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THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



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Population: 31

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Ventrue: 1
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THE CAMARILLA

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Hounds
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Keeper of Elysium
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Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
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Summer School; For all your Flailing Grades -- AU -- open
Topic Started: Tuesday, 12. November 2013, 17:23 (940 Views)
Frederick
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Whispered Poison
* * * *
The time of Report Cards had come and gone. As had most students, for with the report cards leaving the offices of teachers and secretarial staff so had they. Summer Holidays had come like a cloud on the sunny days for some though. Those few whose grades had been such that they had been asked... asked indeed -- their parents had given permission, often without thoughts to the daunting responisbilities of their childrens social lives -- to remain at the School for some remedial instruction in subjects both teachers and state deemed necessary for survival in the modern world.

Some of the teachers had stayed behind as well to dole out that remedial instruction. Backed up by a skeleton staff tending to the elaborate grounds of the boarding school they were few and far between, outnumbered by their charges by a great margin. Some teachers even had been asked to teach multiple subjects in the periphery of their own. Or so the state board thought.

Which was why one Pádraig ó Dubhuir found himself in the same English Classroom his Chess club occupied. With an instruction to teach English to people failing that grade.
The diminutive teacher was standing on the chair behind the desk, because it was a big desk indeed and this way he was able to look at the class he was supposed to teach. A class that was late already.

He grumbled a bit. But then again failing students were the troublemakers, no? They were always late.
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Mr.Gar
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Rhys slinks into the class muttering under his breath. A ragged blue t-shirt hung down almost to his knees, making it a teen medium. His pants were a baggy pair of urban camouflage with bulging pockets. His feet were clad in two converse all stars, the left blue, the right red, both bearing holes near the toes. His hair had grown out since the Halloween party and hung out almost to the small of his back, the bottom five inches having three bright pink streaks in them from his mohawk. He'd refused to let them cut out the dye from his rufio costume.

The 4'9 boy had turned 16 since the party, gained an inch and was still tiny, a decent looking native american kid. He sullenly turned and dropped into a seat. Staring at the front of the class with a blank black eyed gaze that hinted he'd already checked out.
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Caston Kane
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* * * * *
He wanted to be a writer. That was his only motivation for agreeing to pursue summer school. Well, agreeing was such a strong word... more like it was how he was coerced into it. His family couldn't afford to pay for his education on their own, so unless he had a scholarship, he could say hello to one day reaching the aspirational height of someday being manager at the Taco Bell he worked at.

Caston wasn't going to have it. He may be the school's token gay, and he may pretty much be stoned from dusk til dawn on a near daily basis, but he had this crazy, nagging dream of going to work for the New York Times or the New Republic and winning the Pulitzer Prize... not that he shared his dream with anyone, but still, it was his dream.

Then again, did colleges actually look at whether or not you went to summer school?

It was too late to consider that now, as he walked into the classroom, in his favorite green hoodie, his strap from his messenger bag that held his notebook slung across his chest. He looked at the other student, Rhys, who he half-way became acquainted with at the Halloween Party months earlier. His eyes glanced over to the teacher behind the desk...

Dubby. At least, that's what he liked to call him, he had a hard time pronouncing his very non-Anglicized last name. One of his least favorite faculty members. He had homeroom with him Freshman year and they didn't part on the best of terms. Caston never actually had him as an instructor though, so maybe his teaching methods were different from his role of making sure kids showed up to school on time in the morning; a habit that Caston never seemed to get into. He was perpetually 5-10 minutes late for just about anything he ever had to do, ever before in his life, and he was written up for detention more than once because of it.

He briskly walked across the room with an obligatory nod to Dubby and took a seat in the last row of desks on the far side of the classroom and took his messenger bag off and set it on the floor beside him. He slipped out his notebook (the cover of which was covered with stickers from some of his favorite bands: New Found Glory, Dashboard Confessional, Saves the Day and Yellowcard) and a pen and put them on the surface of the desk, leaning back in his chair.

He didn't want to be there, and it showed.
--------------------------------------
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Sawyer
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* * * * * *
He could think of dozens of better things to do with his summer than sit in a stuffy classroom a thousand miles away from home. He should be out on the lake, beer in hand on the docks, maybe bass fishing or something. He should be driving the backroads with a pretty girl riding shotgun, or doing anything with a pretty girl, really. Hell, even mowing Henderson's lawn had been better than this, in theory- he'd gotten to work on his tan some. But being cooped up indoors on the prettiest June day imaginable?

Sawyer Flint could think of no crueler torture.

Still, it was so necessary. After last season's state championship-winning football season, the recruiters had come calling like a goddamn stampede. Tennessee and Ohio State, Auburn and LSU, USC and Florida- none of them could resist a look at the star running quarterback of an undefeated team. But there was only room for one school in his heart, and that was his beloved University of Alabama. Luckily, they'd loved him just as much, and there were only a few obstacles in the way before the ink could hit paper and a scholarship offer could be sent his way.

The primary obstacle, of course, was actually finishing high school.

Granted, Sawyer wasn't dumb. Nor was he unmotivated. He was just... rather inconsistent. A dreamy kid who'd rather be on the field than behind a desk- or perhaps just would like to take a nap, if it wasn't too much trouble, sir. While personal interest had saved his ass in Biology and Chemistry, and an odd flair for the subject matter had drug him through Precalc, there was really nothing that could salvage his English grades. In fact, he wasn't sure that Mr. O'Dweer even believed he could read- which was kind of not a surprise, given that Sawyer hadn't exactly proved himself an intellectual so far. Or turned a single essay in. But for the sake of his dreams, he could turn that around. Right?

The seventeen-year-old that strode confidently into the classroom had changed considerably from the lanky boy of last year's Halloween party. He'd bulked up a great deal since last autumn, finally filling out his frame. Still, his boyish, freckled face, shaggy brown hair, and easy-going smile gave the impression of an overgrown puppy.

Sawyer flashed a grin at Mr. O'Dweer, whose name he had never actually figured out how to spell, and who he stubbornly insisted on addressing as Paddy, even though he knew the man loathed the nickname.

"Heyyyyyy!" He said, offering his teacher a high five as he drew the word out enthusiastically. "Ready to, like, inspire me or somethin', sir? Sweet!"

He was a bit more hesitant about the actual students in the class. He was never one to make trouble ever, really. The same couldn't be said for the scrawny kid with the pink streaks in his hair, who seemed just one mental breakdown away from burning down the whole school. Not exactly the kinda guy Sawyer was typically drawn too. Eek?

The other occupied seat belonged to a more pleasant face, though he had to admit that things had been a bit awkward around Caston Kane since Halloween. Granted, it wasn't like they'd been friends before, but the resident dealer had seemed particularly invested in completely avoiding him after the party. Why that was, Sawyer couldn't exactly say, as his memories of that night were, well, completely nonexistent. A bit of an oops, that.

In any case, Caston certainly looked friendlier than the alternative, so Sawyer made a beeline for the desk next to him. Always better to have company in misery than to face it alone! He flashed a bright grin at the other boy. "Hey, Cas! You mind if I sit here? Figured you was too smart for this sorta thing, but hey, it's always nice to see someone y'know, right?"
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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* * * * *
Spending the summer at school instead of being able to go home and harass her brothers had left Aguirre feeling a little... irritable, to say the least. Summer was hers, to do with what she would, to prank the shit out of the cowgirl Barbies that lived roundabout two miles from her own property in Southeast Texas and laugh about it with Marcus later on. Her parents hadn't been very happy when she told them she'd somehow managed to bomb their final essay, and that they would now have to pay the incredibly expensive summer housing fee--and also for the class she had to retake, and for all the necessary things she needed to live for three months without everything on campus available to her. It wasn't that she was bad at English; maybe she couldn't enunciate so well when it came to speaking, but that was a social ineptitude she'd come to accept. When it came to putting things down on paper, it was one of the only things she was ever good at, besides maybe the alternative of reading what had already been written and sent out into the world.

That was part of her problem. She'd spent most of the year at the back of the class, nose buried in a book, waiting for that exam. The rest was miniscule in comparison to the grade the teacher would give for that final paper--it was close to sixty percent of their grade, a ten-page long example of all the things they'd learned throughout the year, with a packet listing all the requirements involved. Seemed simple enough. She thought she had it in the bag, but the subject matter of the piece she turned in had somehow gone in a very, very wrong direction. The grade she'd gotten for it was closer to being a zero than it was to being even a barely passing grade, and the angry red ink scribbles on every line she'd written spoke volumes. Maybe instead of following the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, the acid trip that was Through the Looking Glass, and the horror movie exploits of Dracula and Frankenstein, she should have listened to the finer points of what the professor hadn't included in the packet.

Aguirre had drawn significantly inward since the Halloween party--hidden away in her dorm with books and busywork, kept to the dark corners of coffee shops and tried her damnedest to eat lunch somewhere besides the cafeteria. Really, she'd aced everything but the class she was sure she would pass. She was no idiot, despite how her speech tended to betray her when she needed it most, but this failing grade had been a real blow to her confidence when she'd done so well on every other exam. English was the least of her worries until now.

Professor ó Dubhuir may have been a small man, but Aguirre found him more than a little intimidating--he had the air of a man who really liked to make people unhappy, and the lanky girl was a good target for misery these days. The screaming fight she'd gotten into with her parents on the phone that morning sure didn't help her optimism toward spending the summer under the icy gaze of the scary little man. She breezed through the door, clad in a pair of dark jeans that were a size or two too large and held loosely to her hips with a colorful belt, topped with a shredded red Hellboy T-shirt with a black tank top beneath. The boots, of course, went without saying.

She was at least relieved to see Sawyer there. They'd gotten to know each other very well, and she knew he had summer school, but she didn't know they had the same class. At least the Southerners could spend Summer missing home together. She plopped down in the seat next to him, and probably would have been hiding behind her hair if it weren't pulled back in a neat ponytail, paying no heed to the fact that she was her customary five-to-ten minutes late. She shot both he and Caston a flicker of a smile.
Edited by Aguirre Efrain Maddox, Saturday, 16. November 2013, 18:54.
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Frederick
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* * * *
First came a youth with bright-pink streaks in his hair. Rhys was crossed off the list without so much as a comment. Attending, yes, but Pádraig could already see that the youth was going to fail his class as well. So little interest he had in the subject matter that he was already zoning out, as they would say -- or not, young jargon shifting rapidly as it did. The teachers eyes bored into the face of the punkish-person with an intensity quite unlike his usual one. The dark eyes were almost burning, daring, accusatory. I dare you to dream away in my class that look said. I dare you.

Only to snap to the door where another student was entering. Green Hoodie. Face known. One of those faces he had seen in homeroom. One of those faces he had been forced to get to know in homeroom. Because it was one of those faces... that meant a certain amount of trouble. Always... late. "Mr. Kane..." The voice of the teacher rose with its Irish cadences flowing. Like something warm and comforting. Something slightly out-of-this world. Im The Leprechaun under your rainbow? "... would you mind taking a desk at the front? And you as well... Rhys. We aren't many so it would be a shame if you all were so dispersed." The smile in his brown eyes was genuine. Almost genuine.

The door opened again and in came a broad-shouldered youth that was... Mr Flint. Whom Pádraig thought of as an ambivalent person. His insistence on calling him Paddy was kinda sweet on one side. On the other it was highly disrespectful. He knew that that particular nickname was among the nicer ones the students had given him, but then again he was a teacher and not to be addressed by nicknames at all. Or so his paedagocical studies hinted at. He was a figure of authority. A five feet tall figure of authority. So that was that. Paedagogics be damned anyways.

That Highfive thing tough. Pádraig was rather obviously perplexed at Mr Flints demeanor. So perplexed that he blinked twice after his own hand had been raised to accept the greeting in incomprehension. Authority? Just went out the window. Also: The youth towered over him. And he was slightly nerevous about that. His ears turned a nice shade of scarlet as his fingers started fidgeting. "Mr. Flint..." The voice was uncertain... "... im sure the texts will do their best to inspire you." Urrghs. He was no good at english. Did I say this already? he was no good at teaching English, because usually he taught Chemistry and Biology and had no idea whatsoever how to teach English.

The last student arriving had his looking up again from his moment of silent reverie... if you wanted to call confused silence reverie. It was a nice word to call confused silence. "Welcome Ms. Maddox. Would you please close the door? Thank you!" Just normal banter. He was still standing on his chair behind the desk. Ridiculous really. So what if his dignity was already gone? Well... he scrambled on the huge teachers desk and folded his legs under himself in a lotus position. The ears turned slightly redder, yet his irish tinged voice remained calm. Go, Paddy, go. For if your dignity is gone already... better make the best of the loss.

"Now then... seeing all of us are here... finally..." He could not keep a hint of sharpness from creeping into his voice here... "... we shall begin. First let me say that I have lots of time. So if you arrive late, we shall simply extend the lesson to make up for your tardiness." Wheeee! Nothing better than that to make students hate you. But that had been a specific instruction from Dr. Wilke. The headmistress, whom students respected. Or rather feared so much that they respected her to get out of her way. Students actually had fallen over themselves at several times to get things done she wanted done. Quickly done. Nobody wanted to get on Wilkes Bad Side. Nobody. Not even teachers like Dr. ó Dubhuir.

His ears were scarlet by this point. Birght, bright scarlet. And now he actually started stammering. "So I have no idea... uhm... how to teach this class... so... uhm... we'll have to figure it out together... uhm..." Scarlet ears. irish accent heavy in his voice. What better things were there?
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Mr.Gar
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* * *
And the white kids can't say hello again, cept Caston. He gave the other kid a wave and then shifted and walked to the front of the class, sat down folded his fingers into a steeple before his face with his chin resting on them. Then he just stared at Pad. Unblinking. Unmoving. A completely blank facial expression. Just staring. No sign he could actually hear or understand a word the teacher was saying. His black hair and streaks like a curtain around his slim frame.
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Caston Kane
Don't Be Jealous.
* * * * *
Caston's back straightened out in the desk chair as Sawyer came in. His eyes followed him, and his heart gave him one strong beat before quickening its pace and sent shivers down his skin. He should have been walking in slow-motion, like in a movie, with some lead-bass intro music accompanying him.

The only one he wanted was the only one he couldn't have. Their minimal interactions had been... awkward since Halloween. Truth be told, Caston couldn't remember much of that night after he found his way to the basement and decided that mixing Southern Comfort, Vodka and marijuana together was a great idea.

'He's here.'

'He's walking this way...'

'Oh, he's walking right toward me...'

'Oh damn, he's--!'


"Hey, Cas!" Sawyer said. Caston could have melted with the smile, and the look of surprise on his face carried with it an underlying glee. "You mind if I sit here? Figured you was too smart for this sorta thing, but hey, it's always nice to see someone y'know, right?"

"I.. err.. y-yeah! Definitely!" He smiled back at him. 'This is happening, right? Quick, pinch yourself, make sure you're not sleeping. Wait. No. Don't pinch yourself. That's weird. People don't do that. Be cool, don't be a weirdo. Seriously, don't be a weirdo, Cas.'

"It is, yeah," he said, echoing the same sentiment. He could feel the tiniest bit of heat in his cheeks and hoped to God he wasn't blushing or something. "Well, I guess when you show up late X number of times, they fail you anyway, no matter how well you test. Kiiiinda sucks." he said to Sawyer, answering his question.

Summer classes? With Sawyer Flint? Like, the two of them in a sparsely populated room in a sparsely populated school? Maybe summer school wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Aguirre came in next, which was also a relief for him. One of the few female customers he had. In fact, due to his alcohol induced blackout, he couldn't remember whether or not he ever gave her the dime bag she'd wanted those months ago, and that bothered him. He didn't like to see red in his ledger. Maybe he should front her some, sometime? Just in case? She took the desk next to Sawyer, who was sitting next to him, meaning that he was now between them, smack dab in the middle.

Oh, the fuckin' irony...

"Mr. Kane..."

Annnnnnd of course. Enter Dubby. "Would you mind taking a desk at the front? And you as well... Rhys. We aren't many so it would be a shame if you all were so dispersed."

Caston's lips parted as he stared at his teacher in disbelief. His mind protested: 'No. No, no no. No way. The universe conspires to give me a second chance after I blew the first one and you swoop in to take it from me? No, sir. Fuck your seating arrangements.'

"Um," he started, his voice unsure how to respond. "If... um... well, I mean, with all due respect," Caston respond to ó Dubhuir, emphasizing the 'due respect' part. "Could I just, you know, stay here please? Like... where I am? If it becomes a problem, I'll move without complaint, I promise..."

Although he was annoyed that he and Rhys were singled out and unfairly profiled, either due to their looks or their respective histories, he hoped his bargaining and uncharacteristic show of respect would be enough to persuade ó Dubhuir to let him slide for now.
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Sawyer
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* * * * * *
He smiled dazzlingly at Caston, flipping his hair in a move that only a seventeen-year-old drunk on his own ego could pull off. Guy seemed really happy to see him, huh. That was a little odd, maybe, but pleasant all the same. He was always up for new friends! "Why don't we all just go sit in the front, huh? No use hidin' when there's only, like, four of us."

Authority and Sawyer generally got along very, very well. With that in mind, he was always happy to find a compromise. With a blithe expression, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and moved up a few desks, settling in the front row with two empty seats beside him. Now only a few feet away from the cross legged little treacher perched on his own desk, he turned his attention on O'Dubhuir.

"Don't sell yourself short, Paddy," Sawyer said encouragingly, settling into a front row desk with a grin. "I'm sure you know what you're doin'!"

And really, he did mean to sound as encouraging as possible. He'd loved having Paddy as his honors chemistry teacher the previous semester, and perhaps a bit surprisingly, he'd been a star pupil in that class. Granted, a lot of his success was due to his habit of wandering into Paddy's classroom in the early morning and proceeding to bug him about the differences between ionic and covalent bonds, or whatever else the topic of the day might be; teachers, however, always liked students that showed extra interest, didn't they?! Really, Sawyer just got the impression that the man was lonely; he had no clue whether his teacher actually liked him or not, but it seemed nice to provide him a bit of company, right?

"Anyway, if y'don't know much 'bout English, just ask Aguirre to help. She's a real good writer," he added, flashing a fond grin in the direction of the dark-haired girl seated beside him.

He knew this, of course, because she'd written the vast majority of his English and History papers for the past semester. That wasn't, however, the only benefit her friendship had provided; suffice it to say the two of them were on very intimate terms. He'd considered asking her out for real more than once, but always managed to talk himself out of it before he found the balls to do so. She probably didn't believe in relationships anyway. Somethin' about the 'rejecting the patriarchy's enforcement of gender norms'? Sawyer wasn't sure what that was all about, except that it sure sounded like a "hell no".

Not that Sawyer was exactly heartbroken about not having a girlfriend. He was too young to want to be anything but free, after all.
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Aguirre Efrain Maddox
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So... maybe she'd judged ó Dubhuir in a harsh manner. Her aversion to authority figures perhaps didn't help, and neither did the mood she'd been in earlier. He seemed more intimidated by having to teach this class than she did of having to take it, and polite in a way that Aguirre had never really bothered with being. And hey, at least he asked them to the front of the room nicely. She stood up, moving to the front--ending up in the desk next to the loner of the class, with the pink stripes in his hair. Hadn't she seen him at the Halloween party? She sure didn't know him by name, but hey, she could probably sympathize with him being so quiet. She'd offer him a nod once she sat down, if he bothered to look up from whatever apathy he was participating in. If not, whatever. She tried. Guy didn't wanna socialize? He didn't wanna socialize. She had far too many of those days when she would have preferred to hide in her dorm and sleep than to face the world not to understand.

Caston seemed rather desperate to hold on to his seat--but hey, there were still two more to her right, they'd fill up the front row perfectly and it wouldn't be a problem. She was surprised he didn't just make the "I'm nearsighted" excuse and get it over with. He seemed real flustered, anyway, and what was up with that? Surely summer school wasn't that upsetting, even if they didn't get to go home to their families and enjoy the holiday. Sawyer, as usual, was more than willing to ask "how high?" when the professor said "jump", not to mention convince the school dealer to join him. At least she'd have a good connection for party favors throughout the summer, wake and bake and try like hell to pay attention. She wondered why Caston was even in this class, considering he was a hell of a lot smarter and more motivated than yours truly, but it didn't seem like she would get a chance to ask him yet, since she was sitting between Sawyer and the Native American kid.

Aguirre didn't mind spending her class time seated next to the only guy in school she really gave a wayward glance, but she suddenly found herself starting to care when he offered her services up to the teacher. Shit, man, what was she supposed to do? Take the class and teach it? Not to mention she had kind of a consistent fear of speaking in front of people, no matter how few of them were in the room. Her posture tightened up slightly, and she could only return that confident smile with a raised brow.

Come on, man, how you gonna go and sell me out like that? Just 'cause I managed to ace all your papers for you, don't mean I'm a god damn English instructor..
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* * *
Rhys noticed the girl moving to sit next to him and saw the nod out of the corner of his eye... and was a bit confused.

He had a pretty clear mental image of what the kids at this school thought about him. Still he wasn't a mean kid, and he generally responded to friendship in kind. So he did the most logical thing in his mind. He leaned back in the chair and regarded Paddy regularly while dropping his hands into his lap.

With practiced skill he slid a joint from his pocket, palmed it and stretched to slip it into Aguirre's hair right behind her ear.

"Oh, sorry. Clumsy me. Go on teach."

He murmured as he resumed his forward hunched poker face.
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Frederick
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* * * *
"Please listen to... Mr. Flint." The person who probably would pet my head if I let him. And would probably do it if I didnt let him as well. Teenagers. They might make me sigh. They also might be terrors. Scratch that. They are tahrrors. Isnt there a way for the National Security Agency to intervene with them... spy on their hormonal persons? Make them hate something else but their teachers? And maybe, just maybe... make them behave? No? Defeatist thoughts rummaging through my head as I bash another young mans dreams of silently perusing the telephone in the back of class. Or perusing the backsides of other students. Just as it were, the second option is still more likely than the first.

Mr. Flint also was a fairly able student... well... at least Mr. Flint was something most of his peers were not: Interested in Chemistry. In the worlds that lay beyyond the visible, the obvious. The worlds dominated by Quantum Mechanics and Heisenberg equations. His world. Which was, alas, not the world of Shakespeare and posh English Classes. Not the world of Grammar Nazis and that oof Ms. Manners. (Ms. Manners would probably faint at his insistence, that shee too wear her hair in a braid and not wear skirts to Chemistry class. He could indeed get all huffy about safety rules and their reasoning. No, your cleavage was not appreciated either, Miley Cyrus! Can you spell Security Harzard and Third Degree Burns? No? Too bad.)


The Midget on the table of the teacher waited for the class to rearrange itself. Rather waited expectantly watching for the students and their interaction. His eyes reasted on Rhys and Mr. Kane, flitted between the two of them. Come, come, it said, that look. Come to me.

"Maybe Ms. Maddox would likw to select the reading then?" He leaned back and heaved, in a slightly comical motion, a cloth bag from which books proceeded to spill onto his sitting table. "After all I have no idea what these are actually. Just that we're supposed to read four of them." Clonk. A big one called Pride and Predjudice fell to the ground in front of the table. Oh well, the small man thought... maybe Ms. Maddox would be so nice as to get it. Maybe... they would be nice in general, the students. Maybe. If one hopes, one can be irrational, no?

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igog
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It was always hard been the new kid and Jake Igogorwich knew that only too well. He lurked outside the door for what seemed like an eternity, not daring to enter the classroom. Now he had additional nerves, he had left it so long that he knew he was late.

He breathed in hard not wanting, not daring to walk in the class. He knew he had to but he just didn't have the guts to do it.

All his angst welled back up inside him, would he be accepted? Would he be bullied? Even worse would he be ignored? Maybe he could just lurk outside the class. Maybe he could listen from the door. Maybe the worst would never happen.

Maybe he would be popular, the large framed boy with his cute English accent and rugby boy humour. Maybe he would be ignored. Maybe he would be laughed at for his awkward gait and unique prose. The fat kid with a foreign accent who smelled faintly of turnip. Maybe his imagination would get the better of him again.

Maybe the whole class would be vampires, and decide to eat him. Maybe they could all be aliens, or maybe aliens would attack. Maybe they were here to write about civilisations past and future. Maybe there would be time travelers in the class, or shape-shifters. Maybe there would be lunatics. Maybe there would be drop outs, drop kicks, or a whole saga waiting to unfold.

Jake breathed heavily again.

Maybe it would just all be a normal class of teenagers, doing normal things. Maybe it would be a class of abnormal teenagers doing abnormal things. Maybe it would just be another punctuation class or maybe it would be about creative writing and lessons about when to use as many articulate and intelligent words as possible. Maybe it would be a class about repeating one word, one simple word as a plot device. Jake cared little about he subject of the class. As long as his imagination could run riot and his favourite punctuation mark was acceptable.


He breathed a deep breath again, this time he told himself. He looked down at his hand. His tattoo. It inspired him. Some thought it was a gang symbol, but surely they noticed the dots were in a straight line not in a triangle.

Jake's imagination ran riot again. Maybe all the kids in this school including himself were just characters in a computer game, or characters in a story, or characters in a computer game that was a story.

Jake smirked at the thought of a realistic surreality. He shook his head and got a hold of himself. He pushed his nerves to one side.

The possibilities were endless he told himself but he had to get in there. He had to face the uncertainty. Maybe the cat was dead, maybe it was alive, maybe just by looking he could affect the outcome. Maybe the outcome would have an effect on him.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. Faces. Lots of faces. Lots of faces he did not know. He smiled. Should he speak to the teacher or look for a seat? He looked around the faces for a cue as to what would happen next but not before he took a glimpse of the tattoo on his right hand, just to remember what it meant...
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Can't leave... can't leave... can't leave the girls will eat me....
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