get your killer heels

Go away! You're annoying! You're making me mad! Just by looking at you! -- affiliated with asof --

[lightfieldmonster]

Royal Entry

After days upon days of tedious security processes, she’d finally made it out of the Millennium. A princess? At a civilian school? It was, of course, unheard of. But in an agreement between her mother and the school, she’d been able to come here sans accompaniment. No bodyguards, no attendants, no nothing.

Serenity— no, Chibiusa, to save some royal face— wasn’t sure of the specifics, but her parents promised something in return for the ensurance of Chibiusa’s privacy. Of course, it was hard to preserve poor Chibiusa’s anonymity when all of her luggage was emblazoned with the royal symbol of the White Moon, plus her full name written in elegant script by a handmaid on every luggage tag: Usagi Small Lady Serenity. It was more than a little embarrassing.

She really didn’t even remember what dorm it was. Was it B-1? No wait, it was C-1. She pulled her luggage cart towards the dormitory, little plastic wheels wiggling and clicking as it rumbled over the sidewalk— well, until one of her little wheels popped off and flew somewhere. She didn’t whip her head around quick enough to tell which way it went… and there was really no chance in hell she was going to be able to carry four full size trunks the rest of the way to the dormitories. Instant panic.

"Aaahh… where did it go…" She left the cart where it lay, combing the bushes for the little silver wheel.

[quaternaries-blog]

Having finally accomplished the rather daunting task of lugging all of her luggage (was THAT why they called it luggage. ha ha, very funny.) all the way to her new home in dorm C-1, Clover had figured she'd use the remainder of the day wandering around the campus. After all, she had places to go and people to see.

So, with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized sweater and her cheeks puffed out in contemplation, Clover had set out back on the path she'd just finished traversing, turning her head to and fro to get a better look at her surroundings.

All things considered, it was pretty scenic. She hadn't really stopped to admire the view while breaking her back in an attempt to transport all of her belongings, but the campus was... Nice. Nice and wide open. Picturesque, too. The pathways were cobblestone and well-cleaned, and lined with shrubberies and flowers and girls sticking out of bushes.

Having spotted a girl crawling around on her hands and knees, looking pretty darn urgent and flustered, Clover paused mid-stride and tilted her head to the side. A few trotting steps and Clover was at the girl's side, her face curious.

"Didja lose something?" With her hands still in her pockets, Clover bent over at an angle, cocking her head to get a better look at the hunched over girl. "Hey, uhhm." While stalling the end of her sentence due to a loss for words (namely, a name), she turned her head to look at said girl's luggage, thinking that there might be a nametag of some sorts there. -- Instead, all she saw was a long phrase that looked like it was something out of a shoujo manga.

Wrong universe, bucko.

Clover shrugged and fell silent, thinking that it was probably just the brand name of the other girl's luggage as she swiveled her head back towards said other girl. Despite her apparent interest in the latter's plight, Clover showed few to no signs of actually bending over and helping the poor girl look for whatever-it-was that had flown off into the unknown. What a pal.

[quaternaries-blog]

revisions - ✤ { open to student council members!

This is the fourth time her eyes have glossed over and her head has nodded, even as she continues to trace words and shapes onto the paper in front of her. She draws a pretty string of loops across the edge of her paper, resulting in the phrase "Meeting minutesooooooooo" decorating her page as the header. Why anyone trusted Clover with taking the minutes was a mystery all by itself. Maybe it was because it kept her from raising her hand and suddenly interjecting with something completely unrelated ("I think we should order a pizza!" "Isn't it weird how stuffy this room is? Someone should open a window."), or maybe she liked having the authority to determine what was and wasn't necessary to transcribe. The latter would fit with her awful tendency of leaving out certain details in her reports, at least. Normally, she did her job well; her handwriting was neat and precise, and she wrote quickly. However, her penchant for being easily distracted fell an easy victim to the Gregorian chants Red was blasting across the classroom during their meeting. (She'd said something about it encouraging new ideas as she cranked up the volume with a mysterious smirk.) Clover was by no means a musical expert. She'd probably never heard Gregorian chants before in her life, nor did she even speak Latin. But this lack of knowledge or mastery didn't stop her from idly penciling in poor transcriptions of the chanting, in between jotting down facts about the budget, event planning, the student council outing. They were going to need angus lee domino nuns? Okay, Clover. Nobody said anything about nuns. By the time the meeting was finally over, half of the content Clover had written was incomprehensible at best, illegible at worst -- a frightening mold of pseudo-Latin and English. But that didn't stop her from cheerfully handing her notebook to the first person who asked to see the minutes with a bright smile on her face. "Sure, here you go!"

[detonare]

(???????? open)

The school year had began beautifully for Deidara. It’s senior year, baby! The academy is his oyster, everything’s coming up Dei, Tancho diem, all that good stuff, yadda yadda. 

Well, that’d be more accurate if things truly had been going his way. Although Deidara excelled in art and enjoyed playin’ B-BALL, if a school subject didn’t catch his interest, he wouldn’t put in the effort needed. Whatever. He wasn’t going to need Statistics, anyways. 

Instead of attending the class, he decided to spend his morning on the rooftop of one of the academy’s buildings. At least Deidara wasn’t wasting time, chilling out all anime-style on the roof—he was working on his latest “masterpiece”. There was a bucket at the blond’s feet, full to the rim with water balloons, uh, well … they were more like paint balloons at the moment, but who cares, really. 

Paint wasn’t exactly Deidara’s forte, so he decided to ditch the brushes and make the campus his canvas—this was more his style, dropping paint-bombs and watching the gaggles of students scatter below. Haha! Yeah!

Aaaaand….

SPLAT! 

[quaternaries-blog]

She stops in her tracks, a few centimeters from the blossoming purple amoeba that had fallen from the sky only seconds prior. With her lips already drawn into a thin line, Clover carefully rubs at her face with one finger, examining the purple smudge with a critical squint.

It's paint. Her gaze slowly tracks upward, following the trajectory of the paint-filled balloon up towards its launching point -- the roof. If she squints, hell, she doesn't even need to squint, she can make out the figure of a blonde boy standing by the railing of the nearest building's roof, another paint balloon already in his hand.

The "tch" hovering on the tip of Clover's tongue is clear and audible as she places her hands on her hips and leans forward, bending until her torso is parallel to the ground. Despite this loss of height to her already short stature, Clover never once took her eyes off of the boy standing on the roof, nor did the hardening of her glare ever cease.

(Of course, the purple paint dotting her face like a layer of freckles, along with the residual splashes on her shoes, did very little to benefit her attempt to seem as intimidating as possible.)

But from the way she's holding her head, cocked at a very precise angle, two things were obvious --

1. She probably practices this exact pose in front of a mirror every morning. 2. She didn't plan on moving from this spot any time soon.

There were several unspoken questions hovering in the air surrounding Clover; 'Well?', 'Got anything to say for yourself?', 'Wanna come down here and fight?'

Judging from the look in her eyes, she probably wasn't going to rest until she'd let that boy on the roof have a piece of her mind.

[parasolata-blog]

☂ sugar and spice? | open()

'Currently, I am … in my office! Come say hello!'

[parasolata-blog]

So sayeth the whiteboard hanging on Sybil’s door, at least. Said door is open just barely, and the sound of rapid typing floats out into the adjourning hallway, supported by the faint strains of an unfamiliar piece of music.

(It’s probably some sort of retro music, from some old long out of fashion alternative band that nobody knows the name of. But at the same time, it does sound oddly familiar to anyone who hears it.)

Sybil herself sits at her desk, her back ramrod straight and her posture the complete image of ergonomic perfection as she types away.

Her office is very homely, with soft cushioned chairs positioned around a dainty table. A small dish of individually wrapped chocolate candies sits atop the table, and although the type of sweet differs from day to day, Sybil’s ‘take as many as you’d like’ policy has lead to many a bulging pocket for many a student. The office itself smells sort of like lavender, and is lit by several lamps positioned around the interior, rather than by the harsh fluorescent light affixed to the ceiling. The resulting ambiance leads one to think that Sybil’s office is essentially an extension of her own home, a theory supported by the tea set daintily stowed away atop one of the numerous file cabinets lining the room.

The walls of her office are covered in photos and newspaper clippings; several of them seem to be taken from articles commemorating Sybil’s own achievements prior to her arrival at the academy, but an alarming number depict the academy’s very own Red, clearly in her later years. Amidst the photos and clippings are a few Tancho Academy brochures and posters, and several inspirational quotes; at least there’s some standard school counselor wall decoration fare to be found on Sybil’s office walls.

Sybil herself occasionally glances towards her slightly ajar door, watching for any signs of movement in the adjourning hallway. It’s not rare for a student seeking guidance or counseling to drop by her office at this time of day, so the guidance counselor is remaining vigilant.

What sort of (hapless) student — or staff, for that matter — will (stumble into) come and visit her (well-oiled trap) office today?

[quaternaries-blog]

Well, it says it's open.

"Excuuuuse me?" Clover knocks twice on the door, one hand already poised on the doorknob. Not one to wait for a positive response, or any sort of response at all, she's already turning the handle and halfway into the room by the time she's finished knocking.

Once inside the (kind of eerie, now that she'd taken a good look) office, Clover's eyes finally settled on the woman sitting at the computer, who had already swiveled in her chair to meet the former's gaze. A bit taken aback by the blonde's level smile, it takes Clover a moment to gather her thoughts completely.

Come to think of it, why did she come in here, in the first place? As if out of idle habit, Clover shoved her hands into her pockets before finally speaking.

"Hey, ma'am? Can you look someone up for me?"

Having cut right to the chase, Clover plops herself down onto one of the chairs conveniently positioned by the door, crosses her legs, and looks back up at the older woman expectantly. Apparently, all she wants is a simple yes or no answer.