it doesn't have to make sense [ranka]

[Pierce James]

[Nov. 1]

Pierce wasn't much in the mood to be around people. He hadn't been all day, and now it was two in the morning and nothing had changed. He didn't want to go back to his dormitory, or stay in the common room where someone could randomly come upon him and start jabbering about how they liked classes or what their favorite place in the castle was. It just wasn't an appealing thought to him at the moment. It never really had been appealing, per say, but at the moment he especially didn't want to tolerate the nonsensical small talk.

He wasn't at all tired; then again he'd woken up at two in the afternoon due to the fact that he didn't have any classes in the morning. It was odd, the mood he was in. He didn't want to be around people, he didn't want to sleep, but his mind was buzzing as if there was something he just wanted to speak aloud. What it was, he didn't know. He thought that maybe it was a need to keep his mind occupied, or just do something.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter. He had enough to keep himself busy, and he was in the perfect place to satisfy whatever it was that his mind kept him awake for. The clock tower, he'd learned, was not so much a popular place with the majority of the school population. Prefects never patrolled there for reasons he didn't know or cared about. It was quiet as well. Aside from the continuous ticking, obviously, but too much silence could drive a person mad.

Pierce had been sitting in the tower for hours. He was perched with his back against one of the walls with a perfect view of a long, open window that peered out onto the grounds. Scattered about him were books, sheafs of parchment, quills, pencils, and charcoal. He'd done every piece of homework he could manage to stand, read through a chapter or two of a quidditch book, and was now in the middle of a sketch of the whole room. At least, it had started as the room.

It had grown to be a rather abstract piece, now coming to look like a conglomeration of cogs [which was based off of the obvious setting]. Usually he did scenery and still objects, but in the middle of his drawing he had gotten frustrated and put a slash through the scene. He couldn't just stop, but he was bored as hell and he needed to keep occupied. What happened next was obvious and doesn't need to be explained.

Now, he couldn't think of another stroke or smudge to add to the picture and he was frustrated once again. The slytherin boy tossed his sketch book aside, letting the pencil drop somewhere beside him in a mess of papers. His mind began to buzz once again, and he let his head drop back to the cement wall. His breathing was slow and steady, his whole demeanor giving off that he was quite laid back, or just drowsy. His arms rested on his propped knees, loosely linked, his vibrant emerald orbs gazing emptily through the window in front of him. He wasn't paying attention to anything in particular, as his mind was racing through the most random things, but if he had, he would have noticed the lightest of steps that kept in tempo with the incessant ticking echoing in the tower.

[batgirl]

Spin faster shouting out loud
You cant steal whats paid for

It was night. It was dark, quiet, the silence so intense it could be heard far away in space. Everyone was sleeping, except for one. Everyone had found themselves lost within their own dreams or nightmares by now, but one still wondered the halls this late night. Nothing but a letter was placed in her hand, a notebook resting under her arm. She had too much to do, and so little time before tomorrow had started up again. The common room proved not to work for her right now - not that it ever really did.

It was 2 O'clock in the morning, and Ranka had located herself trotting away up to the Blue memorial clock tower, a place she had yet to visit while at the school. She figured, that at this time of night no prefects or patrolling professors will be heading on up to the tower to check for students out of bed. Not that Ranka really had to worry, she had mastered the art of sneaking in and out of places when she must. She grinned at the thought, one of her arms wrapping her sweatshirt more tightly around her small body. She wasn't cold, considering that the castle was rather nippy. She just had the chills is all. Compared to a Russian winter, this was like a hot summer day.

Sleep was something that Ranka had been without for a while now. She didn't sleep too often because it was not something she wanted to do. There where so many other important things she wanted to worry about. The lack of sleep was starting to show as well - black bas started to form under her eyes, her eyes always seemed to look wide, as if she was on some kind of drug. She did hide it nicely though. Nothing some cover - up and the right touch of make - up can't ever fix. By now, you would think that Ranka had made some form of friends with all the time she spends out of the bed and in the halls. But she had yet to meet one that she could truly call a friend. Maybe she was just anti - social. That, or would rather watch people then befriend them.

That's what Ranka had always been, ever since she could remember - a people watcher. It must sound strange, to have someone call you a people watcher. Ranka had gotten use to it, considering her uncle always asks her if she made any friends, and her only response is now, I just tend to watch them. Ranka couldn't help it though. she loved to watch human behavior, how they acted with movements, how they talk and such really helped her to see what kind of person they are. Normally, she can hit a persons personality on the head after a conversation, no matter how small it was. Call it a gift if you'd like - Ranka refers to it more as her curse.

Finally reaching the tower, Ranka placed her claw like hands on the doorknob and turned it, pushing her way into the clock tower. The ticking of the clock could be heard ringing through, a steady tempo for her to walk in. Bright brown orbs followed along the walls, trying to find the appropriate place to stay and read her letter, and then write in her journal. Pushing a stray piece of blond hair from her eyes, Ranka stopped in her tracks, spotting a boy sitting against the wall, papers scattered everywhere. She arched her eyebrow, biting the right ring of her snake bite. Dare she approach? Yes. He looked a bit frustrated - Ranka could tell by the way he was just staring into space - but that was no matter. She didn't say a word, just took a seat in front of him, putting her own things down at her side, her brown eyes now studying him.

If he wants to say something, he will.

[Pierce James]

Pierce wasn't satisfied with his drawing. It was irritating him, sitting there in the periphery of his vision, unfinished and taunting him with its... Bad-ness. This seemed to happen a lot lately. He'd sat in his bed in the dormitories, trying to just take on random objects and give them a spin. It had always been so easy, but lately-- it just wasn't. It was really frustrating. Then again, so were a variety of things in his life, and they never stopped him before.

Out of the periphery of his vision, he saw a figure shift in some way in the shadows. His first thought was it was only an owl; but that was a hope rather than a guess. Being around people wasn't a thought that struck his fancy at the current time. He was rather tired of people, their problems, their capability of causing them, and their over-all affects on him. At least, for now he was. After being at the school for only a few short months, he wanted to leave again. The education and all was nice, but he just wasn't used to being surrounded by so many different people. Maybe that made him weird, but he supposed everyone had their quirks.

The feminine-esque figure stepping from the staircase and walking over didn't surprise him. Everyone in the school seemed to like the direct approach, the hello, my name is Mary Gay and I'm in Ravenclaw and I like the color purple. It was rather annoying, and one of the things that made him want to leave. Perhaps it was one of the reason's he liked Aaryn so much; he didn't find out her real name until a week or so after he'd met her, and had been able to find out for himself what she was really like. Ever since they'd been "an item", though, he'd had doubts. They were uninfluenced, but something always felt wrong.

Not to mention the dance shook him up a bit. That pathetic looking Moretti and his passive-ness really didn't sit with him well. Not that it mattered. Aaryn was (supposedly) trustworthy; if she had something to say, she would have. But he was still bothered, and unable to shake it from his mind, which probably blocked his creativity. And ever since she came along he couldn't seem to draw anything; she was the culprit who stole his inspiration. Damn that Missus Pebbles.

Anyway, what did surprise Pierce was that this unknown girl just sat in front of him, and stayed silent. He tore his gaze from the patch of outdoors, letting them settle on the person in front of him. She wasn't doing anything but sitting there, staring at him. His mind was too clouded with drowsiness to try to figure out her intentions, so he only stared back at her, unable to think of something to say. She wasn't bothering him at all, and he wasn't even curious as to why she was just sitting there, or even why she was up at this hour.

Unable to put a name to the face (not that he was trying very hard), Pierce looked back to the patch of sky through the tower walls, noticing the girl's head blocked a portion of it. His emerald orbs flickered back to the girl; and then to his sketch pad. He sat still for a moment, searching his mind for what to do, and after that moment he reached calmly for his pad, also grabbing a soft pencil. He leaned his back against the wall, propping his knee up to lay the pad on. "Stay still." He said quietly, almost gruffly since he hadn't spoken the whole day and his voice felt raw. It didn't matter if she did as he asked (or did he command? meh), he wasn't really drawing her, but she gave an image in his mind by blocking his view.

Silently he made a few flicks of his wrist with the pencil, running the side of his hand over it to smear the lines. In the starlit patch he'd drawn in his sketch, he overlayed a rather discrete eye, making it blend in with the surrounding cogs, the stars highlighting the "twinkle" in the eye, which was inspired by the girl's. He hardened random lines in the cogs, and after only a minute he'd formed only what I can describe as an inlayed-undetailed ghost of a person in the already abstract scene. It didn't really make sense, but then again, it didn't have to. With a short breath out, which was more like a huff or whathaveyou, Pierce set the sketch pad down, dropping his pencil on top. In case she'd actually done what he'd asked, he said a quiet, "Okay".

If the girl wanted to speak, she would, and he wouldn't exactly be surprised if she did, considering he didn't give any explanation as to what he'd just done. As for now, Pierce kept his eyes outside, his frustration (at least about the drawing) gone.

[batgirl]

She goes straight, straight for the deep end
Doesn't hesitate to dive right in [ Be Careful now ].

Something had been stolen from this Boy, Ranka could tell.

As she sat across form her, her pale hands still stayed forever wrapped around the letter she had been waiting for ages to receive. It seemed that she would guard it with her life, it seemed that she would not let anyone else peer over her shoulder to read it. Her hands, resting down on her lap held it there, her journal at the floor next to her bottom. Her eyes looked at the boy, peering at him fro sometime before she actually looked down to the letter she had received, her bright brown orbs bearing eyes into the creme colored envelope.

It was almost like a mystery. She wanted to badly to just open up the envelope viciously and read the words that her uncle had written her. No doubt they where in cursive, considering he was a man of great knowledge. Come to think of it, Ranka had never remembered a time when he actually had just written in print. She assumed he had always written in cursive. She blinked, erasing that thought from her mind. It wasn't relevant to anything at the moment, and Ranka didn't like things that where not relevant. Rolling her shoulders back a bit, Ranka allowed her eyes to follow along the dark paths of the shadows in front of her until they fell upon the boy's face.

They strayed away from him for a moment before seeing a sketchpad among his items. She couldn't help but arch her eyebrow. She was starting to winder what it was with boys in this school drawing. The last boy she had met liked to draw too - and actually, he had drawn her. Good old Lysander. She was to become his model, if all things would go well. She grinned a bit. Model. Ranka was anything but. Her teeth finding their way to her snake bite, the nibbled on them solemnly. A habit of nerves, she came to conclude. Her eyes wondered back to his face.

Still, not a word was spoken. All Ranka did was stare, her intentions not even known to herself. All she really wanted was a place for her to sit and read her letter without any disturbance, but she stumbled upon another person, a person who was now her priority. That is the way she always functioned. When she meets a new person, everything else becomes secondary so she can sit and examine every part of them. Ranka always was able to get a person right on the head after only a first meeting. Her forever watching eyes still had yet to let her down. She is convinced that they never will.

So that is what Ranka did. She watched with her hawk like eyes. She got a sense from the boy, a Aura if you will. She sees his expressions, she sees his frustrations about something, what that something was she wasn't exactly sure. However it was there. He seemed to be angry - no, just plan annoyed - with the someone or something. Ranka took a guess that it was the people here at the school. She gets annoyed by them easily too. though, to be honest she prefers not to actually verbally say how annoyed she is, it will prevent a lot of drama and unnecessary name calling and fights.

But this boy was robbed. Right out from under his nose. By the way things where going she guessed it was by someone he trusted, or knew - someone close to him? Maybe? She couldn't be sure, but he wasn't too pleased. She guessed it was something that he liked a lot about himself. She knew it was a part of him. Not his heart, not anything along those lines. She assumed it might be his artistic spark. Seeing as he has a sketch pad right there with him, and he was looking into the distance in a frustrated manner. IT was a reasonable assumption.

"Stay still." Ranka arched her eyebrow as she watched him start to move his wrist around. "I don't take orders" she mumbled, her voice mellow and laid back as it always was. And though she didn't take orders, she still stood still, and didn't move. She has had practice in this area. there was nothing but the sound of the sketching of the pencil, and when he had finished, Ranka let out a large breath, pushing a stray piece of Blond hair form her eyes, and just watched him more. She didn't dare say much more.

She's got Misery's company.

[Pierce James]

Although he'd finished his drawing and was completely satisfied with it, Pierce's frustration hadn't gone away. The whole Aaryn-Moretti situation was going to irritate him for however long it lasted. Hell, it'd probably bother him for the rest of Aaryn and his relationship. It was upsetting to think that he'd wasted so much time with her, thinking she actually felt something for him. He breathed a closed-mouth sigh, his shoulders relaxing a bit. Oh well. He didn't really expect the relationship to get serious, anyway.

After a few moments, he looked at the girl in front of him, who was just staring at him. It didn't bother him, oddly enough. Maybe she was curious as to why he'd told her to stay still; he knew he certainly would be. He didn't miss her quiet objection to his request when he'd started drawing, but didn't bother to respond. He didn't think he gave her an order, and he certainly didn't expect her to follow it if she didn't want to.

He shifted his position slightly, looking her over. She looked normal- as far as normal could go, anyway. She was clutching a piece of paper, something personal most likely. She'd brought in a book of sorts. He didn't bother to look any further into it. She was around his age, small, pale, and looked as if she had something to do or say, but wasn't going to. She was quiet- obviously, which was a nice change in contrast to Aaryn.

She seemed to be analyzing him as well. He didn't exactly understand how she could get much from him sitting still in a tower. However, as stated before, it didn't bother him. He was used to getting analyzed by now. He had to attend therapy sessions before the damn government put him with a foster family to make sure he wasn't disturbed. Pfft. Everyone these days was disturbed in their own little ways.

So, basically for the next few minutes, Pierce stared at her in a similar way to how she was staring at him. He wasn't thinking anything complex or trying to figure out who she was, what her intentions were or why she was here so late at night. Perhaps she was like him and just didn't want to be around people, but what did he care. As long as she didn't try to analyze every single aspect of him, she could stay there as long as she wanted. He wouldn't be the one to start up a conversation.

Leaning his head against the wall, Pierce's gaze wandered back to the opening in the wall. He was content with silence, and felt rather relaxed as his mind slowly cleared of problems in his social life, his stress seeming to disappear. He knew it would come back, though. Maybe he was just getting tired. Hell if he cared, this would probably the single most calm time he would have for a while. A thought crept into his mind. Without looking to the girl, he hopefully was not disturbing her one sided staring contest. He muttered quietly to her, his voice in no way forceful, holding a soft tone to it.

"It wasn't meant to be an order." His statement reminded him of a child's defense against an accusation.