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[@Krayzikk] [@HereComesTheSnow] [@Kaithas] [@Crimmy][/center]

By sixth period, even someone as indefatigably amped as Lauren found herself starting to tire of the whole school routine. After the stretch of more traditional courses that served as the meat of her morning between combat class and lunch, Lauren found herself once again lapsing, taken prisoner by a pattern that dominated most of the first third of her day and now threatened to do the same to her second. The heart of her sudden lethargy was simple - she just kind of knew everything.

Now, that could certainly be the power of black excellence talking. In fact, it probably was. Definitely. 

But that was also a problem. The majority of her day was devoted to things she already knew how to do, things that with a likelihood bordering on total fucking certainty she probably [i]didn't[/i] want to do. Lunch was an exception to the rule. So was combat class, where Ben had first piqued her interest - a lot like someone bungling the fuck out of your order at a restaurant before you realize it tastes better than your old favorite. Trying the other white meat, [color=8882be][i]if ya will.[/i][/color]

But Armory? Survival? She could have made As in those classes back when she was young enough to finesse niggas with Charl-E-Cheezie tokens. 

Rich kids thought they were gold doubloons. Pirate movies were all the rage back when Lauren was growing up, and she had a keen eye for kids who wanted to reenact their favorite movie scenes. You tell a kid that they can go ahead and play pirate with real treasure, and they'll part with all the allowance they think to ask their parents for. Why not? Always more where that came from.

And as long as they kept paying, Lauren could say the same for her "doubloons."

Anyway, that was the whole point. These were skills Lauren had picked up long before her time at Beacon, and they were things she usually practiced in more exciting situations than those jury-rigged by the professors. Practice would have no doubt been the same story. The new class, though, had the potential to be a different story. She'd heard Luke extolling its virtues with the same dogged optimism she had come to expect from someone who extolled Krillin as the world's strongest human. It was taught in a lecture hall, of all things, and was supposed to be a pretty theory-driven course, combining honest know-how with room to practice. Lauren didn't have much to do with Dust in terms of combat style, and even if she had, there was always something to be learned from new applications. 

After all, Lauren wasn't above the chance to try and use the ol' noodle. With most of her team in the same class to worship her, she would probably be a wet noodle at that, too.

When she slipped into the hall, the windswept black beauty wore a synthesis of two different styles, the maroon-and-black blazer and skirt of Beacon Academy over a black t-shirt and leggings. Her hair was still ruffled into tufts that fell along her deep green eyes, resembling Luke's save for the fluffiness in place of the Shiroyaman's scruffiness. She was still wearing the stolen cap from Survival class with a vaguely familiar looking badge in place of a wing insignia. Her tongue was running along the inside of her bottom lip, where she'd scrawled something with a neon lavender marker.

[color=8882be][i]AIR LAUREN[/i][/color]

There was no seat free between Ben and Luke, but there was one free between Ben and Amy. Lauren's backpack received that chair of high honor for itself, hanging from the back of the chair by a strap and revealing a nudge of the con artist's white jacket, wrapped around a vaguely rectangular package. Lauren plopped down into the chair herself, but it was only for appearances. Both of her legs were slung over Ben's lap, with one arm around his neck and her body pressed up against the side of his. It was a lax position, tilted back, but Lauren made it look as casual and ergonomic as the ramrod posture of a copy typist.

Her eyes found the instructor, widening as her seat shrank the gap between the one to its right.

[color=8882be]"[i]Yoooo, no way,[/i]"[/color] Lauren whistled, her voice a breathy whisper that carried to her assembled friends. [color=8882be]"No fucking shit. [i]Aaaaaaaaah.[/i] This little bitch helped me know I was [i]gay.[/i]"[/color]