For years Ennui University has served as a prestigious establishment to train and monitor Gifted youth for their future careers. But sinister histories lurk behind the tailored training and education of Ennui's students, and outside forces, with their own radical agendas, seek to harness the fantastic powers of the Gifteds within. When all is said and done, who is worthy of your trust and will you being willing to lay down your future, your life, for their cause?
03.11.2014 -- Welcome, welcome, welcome! After working out all of the kinks, we are proud to announce that Ennui Uni is officially open! Please feel free to have a good look around and have a chitchat on the chatbox if you have any queries, we promise we don't bite! - teeth & kit
Post by Stomp Minn on Nov 10, 2014 13:42:52 GMT 9.5
THIS THING HURTS LIKE HELL
BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
It was all wind and waves and the mounds of sea rock rising above the water and frosted with the appropriate layers of white bird shit or the occasional basking sea. Stomp pressed the tip of the bottle to her lips, tipping back her head so that the whiskey flowed straight down her throat. Which hurt. Burned even without the help from the alcohol and scratched and collected the dripping of her stuffed nose. The mid-seasonal cold rarely spared the young woman and this year was no exception, but she was going to make no exception of taking the appropriate steps to get well.
Sickness could stick as long as it like; she wasn't going to allow it to throw off her personal schedule as it pleased. And this afternoon's half-drunken agenda had called for more drinking and a clear view of the ocean.
She was leaned a little to far over the wooden slats that served as a dubious railing, her arms half folded mostly so that her lips had a straight shot to the bottle's but partly because she was starting to feel the weather working its way into her skin. The plum colored blazer, obviously summer wear, and the men's dress shirt she'd modified into a dress hadn't kept out the cold for more than a minute, but it was getting to the point where she could feel the sting of the goose-flesh rising all over her body-- despite her level of intoxication. Stomp-- not just the drunken little mess hoisting herself a little too far over the grey, gaping waters of the deep, but the still sober bits of her-- liked the sensation but could've gone without the and spastic shuddering that accompanied it.
But Stomp could've gone without many things.
1. Ennui staff ("those fucking fascists" as Stomp called them) trailing her around while she was on campus to ensure she didn't "misuse" her abilities.
2. Ennui administration and whoever they answered to ("those fucking fascists at the top of the fascist pile" as Stomp also called them) having audio recording devices around town to monitor whether or not she used her powers to steal things like booze or money or ridiculous shop knick-knacks-- which she would then lob at passing trains or pine trees. (Of course these such devices had not been specifically installed for her, merely had existed as a precaution for Gifteds like her, and Mercy had warned her explicitly about them and their function.)
3. Seagulls. She fucking hated them. She had resolved that if she ever developed a secondary "gft" that served as some kind of aggressive projectile, she would set out on a quest to kill all of them.
Taking another swig from the bottle, Stomp let the belch that had been stirring in her belly for a few minutes and listened to the explosive outburst fade back into the sound of the waves around the dock.
Post by sauren vaalha on Nov 13, 2014 8:06:35 GMT 9.5
Sauren cared little for the ocean and its salt spray that left her skin feeling raw and sticky. She'd heard stories about it while sitting around a campfire on those short, cold nights where the stars winked above in the arid sky. At the time she'd marveled at the beauty of its mindless destruction, the way it could pull down careless, unsuspecting swimmers and drown them without remorse. Or the way it was stirred by the moon that hung above in the sky, its tides following a rhythm that could quite easily be manipulated into a devastating tsunami that could wipe out civilizations.
But now that she was here, standing on the worn planks of the docks that somehow let slip gritty sand that rubbed the skin between her socks, feeling her eyes start to water from the sting, she knew that she could most definitely go without. She opened her mouth to breath through the heavy air and tasted rotted seaweed and salt stench.
So what forced her out there at this time of day? The Academy was bustling with raucous students and while trying to enjoy some yoga out on one of the more secluded grassy lawns, she'd been interrupted by a few kids who'd wanted her time of day. When Sauren wanted to be alone, she made a point of saying so and upon telling them to "Fuck off, I'm not a gods damned yoga teacher," they got pissy and started badgering her.
So she pointedly wrapped up her yoga mat, slung it over her back, and stomped away before she lost her temper. And now here she was, already mad at herself for wandering off campus for a breather and to the last (alright, maybe second to last) place she wanted to be. She was ambling along the wooden walkway staked above the reaches of the craggy rock and breaking waves when she heard a loud belch.
Glancing up from her combat boots, she recognized Stomp, a girl she was mostly impartial to. She admired her blatant "I don't give a fuck about you or anything" personality, but Sauren had never gone out of her way to formally introduce herself, like usual.
"I'll never get used to this damn air," Sauren said as she approached and folded her arms over the walkway railing. She looked out at the sea and frowned, nose twitching as she smelled the reek of whiskey coming from the girl next to her.
Post by Stomp Minn on Nov 13, 2014 15:08:57 GMT 9.5
THIS THING HURTS LIKE HELL
BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
Stomp had not expected a companion, though the extra set of vocal chords was welcome; it would help drown out the obnoxious shrieks of the gulls, broken only by the occasional commotion of a fish breaching the water. She liked the sea on the best of days. On the worst of them it was a frigid sort of acquaintance-- apart from the caw-cawing sea fowl who were always, always her enemies.
" 'shean air'snot so bad," she slurred to the red-head who'd drawn even with her.
The alcohol was giving her vision the bleary effect that came with intoxication, but Stomp could still manage to catch movement well enough to spot the tiny twitch of the stranger's nose.
"Whiskey 'snot terrib--" she pitched forward and burped again, the action merging into a few dry heaves before the girl lifted her head again and wiped a strand of stray drool from her chin.
Turning her full attention to the red-head, Stomp could pick a semblance of familiarity from the spinning fog that'd started to fall over her thoughts. (Gems like: FUCK I'm really drunk. I didn't mean to even get this drunk. How drunk am I?) She'd seen the girl around Ennui (Fascist Central Headquarters-- which was redundant, but to hell with caring about clarity and brevity), even in a few of her standard elemental courses. Stomp attempted to pluck further details from her inebriated mind-- a power, a name, a static fact exchanged in passing-- but could wrap her tongue around nothing.
With an unsteady sigh, the drunken girl thrust her hand towards her peer, focusing on the syllables rolling around in her mouth,
"Name's is Sstomp n I hope you're not some kinda En- Ennu- ah fuckit- some admin fascist."
‹WORDS› and then some ‹TAG›sauren vaalha‹NOTES› salt and booze goody good ‹MUSIC›HERE.
Post by sauren vaalha on Nov 14, 2014 1:14:57 GMT 9.5
Because Stomp had been resting her weight on the railing, Sauren hadn't realized just how far gone the girl actually was. The scent of the whiskey was strong, but Sauren didn’t really mind. Alcohol in all shapes and forms had been readily available to her through most of her life, although her taste buds still preferred homemade amber liquor that tasted like honey and spread like lukewarm water through the body. It was a strong drink, despite its candy-like taste, and it was often entertaining to watch traders take a few sips. Some of them claimed hallucinations and Sauren herself found if she drank enough to pass out, her dreams became much more vivid.
Her tongue remembered the taste fondly and she felt a brief flash of homesickness. That brought her back to Stomp’s earlier comment about the ocean air and Sauren’s stuffy nose and scratchy throat begged to differ on the statement. “I imagine it might smell better if it didn’t reek of dead fish,” she said, looking at a shabby fish stand down the dock where fishermen were cutting up their catch from the early morning. That was another thing Sauren couldn’t manage to get used to—fish tasted like the ocean smelled, no matter how it was cooked. Her stomach roiled as she remembered her first bite of salmon. Ugh. She had a feeling it might taste better if she blackened it to a crisp with her flames.
Then Stomp was pitching forward and heaving over the side of the rails. Sauren cringed, but she wasn’t about to make a move to help the girl. Before she could dance around the thought of whether or not she ought to be a good person and drag her bag to the Academy, Stomp recovered and wiped idly at her glistening chin. “I’m not partial to whiskey. It tastes like tar,” she said, but her words were probably lost to the girl now. What brought her out to the docks like this anyway?
“Name’s is Sstomp n I hope you’re not some kinda En-Ennu-ah fuckit- some admin fascist.”
“Please,” Sauren snorted. “I begged to get into this gods damned place and now I can’t leave. Something about my anger problems and ‘destructive outlets for my feelings.’” She flexed her fingers and shot a small jet of flame into the ocean air. It curled against the water, but the ocean was unfazed; it just kept rolling against the rocks beneath them, oblivious to the two girls standing above it. “It wouldn’t be so bad if people knew their fucking place, ya know?” she said sourly.
Post by Stomp Minn on Nov 15, 2014 6:26:10 GMT 9.5
THIS THING HURTS LIKE HELL
BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
The glaze over Stomp's good eye evaporated for a split second, catching the spark of the jet of flame produced from the stranger's hands. When it fizzled out against the push of the salty waters, Stomp's wide grin did not fade with it.
"Pisssh, oh shuuu-iiiit," she threw back her head and laughed, another angry belch cutting the action off mid-way, "I like you, man. Fireyanger 'nshit."
Struggling to maintain her balance, the young woman reached for her crutch and hoisted it under the appropriate arm pit before stumbling closer to the other girl. She'd slipped a grey and darker grey knee sock over what remained of her "bad" leg and the limb she supported herself on was done up with a plain black over-the-knee stocking, so worn that it was entirely see through. She'd often considered finding a low-down diy artist to tat up both legs-- the words "stomp's stump" on her remainders limb and "not stomp's stump" on its other, longer, more functional counter part-- but could never find the right sort of individual to do so. They had to get the humor of it. Appreciate her scars and the sick-fucking-built-in-guilt-trip of it all.
Stomp rested the elbow of the hand still clutching the low-grade booze-in-a-bag onto the weathered railing, relishing the sound of distress it made, and tapped the fire-starter's ankle with the rubber nub on the end of her crutch. Playful gesture. Stomp thought of an otter she'd once seen sliding through the glistening golden red heads of kelp; its body twisting with the sheer pleasure of its cleverness and dexterity and existence. Playful: the otter stereotype but she found it infuriatingly true.
The drunken fog was making her mind water- no that wasn't right- was making it wander; wander while watching the water. She laughed and managed to keep from burping or half-puking this time.
"Fasciscists probs gotta keep any- an eye on ya what with that firepower. But I gotta question, Sparky," she took another swig of the liquid and felt her stomach flop in protest. Giving the bag with the bottle inside a pitying look, Stomp hurled it out into the water where it floated for a few seconds before the sea seeped in through the top and dragged it down.
"Right 'bout the whiskey, aHA, but onto the clincher, er, the kicker or whatever-er," she met the darker skinned woman's eyes with her one and her grin spread further upward, "You game for blastin' a seagull with those hot lil handsa' yours?"
‹WORDS› and then some, some ‹TAG›sauren vaalha‹NOTES› bbq the birds and make some friends ‹MUSIC›HERE.
Post by sauren vaalha on Nov 15, 2014 8:09:04 GMT 9.5
Sauren was nonplussed with her own little string of flame and the ocean was certainly nonplussed as well. Stomp got a kick out of it though and crowed a sloppy appreciation for Sauren and her fire. Compliments didn’t go a long way when it came to Sauren, but the whiskey pumping through Stomp’s body more than likely made the words true. Alcohol did that to a person—brought down all those heavily boarded walls with one fell swoop and let loose waves of anything and everything that’d been buried under sober defenses. Real words came out. “Fiery anger’s right,” Sauren agreed and quirked her mouth in appreciation.
Yoga definitely helped balance Sauren’s general irritation with the entire world and all its inhabitants, but nothing was a better stress reliever than burning shit up. More than once had an Ennui faculty member tattled off to the damn higher-ups that “Sauren was seen setting a fire to a fellow student’s homework,” or “Sauren was caught brandishing students with a hot iron.” In her defense, the iron pokers were molded by Sauren herself and she was paid by the students who wanted the damn mark on themselves. A girl had to make money, didn’t she?
A tap on her ankle pulled her from her thoughts and she looked down, annoyed and ready to bat away whatever creature was crawling around on her skin. It was Stomp’s crutch. Sauren’s nature dictated that she ought to shove back, but Stomp looked about as unsteady as she’d been insofar. Then she laughed, drew her arm back, and tossed the bag of whiskey through the air. It sailed pitifully because of its lack of weight and plopped gracelessly onto the waves. Seagulls screamed and dove towards it, but grew disinterested when they realized it wasn’t food.
“You game for blastin’ a seagull with those hot lil handsa’ yours?”
Those hot little hands of hers tightened, fingers flexing. She raised her left hand and her eyes narrowed; fire sizzled in her palm and brightened into a rolling ball of flame. It didn’t look like it did in those gods awful movies put together by MSE. A ball of fire did not float magically above her hand—no, it raced over her fingertips, nesting and licking its greedy fingers over her dark skin. She could make it detach and become a ball if she really wanted to, but what was the point of that?
“It would be my pleasure,” she said and eyed a particular bird that hadn’t shut the fuck up in the past fifteen minutes. As if sensing its impending doom, its beady eyes turned to her. “Tch.” The fire in her palm rolled together and folded over itself until it glowed white-hot. She thrust her arm forward and sent the ball flying—her wrist turned as the bird moved slightly with a panic stricken shrieking noise and the fireball easily adjusted its course. It struck the thing and then the first burst as Sauren clenched her hand into a fist. The scent of burning feathers made the redhead crinkle her nose.
The rest of the seagulls bolted with some high-pitched caws. Their presence wasn’t missed in the least. “What are you doing out here if you hate seagulls so much?” she asked pointedly.
Post by Stomp Minn on Nov 17, 2014 3:11:49 GMT 9.5
THIS THING HURTS LIKE HELL
BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
Even though the white-haired girl was more than a little inebriated, she found that watching the fire-starter's control over the flame was effortless. Each lick and flicker of the rolling tongue of the fire over the stranger's dark hand. Each hiccup of heat that Stomp felt from her proximity to it. All of this she saw in minute detail, as if watching it through a tube of darkness and blossomed into orange light at the end. And while Stomp wasn't one for waxing poetic or waning into needless compliments, she was more than a tad awed by the experience.
Sure, her time at Ennui had allowed her opportunities to get damn near intimate with all manner of demi-god like individuals, but Stomp was not so easily impressed. A classmate who could summon wind and lightening was nothing if they weren't will to use it to strike at their hateful oppressors with it. And while seagulls hardly counted as tyrants, Stomp found there was a futility in the way the stranger had spun a little burst of flame and hurled it into the sea. The seagulls, their deaths were just obligatory because Stomp always kept her promises-- not counting those times when she decided that she didn't.
The squeal of the feathered bother, made her laugh and slam her fist down on the shoddy railing and she managed a quarter spin from her raw excitement before nearly losing her one-legged-beyond-buzzed balance. Once she'd steadied herself against the wood, Stomp inhaled sharply: the smell of burning skin and feathers and tiny scaled, webbed feet. It took everything in her to not attempt another giddy spin.
"Manoman, that," a hiccup, "That was fucking perfect-- your aimsis spot on and ya even gotta bonus by scarr- scaring all the other ffucks away."
As the final shrieks of the gulls faded into the other sounds of the waves and the wind, Stomp sighed contentedly and went to take a swig from the bottle she no longer had.
“What are you doing out here if you hate seagulls so much?”
It was a valid question that Stomp almost chose to ignore. Instead she raised her shoulders in a sloppy shrug and looked out towards where the cheap liquor had begun its journey to the bottom of the sea.
"I mean, gull bastards ain't the only thinga see at the sea. There's pelix- pelicans n otters n seals n maybe a dead fishersomething floating on the top a the water."
Another shrug. The wind blew through her thin clothes again and she ignored the shivers that accompanied it.
"It's is fucking cold," she said, as if pleased by the truism, "No one I dun like'll follow me out here."
Another gust of cold almost-winter air and Stomp felt like she wasn't wearing anything at all. A flare of anger, like fire engulfing an open palm.
"Why're you out here if this place blowsso much?"
‹WORDS› flotsam and then some ‹TAG›sauren vaalha‹NOTES› look pal i came out here to freeze ‹MUSIC›HERE.
Post by sauren vaalha on Nov 17, 2014 13:47:24 GMT 9.5
Maybe she should have felt remorse for killing the poor thing. But that was the way of the world, wasn't it? She'd come to this Academy thinking it would be her salvation, away from the oppressive, angry people that would scowl and throw threats at her before she learned her tongue wasn't getting her anywhere special and her flaming hands, although great for intimidation, brought more pain that good to her.
People spit on her for what she was. She'd earned her right to light a seagull on fire. If the pathetic excuse for humanity wanted to tremble beneath her, write her off as a sociopath for exhibiting deviant behavior, let them. She knew who she was and what she was and the sniveling rich men and women in power weren't going to lock her up like a plaything and turn her into their own private weapons. She'd burn their skin off if they tried.
"Tends to scare off people, too," she said and examined her now not-burning hands. The fire never left a trace on her skin. It was a perk and another perk was obvious by the contrast of her shivering partner. Like fire, Sauren's body ran incredibly hot on a normal day; she could control the temperature of her body with ease, though she'd recently taken up the task of seeing how far her body could project heat.
Stomp didn't exactly off up an answer. She still kindly gave her one, but Sauren figured it had more to do with than just coming out to look at the sea life. "Yes, dead fish. That's exactly why I'm out here, too," she said dryly and glanced over as Stomp shivered again.
"Gods, did you not think to put any clothes on?" she said and slung her arm over Stomp's shoulders. A scowl touched her lips and she swore she'd light the damn girl on fire if she tried anything funny. "You're freezing," she complained and bumped the heat up.
"I was doing exercises so I wouldn't kill people, but people insist on being killed apparently," Sauren said and shrugged. She sighed. Well, as long as she was being a human radiator, might as well keep the conversation going. "This place is the exact opposite of where I grew up. Kinda puts me at ease coming here, ya know? Like if I can stand here and hate everything, I can know there's still someplace out there for me to return to."
Post by Stomp Minn on Nov 19, 2014 12:21:00 GMT 9.5
THIS THING HURTS LIKE HELL
BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
"AHAMan, if I could tella fuckerta piz- piss off wiffa flicka the wrist," good spirits trickled back into her mood.
Stomp wouldn't be completely swayed by their return. The buzz in her head middling itself into a milder, more coherent intoxication, she squinted at her companion. The scrutiny wasn't aggressive but it wasn't passive searching either; the one-legged member of their exclusive party was trying to sort out where the girl's relaxed delivery flared into the fiery red-head stereotype.
"Yes, dead fish. That's exactly why I'm out here, too."
Dry. Like dead grass all stacked and spread-stemmed for tinder and flint. Fire-starter teetering on the brink of another burst of flame. Stomp grinned, wondering how well she could pull her peer back into the swell of heat and smoke. As the stranger reprimanded her wardrobe choices, Stomp found herself stumbling into a sour mood-- again. She was about to reply. Snap at the girl because of the booze in her belly and the numbness in her thumbs-- by their pricking something bitchy this way comes-- but by then the elemental had already pulled her closer to her own dark skinned body.
Stomp was far from a chaste individual but she was genuinely shocked by the abruptness of it all. Like trying to stumble onto a final stair step that didn't actually exist; she thought, for a brittle, brutal, moment the girl was going to kiss her. Whether she was relieved or disappointed when it became clear that was not the fire-starter's intention, Stomp wasn't quite sure. The booze was still muddling and sloshing and fogging up things. Maybe she'd figure it out by tomorrow, maybe she'd forget and pitch herself off the pier--
The stranger was warm. Warmer than natural, though, Stomp had to admit the very existence of the two of them could call what exactly "natural" meant into question. The little comfort that had swept over her left her puzzled (further) for another second and she only remembered to listen to the other young woman just as she said something about "killing".
Stomp was intrigued. By many things, but mostly the unpredictability of it all.
"This place is the exact opposite of where I grew up. Kinda puts me at ease coming here, ya know? Like if I can stand here and hate everything, I can know there's still someplace out there for me to return to."
"Sea'sa good place to suck on the past, then? 's fair 'nough. Given, yanno, the gennr- general circumstances of this," she motioned between the two of them, highlighting their closeness as awkwardly as she could manage, "Am I alloweda ask your name n where, 'xcatly, ti- it is ya grew up?"
‹WORDS› yes. ‹TAG›sauren vaalha‹NOTES› how many allusions can i make to fire? hmm... ‹MUSIC›HERE.
Post by sauren vaalha on Nov 20, 2014 3:47:32 GMT 9.5
A knot had formed in Sauren's belly at her admittance to missing home. Still keeping one arm around Stomp, she raised her other and let it rest on the railing. Amber eyes flashed and stared at the bandana that she'd tied around her wrist this morning. Ugly frays wavered in the sea breeze and Sauren had no doubt in her mind that the cloth would smell like rotting wood for the next few days, but right then she was seeing the fuzzy tips of desert grass waving in the air; rolling hills of sand spanning out before her and the hot sun making her brown skin dark, dark, dark.
Stomp was saying something, swaying underneath her arm, and it dragged Sauren out of her thoughts. She looked down and watched the white-haired girl make a lewd gesture, or maybe just a sloppy awkward one. "If you're uncomfortable," Sauren said, not trying to keep the irritation out of her voice, "I can let you freeze again."
It wasn't Stomp trying to be rude, Sauren realized. It wasn't her fault the redhead had spaced and gone to a place better than where she was now. Reality would've crashed back in at some point. "Sauren," she said after a moment. Memories of the Caiths, her people, were all she had left to hold onto. Giving those up, offering them to this unforgiving hell, seemed wrong. So she said, "Before Ennui, I was in the southernmost part of Occide. Like I said, begged to get in, fighting to get out."
She shifted her weight awkwardly, a tad upset with herself that she hadn't thought this through. At least Stomp seemed to be sobering up; now there wasn't the threat of having to decide whether or not she had it in her heart to carry the girl back to her dorm or apartment or whatever. It's not like she knew where she lived.
She shook her head. "You're not all mad at the seagulls, are you? They're fucking irritating, but they're not as irritating and fucked up as the, what do you call them, Ennui fascists? Yeah." She shrugged.
Post by Stomp Minn on Nov 22, 2014 7:07:45 GMT 9.5
THIS THING HURTS LIKE HELL
BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
Something massive and dark breached the surface of the waves for an instant and then disappeared back into the choppy depths. Stomp pretended that had been a monster-- something scaly and fleshy and ancient, all tentacles and rows and rows of house cat sized teeth. The image gave her mood another upswing and she grinned up at Sauren, batting her eye in jest.
"Oh my but if I freeze todeath today, you could always burn me back to life, right. 't's how it works, right?"
In the distance a seagull sounded, its flock mates following suit, and Stomp echoed them in the form of an undulating laugh. She had a drunken impulse to tap Sauren's butt playfully but then decided that might not be the wisest thing to do. After all, people had boundaries for their own reasons and Stomp would especially hate to violate someone who could set her on fire as casually as most people sneeze into the crooks of their elbows.
"AHa I giddit, you's a minority Gifted who was like 'free food and board and safety? count me in!' an now you'realizing that nothin's free cuz goddamn there's invisible walls everywhere," she exhaled slowly, as if dispelling a rage into the cold and salt scented air, "Hey, hey, but Sauren you gotta choice at least?"
Another seagull imitating laugh and she adjusted her crutch, trying to keep from swaying and teetering. The alcohol's effects were fading, however slowly, and the girl was, in hindsight, glad she'd chucked the bottle into the sea before she'd thrown up everywhere. Having anyone's first impression of you as a gurgly, puking mess was hardly ideal and though Stomp cared little about the opinions of others, she wasn't going to let her strong persona take that kind of blow.
"Hear ya on that fighting bit, though. Dunno if out is what I want but fighting's what gets, 'xcuse this, me /fired/ up. Seagulls or whatever, I wanna beat 'em down. There's not a wholelotta difren- difference between seagulls and fascists, ya know. Scavenging fucks n feather bullshit," she pounded her crutch against the dock, her eyes darting, her blood leaping and bounding at the mention of a brawl, "Rather hang with lesser things like endangered whales n queer kids n shit. Maybe firestarters is somewheren there too."
A wink. She was pushing her limits again, purposefully testingthe patience of this semi-stranger.
‹WORDS› yeep yeep. ‹TAG›sauren vaalha‹NOTES› all my friends are gay or whales, some of them are gay whales ‹MUSIC›HERE.
Post by sauren vaalha on Nov 24, 2014 8:58:27 GMT 9.5
Sauren made a face at Stomp's impish look and fancied for a brief moment what might happen if Sauren bumped up the heat to burning in order to answer Stomp's question. Instead, she responded civilly, "Tch, you've still enough alcohol in your blood where freezing's out of the question." It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, Sauren's arm slung over Stomp's shoulder, the crown of the girl's head reaching right at the hollow of Sauren's throat. It was also a plus that she wasn't as cold as a block of ice anymore.
That's what most people tended to describe Stomp, that is when Sauren caught snippets of conversations she'd rather listen to than engage in. Sauren had always thought she was aloof, save for when someone fucked her over or, in the case of Ennui's faculty, tried to chain her down. It was admirable, really, that she was so passionate in her hatred and that she wanted people to do something about it.
The reek of dead fish was really starting to screw with Sauren's head and although the fire elemental didn't get cold, she could certainly get damp. Her skin was sticky with sea salt and her eyes were starting to sting from the spray. It seemed Stomp was sober enough to make her way back to the grounds and not end up falling, purposefully or on accident, drunkenly into the ocean.
Despite her discomfort in her surroundings and her yearning for a hot shower, Sauren made no move to leave. "I disagree," she said to Stomp. "Fascists are far more irritating than seagulls; at least the gulls know not to come back when you make it clear they're not welcome." As if to prove her point, the gulls squawked angrily down the pier, but made no move to flutter over and bother the two girls again.
"Rather hang with lesser things like endangered whales n queer kids n shit. Maybe firestarters is somewheren there too."
"Oh, really?" Sauren started and barely looked down in time to catch Stomp's wink. The fire elemental turned, hip pressing against the railing, and slipped her arm down around Stomp's waist, fingers gently gripping her sides. "Don't you know that saying about playing with fire? Seagull should've been proof enough." Her lips quirked back up into a smile and she raised one brow.
Post by Stomp Minn on Nov 30, 2014 13:44:46 GMT 9.5
THIS THING HURTS LIKE HELL
BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
In the small cradle of her a-cup, Stomp's phone vibrated so suddenly the girl nearly bucked herself free of her crutch and Sauren's towering presence. Though she always tucked her mobile in the most unconventional places possible, she'd almost forgotten about it what with the drunkenness, the stirring sea, and the sparking stranger. The interruption piss her off in a way she couldn't quite filter through her head right into something coherent. It was like coffee that'd been used to brew so many times it just came out as brown water or a piece of candy split between too many open mouths.
A party with not enough liquor, she thought and then laughed and fished the phone from her bra, leaning into Sauren for added support.
Stomp had always been a short and slight individual, despite her best efforts to push along her hormones and sprout, as she called them, "the kind of curves you can wrap a body-con around" but hadn't gotten the growth spurt so many clinic doctors had promised or the weight gain she was supposed to inch towards as the estrogen set in. In that moment, her tiny, bony body pressed against the dark girl's tall and strong one, Stomp felt a wave of envy well up over her semi-good natured buzz. Half of her wanted to shake off the warmth of Sauren altogether and crutch-sprint away as fast and gracefully as she could in her current state. The other was more sensible and, perhaps, succumbing to that post drunken tiredness that could slip in if she put the bottle down for too long.
Considering that she'd chucked it into the sea, Stomp knew the fabled sandman was coming for her soon and, true to her nature, she flexed her right hand in preparation to sock it to the ancient, shifting bastard.
Her thoughts were getting more erratic with each sobering second and she almost missed Sauren's counter point regarding Stomp's feathery enemies.
"Fascists are far more irritating than seagulls; at least the gulls know not to come back when you make it clear they're not welcome."
With a shaky swipe of her thumb, Stomp unlocked her phone and squinted at the screen, trying to sound disinterested for the sake of disinterest,
"Yeah, doesn't change the fact that they're still out there n still waitin for the first second to flit back in. 'Least fascists've rules n families to scamper home to. Birds have all that sky to squint down from."
The device had gone off not from a message but because it was announcing its lack of power and inevitable shut-off. Stomp resisted the sudden burst of anger to chuck it into the ocean after the unfortunate bottle. A shrug. The dispersion of the emotion. She tucked the electronic back into her shirt and then sighed,
"Guess I jus' really, rrreeeally hate gulls is all. 'Least people can respond to criticism n be made fun of and get socked in the face when they need to be. Birds'll just--"
She gestured with her right hand, stretching it, with her arm in tow, out in front of her-- fingers wiggling.
"As for the fire, Sparky," she drew her arm back to her and shrugged again, again with that forced nonchalance she drew around herself whenever... "I got scars to show I'm a dumb shit when it come to following safety rules."
A laugh and she flexed what remained of her bad eye's lid, straining the sealed skin enough that it twitched.
‹WORDS› word. ‹TAG›sauren vaalha‹NOTES› sorry this took so long orz orz ‹MUSIC›HERE.
Post by sauren vaalha on Dec 5, 2014 3:27:55 GMT 9.5
Fascists and feathery enemies. Even though they were talking about two different things, the lines between the gulls and the comparative people were blurring. A picture of her Elemental Anatomy professor with feathers poking out from his skin and a long black beak entered her mind and made her lips curl. The sea air was getting to her now. Well, more than it had been before. If she were on her own time, she’d have left half an hour ago after cooling off and found someplace else to do some exercises. But here she was, stuck with drunken—albeit humorous—company feeling her skin crawl with more than just salt.
Sauren just wasn’t good at reading people or reciprocating feelings or whatever. She wanted things laid out in front of her so she could either A) meet them head-on with guns blazing or B) wave a flippant hand and turn the hell around. So when the white-haired girl leaned closer against her, fishing for something in her bra and ignoring Sauren’s arm around her waist, she got confused and angry because she was confused and then got angrier because she felt herself go rigid.
This Ennui crap about the staff and the gulls was just getting her into another piss-poor mood anyway. She came out here to relax, not spark another wave of fire. So she shut herself down, dropped her arm back to her side and just leaned back against the railing in front of Stomp, elbows grating against the sticky wood. “I’d say you’d be a dumb shit to follow the rules here,” she said, looking away down the dockside when Stomp did some weird thing with her ruined eye. “Fire’s a different sort of thing,” she said. The wet wood against her arm suddenly sizzled as her elbow ignited, orange flames licking their way down her forearm. Her yellow eyes flashed. “It consumes everything it touches. No mind. No rules. Just total. Utter. Destruction.”
The little show of hers cut off then, leaving only the gross smell of burning driftwood and a blackened elbow.
"You got anymore booze at...wherever you live? I've had enough of the ocean to last me a lifetime."
Post by Stomp Minn on Dec 14, 2014 13:27:08 GMT 9.5
THIS THING HURTS LIKE HELL
BUT WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?
Sauren had drawn away, her back to the sea and Stomp pivoted herself on her crutch so that she was facing the homogenous, undulating mass that stretched out beyond the both of them. Grey and moody and suddenly boring. Her own tide of interest had gone out with all new developments between her and the elemental. Her booze was gone. Her phone was dead and Sauren seemed to be chomping at the bit to get a move on to.. well, whatever was happening between them-- friendship or something of more ensnaring potential.
A shrug. Stomp was finding it hard to care about anything at this point.
"Ya asking me if we can go back to my place?" she laughed, teetering into her crutch for support, and then grinned as charmingly as she could manage, "Welp. Who'm I to say no?"
Spinning herself around on her crutch again so that her own back was to the sea, Stomp signaled over her shoulder for the other girl to follow. Her crutch making muffled thumps against the weathered wooden planks, she raised her voice above the drawl of the wind and surf,
"Gonna have ta go fast to keep up with me cuz, as you can tell, I'm some kinda speed devil."
And while she didn't turn to see if Sauren was following, she did pause for half a second to see if she heard the other girls footsteps behind her- closing the gap between them. The sentiment flared in her again: the stink of rotting fish carried suddenly in by the wind. Who cared if Sauren kept her end of the suggestion?
Stomp didn't.
‹WORDS› word. ‹TAG›sauren vaalha‹NOTES› i am too frunk to write well but also too drunk to say sorry ‹MUSIC›HERE.
