[@Crimmy]

[color=7ea7d8][u][b]Conall Linumbienne[/b][/u][/color]

With [color=9e0039][i]Luin Celtchear[/i][/color] at rest upon his shoulder, the blue man of the Emerald Isles sat in a pondering silence. As his crimson eyes stared a fair hole into the curtains of the stage central to the ampitheatre, quickly filling up with more students than Conall could count, he instead considered something more important than the answer to the inevitable question of [color=0076a3][i]"Who all's there?"[/i][/color] that would come over the phone from his Mum.

It was a subtle thing.

Not the school, of course— Beacon Academy was the very opposite of subtle. With spires that scraped the heavens themselves, and elegant arches carved into high stone walls of a grey that almost appeared white, the crown jewel of Vale was [i]absolutely[/i] impossible to miss. It damn near dwarfed Conall's hometown, for God's sake! A culchie lad like himself couldn't even begin to miss it— In fact, the size and grandeur inspired nothing but awe. 

Beacon Academy was fecking gargantuan, see? Go way outta that, of course it's not subtle. In fact, seeing one place so huge nearly put his heart crossways— Schools the size of a village? Like hen's teeth.

Utterly ridiculous.

No, what he'd been mulling over was more metaphorical, more philosophical.

Mainly, what this enormous school represented. The emotion it carried— Not quite like the raw manic frenzy a good fight left in him, but something that lurked beneath the surface, lingering in the atmosphere more than the blood.

It was all around them— A rarefied, almost electric air that you never felt for donkey's years. The kind that only existed when you had a bunch of blow-ins from all 'round the kingdom in one spot, waiting for the biggest changes of their lives—

Or very well the beginning of new ones. Sure, many were happy out about it, many were a few screws short, and many were scared enough to want to head on arseways, but that dose of raw excitement was goin' round.

He liked the feeling, he decided, and it drew out one of his signature smirks that he tossed the way of one purple-haired lass he'd sat next to— Marsail Cirsium, who had the closest thing to a familiar face around.

[color=7ea7d8]"So they like making sure we all have a whale of a time getting oriented, huh?"[/color]