Downright Delinquents discussion

Pandora slid into her desk in the far corner, hoping to find some solitude within this corner. As if her bright orange hair would somehow evade drawing attention. She was still scarcely clothed, wearing only her black running shorts and a thin, baggy shirt that revealed the thin contours of her stomach. She dropped her shoulder bag on the desk, awaiting the arrival of others. At the moment she was left alone within the hollow, bland environment. The ear buds that were still laced up the back of her shirt were firmly plugged in her ears and a steady beat resounded from the small electronics. All Pandora's thoughts were on the sole focus that a single class planned on her first day served no point other than to occupy what might have been an hour to roam free.

After ten minutes of waiting, Pandora rose. She saw no point to wasting her time here. This being her first day she saw no wrong in enjoying her last slivers of freedom before being held, what she saw as hostage. She slung her bag over her shoulder and with a brisk pace exited the room. She noted passing by who seemed to be the english professor, simply because she was new he could not recognize her as one of his own students. She continued her walk, evading anyone who seemed to hold any authority within the establishment. Soon enough she had made it out.

Frederich couldn't help but feel a bit bad that he wasn't in his classroom yet, but as he walked through the halls, a damp and stained shirt hung over his arm, he figured his excuse was good enough. A girl with bright hair passed him, but he didn't even think to ask where she was headed, too focused on what he was going to do about his shirt. Luckily, he'd had on an undershirt, a wife beater, and he'd gotten the other shirt off in time to not have to walk around with a big stain on that one, and he'd left his jacket in the classroom. He could put that on. Problem solved. Stupid coffee, he thought as he walked into the classroom.

After a solid twenty minutes from the start of class, Pandora returned. She took a seat without regard to any others present. The same seat she had chosen before remained empty and was quickly filled with herself. She drew back in her seat, staring forward despite her blatant lack of interest in anything that might be said within this classroom. She only saw it as another class she would be forced to endure before she caused another teacher to crack. She had managed to do that with nearly everyone, yet somehow she still managed to remain ahead in the unclassified studies.

((Apologies, I shall edit. I just realized your character is a teacher.))

((No prob, really. :) ))

((There, that should be better.))

Mr. Winters, as he was supposed to be called in class, noticed that bright head of hair once again, this time walking into class. He had expected students to act in a manner similar to this, but still… "You must be Pandora... I noticed you missing from the attendance roll..." Frederich looked back at her, raising a brow and giving a small smile. "Late... give me one synonym for the word late, and I'll let you slide." He slipped a hand into the pocket of his slacks, stepping in front of his desk and leaning back on it.

"Tardy, delayed, prolonged arrival, delayed, belated ,fashionably late and dilatory" Pandora numbered with a bored expression, devoid of challenge in her eyes. This would not be the first of times she had been asked such a thing as punishment for doing wrong to a person of authority. Most often she was able to exceed the terms which were set for her. Though at times she was simply too occupied with her own ideas that she refused to comply. In this case she was willing enough. she had yet to be run down by the classes and restrictions.

Lucille came striding in, her high heels clicking against the floor, her bag slung over on shoulder, her hair falling in waves over her should. They expected her to go to classes? She could teach half of these teachers more than they could teach her, so she was planning on always being late, always not paying attention in class, making trouble, flirting with teachers. Her "uniform" shirt was cut off about the waist, and had a deep v in it now, thanks to someone not paying attention and leaving a pair of scissors around, exposing her flat stomach and other such assets.

Frederich nodded in amusement at the girl's uncaring way of handling things. He picked up his attendance sheet, tapping a pencil against it as another student walked in. "I assume you think this is a joke, this school, this treatment. I would too in your position, but I assure you, if you continue to come in late, you're only ensuring your stay here..." He went down the list, erasing the absent mark after Pandora's name, then looking at the ones left on the page. "And you are...?"

"Lucille," she said curtly, her eyes sliding over the people in the room until finally resting on the teacher. Wow, he was actually pretty attractive. She'd definitely have to hop on that some time soon. She moved to take her seat, she didn't half to be told which one, it was obvious the kids were in alphabetical order, and she had scored the back seat in the second row.

((hop on that...lol))

((Hey, she was a prostitute, and have you seen the pic? :D))

Frederich found her name and sighed. "Wrong. You are late..." He looked at the girl, peeking a brow. "Would you two care to explain why it took you near a half an hour to get to class?" he asked while looking between the two girls. "I would love to know what you think is a better way to waste time here..." He held his arms out a bit in a sort of 'well?' gesture. His expression was serious, but it was hard for him to keep it that way.

Pandora rolled her head to face him rather than simply taking the effort to turn to look at him. "I see not point to a single class on my first day, this time could better be spent elsewhere. Unless you care to explain what might fill the first half hour of a class other than the introduction of the students and the subject. The first I have no regard for and unless I became a vacant minded imbecile for not partaking in such introductions than I give about as much regard to the latter" she explained quite extensively, simply because she saw no point in speaking otherwise. "Now, can you explain to me one single semblance of information that is above this grade or higher that will pertain to my life in any important way or shall I keep my theory that nothing of critical consequence was done within that time?"

Lucielle shrugged. "Let me guess, Mr. Frederich, they want you to be all mad at us about being late because it contributes to our 'detestable behaviors'. So What do you think I've been doing Mr. Frederich? I bet you'll never guess," Lucille told him, not really caring at all. English was simple, nothing about it was ever hard. She had written books for god's sake. The editor hadn't made a single mark in the book either. If anything, she should be teaching this class since this teacher seemed more intent on badgering student who went to a school for delinquents, the damage couldn't be reversed there.

The teacher stayed silent, taking in what both of the girls had said. It was as if he were assessing their answers, like it was a quiz or something. "I can't give you an example, nor can I guess what you were doing before you decided to walk in. You both make wonderful points, and I would like it if the both of you came a bit earlier, so I can teach what I need to. Now, you may be thinking that this class is simply English, and I can tell you you're wrong. This is the class of disscussion and life, done through the use of literature. If you have anything to learn here, it's how to deal with the world, which is exactly why you're in this school, is it not?" He had moved as he spoke, walking around through the desks.

Pandora tilted her head slightly, not sparing a second before composing a retort. "I think it is you who wish to believe the world to be a better place than it is. It is us" she said with a swift gesture of her hand toward herself and those around her. "Who have adapted to it, learned to survive in a corrupted society. Not only that, but we thrive in it. If you wish to teach anything, you might look into those who believe themselves to be sane on this planet. After all, in a world of the insane, the sane seem insane. There is a paradox for you to mull over. Now, unless you wish to provide me with a single point of intelligent topic than I might just find myself bored. And we wouldn't want that now, would we?" On the last note of her words her head straightened and she leaned back in her chair. All the while her eyes gave him a defiant glare.

Slouched against the wall outside class, Mano lightly grips a thin sheet of paper between his slender fingers. His schedule. For his new "school". Presently, he should be occupying a desk in the English classroom at his back.

But he's not.

With no mild amusement, Mano considers the academy. Once before, his father enrolled him in school; the entire time of which he spent pretending not to speak English. Might be fun to play the confused Spanish boy again, but Mano is faintly positive that he passed a Spanish classroom on the way to this one. So maybe not. Also fluent in Portuguese, he could play the game like that, but...

Mano is supposed to act like a good little American citizen. He isn't to dig a deeper abyss than he's already fallen into, according to his father. Nothing of their illegal activities are to be shared with the other students, no information exchanged that can be used against him in court.

But to comply to the program he had been ordered into?

How drab.

((I can RP with you...))

Morticia had passed several classrooms so far, but none were deserving of her attention. They were languages, most of them, and that want where her interests lie. Her mind was working the possible patients she could be missing at this very second, simply to keep her busy.

Even after an hour long nap, she felt lethargy weighing down her movements. In a world where good things only made it worse, nothing was to be trusted but her knowledge and steady hand with a scalpel. She considered going back to the Biology Lab to continue her dissection, but recalled her lack of a subject. This speculation made her scowl, as she wouldn't care to spend half an hour constructing a plan to capture a specimen and following through with it.

Her recent therapy session also keyed into mind. She needed to get those notes. If all speculations were true, the public would know of her current state of mental health and the state of her entire family's, really. Her scowl deepened as she walked, head down.

A flash of pink in the corner of Mano's eye jerks his head up, gaze resting on a short teenage girl, generously curved. He hasn't interacted with any of the other students yet, nor has he been to his dorm, or familiarized himself with the campus, only having been ushered through the doors of the academy, handed a schedule, and shooed off to his class.

But why not start now?

"Hello there." Full lips curve up in a small smile, displaying slightly crooked white teeth. Still lounging against the wall on the floor, Mano has to tilt his head up to meet the blue eyes of the girl.

"I know how to deal with the world. It's all mathematical probabilities and emotional instabilities. It's violence and lies and pain. Maybe you want to teach us how the world is good, how we can change it. We are one in billions, less than .0000001 percent of the worlds population. We cannot make a difference, we do not matter, you are wasting your time. Words mean nothing. Emotions are weakness, actions are idiocy, hope is imaginary. And life is hell. You think you know so much about the world but you don't know anything beyond the tip of your nose, which you have stuck so high up into the air you must pull your eyes out to look at us. If the last thing we have is an inch, then the world will throw us a mile," Lucille said, not really caring. The teacher could make what he wanted of her. She was about ready to get up and leave anyway. She knew the world. She had seen it through the eyes of so many men that she had been manipulating for years to learn they way they worked down to the last reaction and instinct.

Frederich had to really stop and just listened to what he was being told. Every bit of each reply told him so much about the two he directed his comments to. He expected something like this, and it made him smile, just a crack. "Sanity, insanity, life, the world. You're telling me you know what every single person is like, that you can classify them under a single category, every one of them? You mean to tell me that people like Einstein, like Socrates, like Hitler-- the list goes on-- did not make a difference in the world? They were just as small a percentage as yourself. People saw them as 'insane', yet they changed, made a difference in the lives of thousands upon thousands. Are you telling me that that same thing isn't possible for any of you? I'll tell you something important. Quit looking at the world so pessimisticly, and start looking at the good things in life. Progress. Everything is dependent on progress. Bad things happen, we move on." He hadn't moved until then, looking at the clock. "Alright, that's enough for one day; class dismissed."

Lucille didn't move. She was studying him. He was one of the Happy Harry types. To her, there was no such thing as optimism. She was a realist. She knew how things were, and she knew what her future would be. In truth, she was never really a prostitute, she had done it with like four guys in her life. Men paid to talk to her, to tell them why their relationships were failing, why they were stuck in a job they hated.
She was much smarter than this man would ever know. She wasn't crazy. He was surprised he didn't get the "An inch" reference. V for Vendetta. An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

Morticia glanced only for a second to find the voice of the person who'd spoken to her. She weighed the options of speaking with the boy that rested against the wall, his hair a curly mess of black stands. Her eyes narrowed slightly, returning their gaze to the floor.

"Hello," she murmuring, coming to a stop before looking up again. A smile would be the last thing to grace her features, her mouth a thin pressed line of indifference.

Faint reverberations pulse at Mano's back, the result of the conversation flowing within the English class. The rustling noises increase, but the teenager pays them no mind, oblique gaze focused on the girl in front of him.

"What are you here for?" His question is blunt and to the point, nothing coy about it. More than anything, he's curious about the students around him. Sure, the administrators he had met with earlier that morning had warned him that he would be schooling with confirmed, volatile criminals, but that could easily be the the line given to ensure the occupants stay in line.

Morticia's cool gaze drifted towards the classroom for a moment, taking note of the time class had ended. Her attention turned back to the boy in front of her in time to hear his question. Finally, someone who asked the right question. Most that she'd run into seemed to enjoy pretending that they were average children attending a boarding school, but they all knew the lie wouldn't hold.

"I'm not allowed to say," she replied with a nonchalant shrug, not a single expression but slight boredom on her face.

"Oh?" One ebony brow lifts in distinct skepticism. "Why not?" No one had limited how much he could disclose about his situation. In fact, they were probably hoping that he would disclose, reveal secrets that would finalize his legal plight. But they can go fuck themselves. Hell, if he'd be deported or sent to rot in prison.

Morticia's eyes narrowed, lips pursing. "Why do you want to know," she inquired, rather than answer his question. If he'd go back to his previous inquiry, she'd answer it the way she'd answered all the others: Saftey. Of course, there were few that believed her. She wasn't lying--she just didn't disclose who was safe now.

Methodically slow, virescent eyes examine the other student. If there was anything Mano's father taught him in life, it was how to read people, understand that speech and expressions don't always match up. Especially in negotiations. Several times over, Mano had witnessed his father performing deals. One particular instance floats to the surface of his mind. Enticed by ambiguous offers made by his father, the rotund man had been lured to a meeting. Presented before him was a young girl, extraordinarily delicate, innocence wafting from her in palpable waves. And fear. Oh, yes, the fear had been strong too. The man had taken one look at the child and his pupils had dilated with desire, the weight of restraint tightening his lips. But over and over, he insisted how heinous the offer of the girl was, that her youth in a sexual context was positively revolting. But in the end, the man walked away with a few hundred less dollars than when he'd entered, girl in tow.

Levying the same scrutiny on the other student now, the most he can garner from her is a negligent apathy. But, really, is there anyone in the world who is actually devoid of emotions?

"Curiosity, for one," Mano replies after a delayed pause. Adopting an air of insouciant brevity, he adds, "And so I'm prepared if you try to sell me into prostitution." He punctuates this with a smile and wink.

Morticia snorted, rolling her eyes. "Prostitution wouldn't turn as much profit for boys your age as you would like to think," she stated coolly, "And I don't need the money." It wasn't as though she were trying to disburse any thoughts of her having the possibility of doing that; no, no. She'd probably just run a few tests on him before she sold his organs separately. She didn't bother sharing this bit of information, in case she followed through with it.

Pandora has a slight smile as she stood from her dismissal "now you have actually gained my interest, teach like that and you might gain some dedicated students" she directed toward the teacher as she stepped down the aisle. She slipped her bag back on her shoulder and stepped out of the room without another word. She did not consider this as bad a day as she had previously predicted. She took a pause outside the classroom as she mulled over some information she had collected prior to the class.

Though silently agreeing with the other student's assessment, Mano's only reply is, "That still doesn't answer my original question." It's not the Mano is dying to know what has branded the girl a danger to society; in her specific case, he doesn't give a damn. No, rather, he's trying to get a feel for how open the students are about their pasts, how it's expected for him to react when pushed on the issue.

Morticia regarded the boy carefully. The last time she opened to someone had been a means to save, but the end result was quite the opposite. She was branded a psychopath for a statement meant to be truth, something innocent to save her brother from what had been done wrongfully to him. He'd taken the blame graciously, but it still didn't make anything right. When I close my eyes, I see death. (How does this make you feel?) I love it.

She blinked, shaking the thoughts away. "Safety."

((Sorry, been wrapping presents for my mom.))

Mano's full lips purse as he ponders her statement, weighing the different meanings. "Yours or society's?" Internally, Mano snorts, amused with himself. Well aren't I question boy today?

Students drift through the halls, some in packs others alone. The buzz of conversation is faint, muted, one blurred mass as typically occurs when crowds congregate.

((That's fine ^-^))
"You can decide whichever fits best," Morticia retorted, as she expected. Most people would have already jumped to the conclusion of the latter option, as she was being placed in a school for criminals. It a sense, it felt as though she placed in a breeding ground. Of what, she had yet to discern.

Her drifting gaze reached the eyes of one student. They gave her a hard look, and then she saw the scars on her neck. The boy gave her a silent glare of intense hate, and she returned it with an indifference to rival a nazi soldier at a death camp.

"What's your name," she questioned, turning back to the boy in front of her, "Since you've gotten your chance to ask questions, it's my turn."

Grinning at the turnabout, the new student responds, "Mano Ramone." Faint Spanish accents ghost across the syllables. Finally deigning to pick himself up from his slouch on the ground, Mano stretches to his full height of 6'1", movements pulled by a languid slowness that speaks of a period of idleness. "And you?"

As he stood, Morticia took note of his height. He was taller than her by at least a foot, and she felt a small dose of displeasure course through her. "Morticia Casketine Celeste Marquise Graves," she replied, hands at her side. The slow New Orleanian drawl was evident in her words, the rhythmic symphony of words piecing together perfectly. "Are in for holding back the truth, or telling it excessively," she asked next. It seemed that every little girl in this joint wanted to be the best, and flaunt every crime they did for a jump in status here. Murder seemed to be highest on the list in their minds.

A flicker of a smile almost slid onto her face at the thought. If she'd really disclosed all reasoning for being here, she'd win thirty-five to none.

Morticia Casketine Celeste Marquise Graves. Interesting theme, Mano muses, not oblivious to the play on her names. Briefly, he wonders if the monikers were like a sort of stage name she had donned, or if her family and fate had collaborated to bring Morticia to her current location. Either way, it was one helluva name.

Pulled from his thoughts when the petite girl speaks again, Mano parries, "Depends who you ask."

"I see there isn't much that I can ask of you," Morticia speculated, "As the series of answers already given are as vague and indirect as the ones I have given. And if you're wondering about the name, my parents enjoy dead things." As do I, she added mentally.

Because the dead don't speak, and spew out secrets in the guise of a harmless book.

Leanly muscled shoulders roll in response to Morticia's first comment. He'd spoken the truth on the matter and wouldn't go back and correct himself now. "Well, as fun as this has been," Mano drawls, "I'll be taking my exit now." Deciding to hunt down his room, Mano starts heading in that direction.

"Enjoy life with psychopaths," Morticia dismissed, turning to head in another direction. She wouldn't be able to take a nap, now that her mind was working with a new wave of people to work in. She'd have to look up Mano's file when she broke into the therapist's office later that night.