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[@Krayzikk] [@NaraK][/center]

Lauren was only spatially aware of her colonizer mule boy shuttling her back to the Bastille dorm, likely so she could enjoy the benefits of white dick and someone to do her homework for her. She was still wrapped up in ideas on how to stop Diamond Frost's clock discreetly, hopefully - but not necessarily - through an intermediary. She was hung up on the image of a good nail bomb, personally. The little bitch had the pencil neck for it; it would soak up a lot of shrapnel, leave the bitch with more nails through it than a voodoo doll. Make her a san-[i]terrrrrrri-[/i]a piece.

There was a girl who loved her who would have happily done it. That was dependent on her finding out about Lauren's survival and not going out of her way to kill her too, though, so maybe a late-night [color=8882be]"u up"[/color] wouldn't fly so hot...

Or maybe it would. Like she'd told Luke, it was always best to just shoot your shot. Especially if the target had an untraceable baseball bat that could pulverize Diamond with Dust crystals, too. That was what the poets of the streets called an [i]ironic touch.[/i] Ali was like that - like if everything had gone [i]wrong[/i] for Estelle Nuit. [color=8882be][i]Heeee.[/i][/color]

Lauren was quiet, contemplating, as they left the Dust Apps classroom.

Cap was getting bold as fuck shuttling her around the halls like this, wasn't he? People would get ideas. And then she'd have to implement those ideas on him, like a camp counselor in the night.

[color=8882be]"Where we going? Do you know where Sangue is, Cap? Are we all meeting up?"[/color] Lauren began to fidget in Ben's grasp, legs wrapped around him as she gyrated to the sides, the motions somewhat unfamiliar now that she had trapped herself in a uniform. [color=8882be]"Are we?"[/color]

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To deter Bianca, Jericho had set off a couple flashbang traps at critical points in the faculty locker room connected to the Practice classroom.

Then he decided to shower before meeting his new team.

[color=9e0b0f][i]Flapjacks.[/i][/color]

God damn it. He'd been a heavenly knight a week ago.

He'd gone from kitchen wench to goddamn Miss Buttersworth.

Rich would be laughing at him from his perch in Atlas, until he learned where groceries came from and how much time it took to get them.

The hot water beat onto his forehead, rhythmic, helping him brood.