(Untitled)

[kuroisekaide]

Who: Nishi Jouichirou, Kanji Tatsumi, Nagi [open to students]
Where: School, Terra
When: Post-lessons
Summary: A little detention never hurt no one
Rating: R

Comments

[unmanliest]

Kanji glanced up when someone new came into the room. Wasn't anyone he really recognized. Maybe he'd seen the kid around but he looked pretty uptight and kind of like a prick so Kanji went right back to what he was doing without acknowledging him at all. He half-heard what the guy muttered but it didn't even cross his mind that the kid might be referring to him.

The desk he was sitting at was covered in graffiti. Most of it had been there when he sat down, but he was putting his detention time to good use by adding more to the collection. One of his bracelets was covered in sharp spikes and he was using this to grind away at the wood slowly, drawing little smiley faces with Xs for eyes. Little dead smiley faces. Aww, they were cute.

[kuroisekaide]

It was no good, he could not contemplate anything with that ridiculous bleached hair in his peripheral vision. Nishi let his eyes set on the back of the tall guy's scalp and dully assayed him for several monotone minutes. The classroom was silent save for the persistent sound of Kanji mutilating the table due to some infantile inability to stay his hands.

Nishi inclined a small degree to his right. "Hey," he called out plainly. "Give it a rest, Van Gogh."

[unmanliest]

Kanji looked up, first directing his gaze to the teacher. But it wasn't the teacher who'd said anything. Hell, he didn't look like he'd even noticed yet. So Kanji turned slowly in his chair, his leather jacket creaking, and looked straight at that kid with a stick up his ass. His lips pulled back into a sneer and he retorted, "Tch, make me."

Then he went right back to carving his little masterpiece. No, really, he thought it looked pretty good for a carving done with no real tools. Made the desk look even nicer than he'd found it, that was for sure.

[kuroisekaide]

Nishi brushed off the unappealing offer with a lethargic cant of his head and reiterated: "'Make me'...?" That sort of typical tough guy response he must have had the misfortune of confronting several times per week. Sure, he could make him, or so he presumed, but the prospect of assaulting an idiot delinquent was just boring.

He exhaled and diverted his attention back to the window. Above the classroom door the second arrow made a full circle on the clock when he initiated his commentary in an even voice: "So are your piss-poor genes responsible for your behavioral failings or are you here for something interesting? Cut anyone...?"