eat.
"Indeed we have gone over this." Smedry agreed, kicking his legs back and forth.
"What it all boils down to is, where do we go from here? You are quite committed to teaching your students and protecting the student body, a goal I heartily support. I myself must stay here to carry out my duties...and also to protect some young lads who very much need protection."
"But...I am out of my depth here." Smedry admits. "You've noted my reckless behavior: previously it was an asset in my battles against a order-obsessed enemy. I would operate on my own, or with trained operatives, or family (the family's always been able to take care of themselves)...so the only one who my strokes of rashness would unduly harm would be myself."
Smedry pauses. "But here...there's the danger of innocent getting hurt. And I don't have the context or information to know if my actions will endanger others."
He turns to Professor McCoy. "I need to learn that, and I'd like you to help me. To prevent what happened yesterday...from happening again."
Touga smiles at Lelouch's suggestion, applauding, "A splendid idea. A little competition keeps the student body healthy. Perhaps we should have different achievements equate to different roles? A way to determine who gets to be the witch, the princess, the prince... In any case, I'd like to speak with the designer you hired. I'm sure he has some fantastic ideas, but I'd like to work out the details of my own funding with him. Now, what kind of entertainment do you have in mind for this fairy-tale festival?"
Alex groans at the sound of the bell. The delinquent runs down the hall after locking the room, keeping an eye out for anyone who might have delivered the envelope. He's still suspicious about the letter just magically appearing out of thin air. And speaking of which, Alex seems to have inadvertently gotten all the way to his first class while still clutching the sealed message...
He pauses as she leaves, staring questioningly. Was that it? Could he really just... go? Let her leave, and not even try to help her? This never happened to him - he never got out of things easily.
...But still. He didn't want to do it that way. It wouldn't be... right, and he didn't want to just let it go.
"...Hey, wait a minute! How can I help you if you don't tell me anything?!" He looks a bit annoyed, but whether it's at Alex or himself is impossible to discern from his expression.
Shiki wakes up in kind of a daze, slamming his glasses on his face as he slowly and methodically gets dressed. He then proceeds to plop himself down in the chair easily, still groggy from the jet lag. He's doing multiple things at once, brushing his teeth as he mutters a "Thanks," and slowly waking up.
He finds he likes Touga, though the boy is a bit much in the class pretension department. Not that there is anything wrong with that as such, a bit of culture does a lot of good, but it's unusual. Most people his age a more interested in the privileges then the trappings, more interested in lavish parties, showing off, and expensive toys and prostitutes. That it seems to be entirely genuine suggests a fairly complex individual.
"Well, there are several venues that might be appropriate. Academic excellence goes without saying, of course, but perhaps we should consider something in the line of representing the school?" He asked, just as the bell rang. Blinking his violet eyes, he looks down at his time-table, and waits for Miley to finish things off.
He can't see a shinigami around the boy, invisible to most observers as they all are. Either he has a connection to another psychopomp (As Ryuk's typical cryptic statements suggest) or the boy has a connection that goes deeper. Shinigami can't get close, his girlfriend/favored minion is all the proof of that one needs. So what was he?
As the bell rings, Light gets up. Normally, he is just another face in the crowd, falling to the back and escaping notice. Not today.
"A word in your ear?" He says to the Kid, giving him a smile so charming anyone would lend him money.
"Well I didn't die last night so I'm pretty good. If you want to help more we'll talk later." Alex says as she slips into the hallway.
"Ciao" She stops for a moment and blows him a kiss before running off.
History - Smedry, Kidd, Liz and Patti, Gary, Shiki
Smedry's B-Class. Colseign do an introduction.
Science - Beast, Shirou, Touga, Cass
Hank's B-Class. Draxx's intro.
Math - Lelouch, Souske, Alex, Steph
It's unusual for two members of the Student Council to be placed in the same class. The teachers all know too well that Milly tends to arrange her plans in groups and nothing disrupts a lesson like one of her plans. As such it is quite unusual for Lelouch and Touga to be in the same class.
The teacher drones on about trigonometry but the real lesson here will be one of subterfuge.
Gym - Light, Maka and Soul, Touma
Mr. Oliver clears his throat as he stands before his B-Class. "Alright students I'd like to get to know you better so let's introduce ourselves. I'm Mr. Oliver."
And no further word does he utter to Shiki until they are heading to class.
As they sit down in their comfy chairs (comfy chairs for everyone in Smedry's class!) Gary leans over and whispers something to Shiki (although it's not the best whisper).
"Are you on the run from someone?"
[I'm assuming that he's still teaching history, right?]
Leavenworth greats everyone with a friendly 'good morning'.
His classroom is unconventional in ways that have been described before: there are no desks, it is filled with comfy lounge chairs and coffee tables, there is a table filled with hardcover books with titles such as "History of the Nahallan-Dragon War: Part 1: The Discovery of Human Crunchiness" and "Silimatic Dream: The Age of Glass-Based Technology", and "The Lore of the Worldspire" and "How to talk to Talking Rocks".
And there are colorful teddy bear scattered all about.
Oh, and the giant wardrobe in the back of the classroom appears to have exploded.
"Good morning class!" Leavenworth Smedry says cheerily. "According to our class name, we're here to learn about history. But with your permission, I'd like to address the fascinating history of our world through a particularly important subject I ruminate on often."
He dramatically pauses. "Information. Information! It's importance is self-evident, yet at the same time never quite fully appreciated. How many civilization and cultures have been bound together by the exchange of information from scrolls and books to oral traditions? Well, to be precise, all of them! Except for the Greater League of the Transient Badger Mimics, but that's a whole other story."
He paces over to the table and picks up a large book, opening it to a wood-print showing the ancient city of Uruk.
"When ruling class of the the earliest city states built their ziggurats high and dugs miles of canals to bring water to their fields, they used their control over where water went to establish their power over the peasantry. Hydraulic Despotism and all that. But how were they able to do this? The kings and priests certainly weren't digging the canals themselves: so how were they controlling where the water went?"
He leaves the question open like a fresh wriggling worm on the hook of inquisitiveness, hoping to have an open-minded, thoughtful fish be tempted by the thought of the rich wriggly protein of intellectual curiosity, and thus be snagged and reeled in and out of the waters of ignorance and into the suffocating oxygen of Enlightenment!
The Assistant History Teacher is as out of place in this environment as a whore's bloomers on an alter of Christ (whatever Dan Brown may say about the matter. If he had a clue what was really going on, he'd give up conspiracy theory and take up drinking). He's tall, lean, broad shouldered with white hair and red eyes, and dressed in an outfit that defies easy description. He could disguise himself, but decided not to, and that was really that.
His asset as a history teacher defies easy description, given that he has had a brief window of life every few decades for as long as wizards have been competing in show-offs of power via summoning things better left undisturbed. He's served the pharaoh Atem in the Shadowy games of Divinity, the high priests of Atlantis in the Orichalchos contests, and everyone else who could find a way of reaching into the other place and calling a guardian spirit.
And those legendary personas he hadn't directly encountered in life had a good chance of meeting him at some point or another in the other place. Of course, getting him to talk about it is another matter entirely. The only reason he is here is because he has an intuition that, somehow, his opening to change the future is going to be found here. Why, he couldn't say, but when you've lived as long as him, you learn to trust your impulses.
In contrast to his former appearence, he seems slightly out of sorts, a little more rumpled then dapper, a little less together. He sits down, cracks his knuckles, then gestures with an open hand to the Periodic Table of the Elements written on the board.
"I have no interest in the provided syllabus. Instead, I have resolved to teach you something I doubt anyone else can, whether it is useful and practical or not is entirely up to you. First of all, let me make one thing very clear. This is to be a theoretical subject. Chemistry is not normally theoretical, it's a matter of attempting to create repeatable experiments to demonstrate properties and so on, but that's only covering old ground. It has been done, so lets move on. If you're interested in the process of discovery, you can find books aplenty anywhere you look." He stands up, folding his arms behind his back and begins pacing, rippling a little as he moved.
"We will not be looking at the elements that have already be discovered, categorized and demonstrated, but the irrational elements composed of different fundamentals then the recognized particles, all of which make up certain observed irregularities we have yet to integrate into our understanding of the universe. In short, we'll be looking at what hasn't been observed yet, and what doesn't fit. We shall be observing various forms of dark matter, elementary particles of fundamental importance to the universe, and their far reaching implications for our understanding of the universe as a whole." He paused a moment to make sure they were all paying attention, then resumes his explanation.
"To that end, you will all need to open your minds to an intellectual framework that incorporates spirituality and physics, superstition and chemistry to equal extents. Many of our findings will not be demonstrable, because there is no way yet to even express them, let alone prove them. Now, your first task is to find me an example of irrational particles."
He stopped his pacing. "Any questions?"
He blinks. Was the big furry blue man talking about magic, or unified theory, or what? It sounded like one of those things, though he's used to hearing them approached from the other way, and so he hasn't any idea at all what he should say in reply.
Kidd merely gets up and starts leaving for class. Before he does though he whispers back in Light's ear, "Afterwards maybe, after all it would not be good for people of our station to be late would it?" With that Kidd walks to class, leaving Light to decipher if he was talking about the sudent council or something else.
In Smedry's class he takes a seat beside Patti and Liz, Patti folding a bunch of papers into a origami Giraffe and Liz filing her nails. When he finishes his introduction Kidd then says, "It is an interesting prospect. The digging of canals would be a peasants job, and the kings certainly weren't getting off their fancy thrones to do it. So who could have accomplished it? My guess based on what you are trying to teach us is that they used and discovered black-mail. They found information about the certain members of the peasantry didn't want to be known and for their continued silence they had them build the canals. Though the problem with that theory is where could they possibly get such vast amounts of information about the peasants personal lives?"
Maka and Soul
Maka stands up first as she introduces herself, she always was quite bold. "Hello sir. My name is Maka Albarn. I was an A+ student at my old school, but I also was exceptional in gym. The only other female student who was better than me was Patricia Thompson. You had her in your last class I believe?"
Soul gets up next. Compared to how he was in Science class he appeared to be in his element. Though truth be told he was a little disappointed that Maka was the only girl in this class. *sigh* if only that Stephanie girl was here, now that would be something! "The Name is Soul Evans, yes I am related to Wes Evans. He is my brother. I was pretty good in gym back at my old college. As for things I like to do, work on my motorcycle mostly."
There are many roles Lelouch must play, and he has learned and honed them all to perfection. There's the bored, inattentive prodigy, that he usually wears around school, there is the bored, over-indulged sybarite, which he wears when he wants to deflect attention, there is Zero of the Revolution who is more then the sum of his parts, and deep within all the masks somewhere is a somewhat lonely and awkward boy who is still shy around girls, which he thinks of as his real face, although it is becoming hard to tell.
And there is Lelouch vi Britannia, seventeenth in line to the throne of an empire far greater then the wildest imaginings of conquerors, from Napoleon Bonaparte to Alexander the Great of Macedonia, to Ghengis Khan. As he stands beside Kiryuu Touga, he begins to recognize some of that in the bearing of Lelouch. His shoulders are squarer, his bearing more lordly, and something flashes in his eyes that had always been there, but kept from being noticed.
He closes his violet eyes. For a moment, he thought about his past, back when everything was fun and simple and stable, and how everything had changed because of one man. Lelouch had never forgotten his promise to his first friend Suzaku, and a large part of him still wanted to make good on it. He was dicing with the fate of nations, but a wise king looks to all his pieces, pawns as well. Afterall, pawns who get far enough become amongst the most dangerous pieces of all.
"You are an enigma. One day you don't exist, nobody has ever heard of you, the next day you're here, leaving all questions that are sure to arise unanswered. The name and manner are Japanese, but you're clearly of noble blood." He should really say district eleven, even being half japanese himself, afterall, the empire has no desire to preserve the cultures they are forced to take action against (one atrocity among thousands). Ideas are as dangerous as weapons, if allowed to spread, afterall. Emperor Charles doesn't leave his enemies guns when he can help it, and certainly not ideas.
"Are you here to seek your fortune, or were you offered one?" Since America was reorganized into twelve districts, all a manner of minor nobility had come, hoping to snap up lands and increase their holdings or, in a few cases, establish them. "You certainly don't strike me as a favor-seeker. Indeed, I get the impression you are not too sure why you are here yourself, or what it is you want, though you are certainly much more then you appear." He tilted his head. "I think I'd be honored to be your friend, and almost as honored to be your enemy."
"I am Light Yagami, formerly an eleven, and here on a scholarship. No title, I am afraid, though perhaps, with some fortune and diligent service to the empire..." Having identified himself as far less then a threat and beneath the notice of the nobility, he does his best to fade into the background, looking for Ryuk. The Shinigami had been following him all day, no doubt it was lurking around the place.
Last edited by Cracklord : 04-13-2012 at 09:08 AM.
At 6:00 precisely his eyes open and he gets out of bed. He doesn't lie in there a moment, soaking in the comfort and warmth, nor does he go through a moment's disorientation as his brain checks his long term memory and gets up to speed. He gets up, folds the sheets back into place, then goes into the bathroom, scrubs himself (no soaps. Telltale scents could give you away. He scrapes the dirt and sweat off with a flat edge), shaves and scrubs his teeth. When he is satisfied, he takes one prepared ration pack (his handler was well aware he wasn't able to feed himself or make decisions without prompting, so cut down on complications as much as possible), packs his carefully worded homework into his pack, then picks out clothing identical to every other piece that wasn't fatigues in his cupboard, slacks with a crease you could shave with, and a collared shirt.
He then spends ten minutes getting armed, ceramic weapons so as not to set-off the school metal detector, then carefully unlocks his door. He walks down the corridor, ears twitching at every sound as he identifies it. When he gets to the car, he spends five minutes to ensure nobody has wired a bomb, then gets in and drives to school.
His first class is math. He arrives half an hour before everyone else, sweeps the room for bugs, explosives or signs of tampering. He doesn't quite question everyone who walks past, but its close. Satisfied that all is secure, he sits down in the back corner (two walls at his back, nobody could sneak up on him and clear field of vision), then takes out a Smith & Wesson Model 500 .50-Cal and dismantles it in six seconds flat. He then takes out a kit, and begins oiling each individual piece, to ensure everything was in absolute working order. He's still doing this when the teacher comes in, and makes no sign of stopping.
He wakes up at 6:oo, but after jetlag, fatigue and other considerations, gives himself the luxury of fifteen minutes relaxing there, lying and doing nothing. With a sigh he gets up, stretches, then takes of his pajama top and sinks into a ready stance. He holds it for a moment, breathing slow and steadily, then begins a series of slow T'ai chi ch'uan exercises. He wanted to run a few miles, or beat the hell out of a bag, but he also knew better then to draw attention to himself, so made his way through rigorous and challenging exercises with all the benefit, if not the satisfaction, of a solid hours work out. His body was his temple, and he had to keep it in good condition.
He then makes his way over to the computer, and checks his closed circuit account. Three messages. Cyborg was supposed to be writing reports, but had somehow managed to manipulate Beastboy into writing them for him. Beastby wasn't unintelligent, but he was barely literate, and Tim Drake's disciplined mind lost track in barely any time at all. Still, nothing sounded particularly urgent. He should read through it just to make sure, but that would have to wait until tonight.
That resolved, if not satisfactorily, he dresses, not as Robin. Indeed, he hadn't even brought his uniform, given that Robin was a fugitive, terrorist and plenty of worse words that came to 'a potential asset the government cannot control', and being sighted here could be disastrous. So he dresses casually, a pair of sunglasses (Lenon spec's), a bonds muscle t-shirt and blue jeans. First, he was going to go buy a motor-cycle. Then he was going to the reservation, and see what he could learn. And, if necessary, break a few fingers.
Leavenworth Smedry turns and nods politely to T.A. Archer as he enters the classroom: he passes some papers to him, then turns back to the class.
"This is Mr. Raoden: he'll be the teaching assistant for this class. Do make him welcome."
Then in response to Kidd.
"You raise some interesting theories. And there have been several societies founded and governed based on the controlled use of blackmail: peruse some books on the Venetian Republic if you're interested.
But to clarify my question, note that the digging of canals was a necessity in ancient Sumeria. The peasants–extremely illiterate, ignorant peasants– needed these channels of water if they were to raise their crops and feed themselves. The kings and priests did not directly participate in the making of the canals, so how were they able to exert such a control over their construction that they made the difference between life and death for the people they subjugated?"
You sit in the admissions office along side Salem. If her contempt for you and your magic was not bad enough her refusal to dress in anything but the clothes of a seventeenth century puritan makes her particularly annoying.
"Must we infiltrate this house of devilry? Would it not be easier to drive the town into blind rage to route out the..." She pauses for a moment as she thinks of a better word that will less likely fill you with rage.
Touma laughs nervously, glancing at the two people on his team, and he holds out his hand - his terrible, misfortunate hand.
"Eh... I'm Kamijou Touma! I'm not very... lucky, but I think we can do this!"
He sounds really nervous for some reason.
Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. Unlike his Servant, he had dressed in a rather nice suit, as he was apt to do now. He had always... disliked the feel of robes, despite them being the common clothing for wizards. The suit was dark black, with the rather nice waistcoat he had found in his travels adorning it, along with the quaint black bowtie. He didn't really want to be here, but a certain wizarding community had demanded that he return. How the hell had they even found him? He was in the middle of a transdimensional rift in space-time, arguing with the personification of something that wanted to kill everything like him.
"Berserker? Stop. Now. I'm not in the mood for your bloody wizardry hate, considering you wouldn't exist without me. Besides, you're the one who wanted to come here in the first place."
He fiddled with his wand, and glanced down at it, tracing the runes that covered it with his thumb. Channeling fire, while amusing and useful, burnt the wand out in a massive way, even with its phoenix core. The runes were charred, jagged lines, despite his memories of carving them with crisp, fine strokes. One of the runes briefly pulsed a dark red, and he quickly removed his hand from his wand, returning it to his pocket.
"And honestly, what would driving the school into a rage even do, besides get us killed? This place is teeming with magical energy, and even you should know that screwing around with this sort of power is an excellent way to get killed."
Shiki can't detect emotion that well, but he can still see a bit of the curiosity on Gary's face, and it worries him a little bit.
"That's because... um... I'm not really hiding, exactly. I just don't want to be found."
He stifles a laugh at Gary's follow-up, shaking his head slightly. He looks at the boy, his eyes twinkling with mirth, "Oh? And where did you get your secret agent skills from?"
So much for a motorbike. The shop was closed, because the mechanic who put them together was dead. A victim of Kira, most likely, according to the analysis.
Something about that didn't seem right to Tim, Kira was a world-wide threat, a global terror whose gaze reaped lives every day at precisely the same time. A provincial petty criminal would normally escape his notice, because he wouldn't be reported above a local level. To him, it seemed more likely that someone had wanted Jacob out of the way, and arranged it to happen by Heart-attack, or something like a heat attack, knowing another Kira death would be questioned too closely, if at all.
He supposed he should go to the funeral to check his suspicions. He didn't have much hopes for the Dudley Do-Right approach, but maybe there would be a man in black twirling a mustache, or hiding a bloody dagger behind his back, or some other clue he could follow. It had occasionally gone that way in Gotham, before all the crazies were culled by Kira, who apparently didn't have much hope in the rehabilitation process either. Indeed, since Kira started passing judgment, Gotham was now almost safe enough to walk in the better areas after dark.
Of course, more likely he'd be greeted with hostility as an outsider intruding where he was not wanted, and perhaps suspicion himself.
Tim paused a moment, considering things, then checked his pocket to make sure a collapsible staff and a set of brass knuckles were in his pockets. Then he walked into the invitation only funeral.
Satisfied, he puts the gun down, then sits, completely at peace through the rest of the lesson.
"The correct answer is not divine right of kings, by the way. Smedry is teaching the class with the assumption that the Marxist view of history is correct, ultimately everything is governed by social movements, not destiny and powerful individuals who shape the fate of nations." He added, when nobody showed any sign of answering the fairly easy question. Well, that was what Smedry believed, good for him. It wasn't true, of course, history was made by the rugged individualist, not mandate of the masses, but 'Jack's as good as his master' was always the way of things around those who wanted to rebel against authority.
"No? Not one of you? Good. I'm impressed at your confidence. Lets see if you can back it up." So much for coasting on his love of the subject. "Now, our first task shall be to construct a computer capable of reading these elementary particles, and conducting sufficient analysis them in order to determine their properties and effects. I'll supply the technical skill and budget, but you'll all still be expected to supply the theory. Now, what will the first step be?" They had their chance to ask questions. They didn't take them. Now, they're going to find themselves tossed into the deep-end.
Although "Mr Raoden" may be trying to emphasize his greater knowledge of Hushland philosophers to Smedry, he did not pick the best example...because for once, Smedry knew exactly what he was talking about!!!
"Mr. Raoden raises a salient point, in that the means by which the kings and priests of Sumer controlled the water, and thus the lives of their subjects, were couched in an ideology that viewed the underclass not as a group of individuals, but as an amorphous, singular mass of uniform people: easier to categorize...easier to dismiss. As the great Groucho Marx points out in his classic 'Das Boat': 'I wouldn't belong in a club that would have people like me in it.'"
Ha. How you like that, Archer?
Smedry picks up another book from the pile, a rather large book in volume, and opens it up to a plate of large, detailed lithiographs: he points to one of ancient Sumeria, showing the construction of a canal by toiling, barebacked slaves with spades, while a robed, headdress wearing priest, bestowed with lazul lapuli amulets, carrying a clay tablet in one hand, and pointing imperiously in one direction with the other. Below this rather Victorianesque image was a map, showing a series of lines representing canals leading from a greater lake in the center of the Tigris-Euraphates region, precise geometric lines that crisscrossed in a efficient, geometric fashion.
This could possibly be a hint to the class.
"But there's no such thing as the 'Peasant class' or the 'masses'. And that's the rub, eh?" He says with a twinkle in his eye. "We're mostly all individuals, each with his own hopes and dreams, with a thousand fantastic, wonderful worlds lurking inside us, all of them waiting to burst out and be expressed dramatically. And the more complex and convoluted a system becomes, it's all the more easy for a single person to topple it...perhaps even with an action as simple as digging a canal on his own, and casting aside his tyrants as just a load of nonsense."
He spreads his hands wide. "But what kept the working individuals of Sumeria from taking their lives into their own hands, at least for a time? What did the Kings and Priest manage to steal for themselves and keep from the grasps of their subjects? What treasure did they have which made them so indispensable to the construction of these irrigation canals?"
One more go, and then Smedry will spell out his personal interpretation.
Touga smiles and ponders the riddle Lelouch has offered him. Talented. An advanced academic. Obviously some kind of refined upbringing, despite the casual air. Quick with his wits, always one step ahead of everyone else, a strategist by any other name. There was something familiar about him, that same moderation that Saionji bore and held him back from indulging in the sins of the flesh with Kiryuu. And yet... Something dark underneath. Just a look in his eyes, or the posture of his spine, like a crow flying over a battle. The darkness is rooted in tragedy, and it won't stop bubbling below the surface until the tragedy has been replicate somehow. But we all have our little secrets. Really, if Lelouch knew how to fight, he would make a perfect Duelist. And who knows? Maybe all he needs is the right tutor.
Kiryuu smiles as he answers, "Why the sudden interest? Hmph. I suppose I could entertain some questions for a fellow council-man. My sudden arrival is the result of a last minute decision on my part. I wasn't even sure I would remain here until recently. As for the disconnect between name and lineage ; my family are settlers. They are blend of royalty from both Europe and District 11, back when it was still being called Japan.
Were I to give an honest answer about my fortunes, I would say that it is both. I was offered a chance to attend this school, and I came seeking what it had to offer. The atmosphere at my last school had soured. The chairman was having some trouble with his family, if I understand the rumors correctly. I needed a breath of fresh air, so I came here to challenge myself. If the staff and students I've seen so far are any indication, I won't leave disappointed.
And speaking on a personal level... you will make a good friend. I don't bare enemies, though. But friendly rivalries are always welcome."
Alex fidgets in his seat, already bored by the current class. There's nothing here the teacher can say that he won't learn on his own. The brittanian rests his head in his hand and stares out the window. He reaches into his pocket with one hand to grab a pencil (or maybe a knife), when his hand slips against the envelope. He had forgotten that he still had it.
It was just sitting there, all mysterious and innocent, like a school-girl just begging to have her blouse ripped off. Even amidst chocolate and tobacco, the faint smell of roses had not yet faded. What the Hell could possibly be in there?
The more Alex thought about it, the more infuriating it became. Why a letter? Who talks through letters anymore? That's pretentious beyond the point of criminality. 'Ooh, don't want my precious e-mail touching that commoner filth'. Yeah, that feels like something Kiryuu would say. And that rose seal... that ****ing rose seal. What is up with that? Did his room mate literally commission a rose seal for letters? What the Hell else is it on? Does he have rose-seal toilet paper? Rose-seal condoms? Rose-seal Zima (because there's no way in Hell his room-mate drinks anything stronger than that)? Rose-seal fish n' chips? That just kicks the whole 'letter' thing from pretentious to insulting.
Well... what's the harm, then, in sneaking a little peek inside? Alex puts his finger under the rim of the envelope, breaks the seal, and looks at whatever may be inside.
"To be honest? My interest is because you seem to be a contradiction, though I could say little more then that. Because I want to. Surely you understand that impulse."
And it's true, or close enough. Unusual, sentences that start with 'to be honest' are almost always lies. "As for the offer, enemies are more interesting, indeed they say you should judge a man by his enemies, but I think I would rather have you as a friend. Personally, I like having enemies. If only because they show what I am willing to stand for an what I am capable of." He says, revealing a little of what he was, but only a little. Just enough to keep Touga interested. "Only Winners and Victims don't have any enemies."
In truth, Lelouch did find Kiryuu interesting. He'd said a little about himself, hints rather then insights, but had revealed a lot, and had intended to do it, both about who he was, and what he wanted. So far, Lelouch liked what he was learning.
His first impression had been one of cultured individuality, independence, self-confidence, initiative and all consuming arrogance. But he then had an insight, that this was a man who did not subscribe to the morals or reasons of society, neither that of the Imperium nor that of the church, and rejected the norms of society, living according to no law or reason but his own.
"Tell me, do you play chess?"
Light Yagami looks like an idealized young man, one gifted with the best of everything genetics and hard work could provide. He acts mild and subdued, yet somehow you doubt that there isn't a lot more to him then that. "I'm sure you'll perform adequately. It's just a game, afterall." He says, as though the competition meant absolutely nothing to him at all (fitting, because it didn't).
When the whistle blows, however, he plays hard enough. This is his sort of game, and as a star athlete he's quite suited to it.
Last edited by Cracklord : 04-18-2012 at 07:23 PM.
Soul grins as he catches one of the balls and starts dribbling. They used to play basketball at the DWMA all the time. Luckily they had gotten Maka to play with them once, she didn't know any of the rules and was pretty bad the first time around. However now that she knew how to play Soul trusted her to be able to hold her own.
Soul charges forward dribbling the ball rapidly as he heads towards the opposing teams hoop. Maka follows not to far behind, ready to assist Soul should he find himself needing it. However she makes sure to keep an eye on King Boomer. After all you never knew when someone could strike. Like that Souske guy that Kidd had told them about.
Kidd and Thompson Sisters
Well the man certainly had a unique view. Kidd rubbed his chin as he tried to decipher what Smedry could be talking about. Unlike his parent Kidd did not have infinite knowledge. Sure he was smarter than your averge Joe but he had his limits. History unfortunately was one of his weak points. Liz honestly couldn't care about some guys who died hundreds of years ago. They had their piece and this time is was the current generations time. Patty didn't know what the old fuddy duddy was talking about but she like her model Giraffe that she managed to build.
Well. That was easier then expected, he thinks, glad that casual apparently counts as dressed for a funeral over here. He drifts among them unnoticed, walking briefly up to the open coffin to take a look (not that he expects to see anything, but you never know), then wanders among the guests a few times to make sure nobody is paying him any particular attention. For the observer, anonymity was good. Not so much the investigator, they had to make an impression to get anything out of people, but just the same, it was a lot better then hostility.
When he's satisfied himself, Tim Drake does the only thing anyone in his situation would do, surrounded by unfamiliar people in an unfamiliar setting trying to make sense of a story from the middle. He heads right for the open bar.
Hopefully, there will be a middle aged, prune-faced town gossip divulging shameful secrets and otherwise answering questions without him needing to ask them, or perhaps grieving parents supplying helpful amounts of exposition with very little prompting.
But failing that, get a few drinks into anybody and they'll probably talk. Human nature.
Because, due to the most improbable coincidence, the instructions (so far) have been unfailingly direct, detailed and boring, Souske hasn't yet been able to hilariously misinterpret them and go on a one man rampage. So he's simply sitting at his desk, answering the questions and being fawned over by every female student with a pulse, while he is totally unaware.
Kiryuu smirked. "Winners and victims? Well, I am prone to one more than the other... But I'll call you 'friend'. For the moment, of course. Obviously, this high-stakes dramatic game of student thrones can go in any direction. And I'm troubled by the rumors coming from beyond the northern wall of lockers." Touga's smarm becomes a little more interested, however, at the mention of chess; "Chess? I play occasionally. I always found it deathly slow, but I'm always up for some fine sport."
... Alright then. This is obviously some kind of trick, or passive aggressive ploy from Kiryuu. But -why-? Why a letter? Alex wouldn't read a letter. Except he is, of course, but that's beside the point. Maybe it's an invitation? Or maybe those obnoxious rose seals go by address instead of individual?
Well, no sense in stalling it. Curious, and a little anxious, Alex reads the letter.
As you open the letter a ring identical to Touga's drops out onto the desk clattering along with a letter.
As you may have guessed your dearest 'Master' has a benefactor of his own. That would be me. Do yourself a favour and try to cause as much chaos as possible. It'll get the old stuffy boy off his a** and doing things that will keep us both interested. Or don't but that's hardly any fun.
-End of the World.
As you manage not to shoot anyone Bella Swan comes into the classroom several minutes late. She takes a seat beside you.
"You were at my house last night. You shot at him."
The Eleven girl follows you around the Funeral. She doesn't say anything but she is always there always listening to what you have to say or do.
Overall people are sad but not as worn out over as would be suspected. They've seen people die of Kira attacks before and no doubt will see it again.
Alex Russo raises her hand. "Information, as long as the commoners didn't know they could raise up it never was an issue."
The students all stare at Beast dumbfounded unsure of what he is talking about.
The moment balls start flying King Boomer goes down. No one was even aiming at him but he manages to get hit anyways.