[b]Amaranth Desree - Wishing She'd Skill-Dumped Craft Weapon[/b]

It hadn’t been a good night.

Amy’d somehow managed to not sleep enough and simultaneously oversleep, waking up halfway through second period and feeling dreadful enough to not bother going to third. It wasn’t a headache this time--she honestly wished it was that, she’d actually bought Tylenol this time so it wouldn’t be that hard to deal with. No, this was the far more serious ailment of Wisteria-itis, caused by extremely unexpected overexposure to her mother. She was exactly the same as Amy remembered apart from being 15 years older, though Amy understood her far better now.

It did not, however, mean she liked her anymore than she had.

Her mother had ended up gushing about other relatives, who her father was, everything under the sun. She had a half-sister one who went to the school and shared a few classes with her, but that’d she’d never spoken to. Her father was a Hunter, too, evidently she’d inadvertently stumbled into the family business.

[i]Well, the family business that didn’t involve one-night stands and dubious methods of protection, Mom.[/i]

Armory was generally therapeutic, though. The Fury needed to be cleaned and rethreaded--despite how robust its construction was, it wasn’t built to wholly decapitate a Manticore in one go, even with Ben’s sword having done over half the work. She might as well get started on integrating it with her new project, anyway, she’d finished calibrating the jump jets and it’d take some time to work the sleeves in with the armor. Any work she could do with her hands or math she could distract her brain with would be good. 

So she’d managed to get herself out of bed, eat a quick lunch, then thunk down into the seat next to Lauren’s right as the bell rang and Chatsworth gave them their assignments. Or, rather, lack thereof. She pulled the sleeves of the Fury out of her backpack and put them on the bench, grabbing a screwdriver and opening up the side of the right sleeve.

There was a whine, a spark, and 20 feet of the chain geysered out of the side panel, going 3 feet in the air before piling itself in a tangle on the desk.

[color=E52B50]"Fan-####ing-tastic."[/color]