Survival Of The Fittest

O.O.C: Feel free to mosey on by and throw up a good paragraph about your person on their way to class...it's kinda like that hallway deal at Bathurst. But with these two stooges.

 Nich and Andrew sat back against the black railing, the only thing keeping them from tumbling off the ledge of the second floor and smashing their craniums on the stone floor below. They were sharing a joint a little while ago, and had now rolled the roach so many times it very well might have been a world record. Nich was much more about his wits than his cohort at the moment, and made sure to keep an eye out for any faculty passing by. The bell rang; time to pack up shop and get to...uh...shop. Heehee, pack up shop and get to shop. Heheheh...Nich nudged Andrew, who was kind of a lightweight when it came to...well...anything, and the two of them headed down the stairs to get to...what period was it? Sheeeit...Upon their descent Andrew stumbled a little, probably from a headrush. He'd been sitting on his ass for about an hour or so. Nich had to catch him before he ran headlong into a student apparently early for their next class.

 "Woah shit, sorry," he chuckled, pulling Andrew along with him to help him down the second set. "Watch where you're going, dilhole!" he laughed and punched Andrew in the shoulder, who retaliated with a jab of his own. They traded light shots down the stair set and dissappeared out the door.

((continued in Another Day In Homeroom))

A greasy young man sat at the stairwell wearing a millitary style headset, he wasn't even bothering going to class, as it was a study hall, better known as a period where no one gives a shit where you are, he began broadcasting a message over the public channel.
"Anyone got a Bowie CD I can liberate from them?" he said, chattering could be heard from the headset in response "Bring it to Hobbsborough, I'll be headed to the workshop."
With that he picked up his stuff and headed off to the workshop.

((Continued in: Another Day in Homeroom...))

Garry limped slowly up the stairs. Ever since he was injured he began to view stairs as the worst thing in the history of mankind. "Shit!" He tripped and landed on his shin. "Mother fukin' son of a-" He stopped talking. This was half of a catholic school, he reminded himself. The pain was intense to the point he just wanted to cry out and hurt something, anything. It hadn't been a good day for Garry. He was half an hour late and had missed most of whatever it was they were teaching. God, I can't even remember what it was; he thought.
He picked himself off the ground, gathered the contents of his binder, and began to head off to the next set of stairs, when he bumped into someone. He wore baggy pants, had his hat stupidly to the side, and had a gold chain. Great, another steryotipical punk, probably going outside to get high and plan to beat up some nerd after. "Jerk" Garry muttered. "What was that you just said, cockface?" Garry turned around and looked him straight in the eye. He towered over him at 6'3" while the punk was about 5'10" "I said jerk, jerk, now what are you going to do about it?" The punk threw a punch but got a swift kick in the crotch. Garry headed to his next class. His day seemed to be looking up.

((Continued from: Another Day in Homeroom...))

As Paris walked down the stairs toward the entrance of the school other kids were walking by. He had no time to deal with anyone, he just needed to go relax and mend this horrific scar upon his face. As Paris thoughtviscious things about the people he just faced and the fight that just happened he didn't focus and where he was going. Paris didn't know what happened in the next instant but he accidentally bumped into some person on his way down. As if Adam and the other unpopulars didn't annoy him enough, now this idiot had bumped into him.

"Watch where the hell your going!" snapped Paris as he shot a nasty viper glare at the male he bumped into. Paris didn't waste ten seconds on him, after his glare he continued his way down the stairs.

Garry looked at the scar upon Paris' face, and heard the announcement "Paris Persphone come to the office." Garry Glared at Paris. He raised his right arm and delivered a huge blow to the back of Paris' head..
He had heard about the fight on his way out of class, one of his classmates walked past when it happened. Garry had met Adam Amato, and found him to be a nice person. Paris fell all the way down the stairs, and Garry grabbed him by the collar, lifted him up and kneed him in the face, still keeping his hand on him so he wouldn't fall down. He slammed him into the wall, punched him around seven times in the gut, then hit him in the nose with his forearm, that had been augmented with steel. He felt and heard his nose crack. He then picked him up and threw him against the ground. He had enough fighting, now the humiliation. He grabbed his limp leg and dragged him through the hallway. Even though he was partially crippled, he still had alot of size on Paris. There was staring, and laughing. Paris was barely concious and couldn't do much to get up. Garry eventually arrived at the corner to the office. He let go of Paris' leg, and stomped multiple times on his chest. He then dragged him into the office. "Is this who you asked for?" Before the secretary could say anything, he stormed out.

((Continued in: Garry's Sanctuary))

OOC: I've got to interject just to point something out - Shiola, make sure that when you're attacking and whatnot - you've got to make sure that you're not taking control of the other person's character. This is what is called godmoding. A lot of time, it works a lot better to say something like:

"Sarah jumped at Chad, knife at the ready, hoping that her slash would cut his throat and release the goodies that it held within."

as opposed to:

"Sarah jumped at Chad and cut his throat wide open with her knife, laughing maniacally as his blood spilled all over her, giving her the impression that she was some demonic woman who enjoyed bathing in the blood of innocents. Chad collapsed to the floor, gurgling."

While both might be well written, one declares INTENT, while the other takes CONTROL. You want to make sure that you're always declaring intent. It sometimes makes for slower action, but it gives the person you're RPing with a chance to defend themselves.

Carry on.

Paris didn't even have time to react, as he was suddenly brutally beat up by this person. Paris had already became unconsious after the millionth bash on the wall. In his blank mind all he could think of is how he was reduced to this all of a sudden. So what if he beat up someone? People beat each other up all the time! Paris sweared that if anyone pulled what Adam pulled than they would pay dearly.

In his dreams Paris already started his plans of revenge, revenge is the key word of the day. As the nurse started to quickly call an ambulance to take him to the hospital, blood trickled its way down onto Paris's cloths. This deed would definatly not go unpunished, this punk out of nowhere thinks he can belittle him and have the nerve to beat the hell out of him?

Already his mind began to twist and turn at the possibilities of vengence for hurting his beautiful face, not to mention body. His  beautiful beautiful face, how can anyone do this? Unforgivable, completley unforgivable! The pain was not the concern, what was Paris's concern was how he was going to cause pain to Garry....

((Continued in: A Prince's Recovery))

Liney was fucking scared. He shivered as he had watch this kid go smacking the bloody hell out of this other twat. It was like one of those wrestling shows, only this wasn't a ring, but a flight of jagged "up-down-up-downs". He watch as the kid dargged the other kid away, almost as if he had boosted down a giant lion, literally.
"Seems like something really fucked up happens here everyday..."

He had heard about the girl dying in a restroom sometime earlier that week, but it wasn't like he really cared who. It was enough to make him wanna barf at how sick this school was. he did wish he could have gone to a private school, but there was no fun in not being able to be near districts. he had to have publicity around him.

"Doo-lee-doo, this is one crazed madhouse. First a girl dies, next I watch some boy get turned into a shake. Ballocks."

He fumbled around with his backpack to try and pull out a camera. It was one of the shiney siver ones that made other people feel like they weren't good enough to use it. Gadets, gizmos, lalala. He knew he was meant to have this camera. Fit his hands and made him feel warm inside looking through the glass-eyed scope.

"Oh my, it seems there was a detective on the case," he laughed with a sick farcery in his voice. "He took out his trusty Abelia, the camera of truth! And then, he approached the scene..."

He came upon the slide marks of blood, marks on the stair and other such disturbing pictures. "And he caught them for one purpose... JUSTICE!"

Liney wide-eyed and skeptic knew that this kid was just another result of violent beating or something. It was always one of those monlogues about how their mom shit on their face when they were babes or some crap.

"I can just see this on the channel 5 news now... 'Local teen beats living shit outta another local teen. Who gives a damn but this kid was raised by antelopes and then told to eat his human kind by dragging them off to a den of pure blood...' yeah, right." He made sure the pictures were saved then made sure to get the hell outta the scene.

"Now, to tell authorities? Hmmm, who? Yeah, I know... nothing could make this better. they're probably on their way. I mean, think about it Liney, dragging a whole pack o' meat ain't obviously the most sincere thing to see walking down this side of hell." He then stuff the camera in his backpack once more and wiped his shoes on the cleaner bit of the floor, just in case he'd gotten some on it.

"So, seems like more's to come... better get Abeila better film." he walked off mumbling something or not about putting shit on My Space.

((Continued in: Grade Eleven Blues...))