Ripley gave a sharp rap on the door of the Principal's office, back straight and brow furrowed. For others, the dilemma of being in a magic army was almost trivial, but to Ripley Quinn, it was like being asked to murder. She folded her arms across her chest as she waited, her dark, intelligent eyes locked on the door in front of her. The door didn't seem so scary anymore. Neither did this school, with its lovely Victorian-esque architecture and camaraderie of fellow magic-wielders. 

Ripley felt her long fingers start to tap impatiently on her arm, and forced them to still. She could practically [I]feel[/I] the weight of being in an army, and rolled her slender shoulders to rid herself of the uncomfortable phantom sensation. In spite of her rather calm exterior, her mind was whirling in a silent cacophony of attempting to figure out what she could do to get herself out of this one.