[center]
[img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjExNi44NzU1YjkuUzNWeWRDQk5iM0psZEhScC4wAAAAAA,,/gallaudet.regular.png[/img]

[b][color=#946aba]17/ Male/ Punk[/color][/b]
[color=#946aba][b]Location:[/b][/color][color=#d4d0d8] Hallway[/color]
[color=#946aba][b]Tags:[/b][/color][color=#d4d0d8] Brody[/color][/center]

Upon seeing that no futher blood would be shed, the crowd began to disperse in disappointment. Kurt was slumped, half conscious, against the lockers, his nose bleeding all down the front of his crisp, white shirt. He felt nauseated and hot. 

Then, a familiar voice began to pull him back out. Kurt groaned, his gutteral voice even worse sounding with the gurgle of blood in the back of his throat. He opened his eyes and turned to see Brody, one of his best friends, sitting next to him. His words floated around Kurt's head like he was hearing it from a different room, but the boy's presence gave him something solid to focus on. Slowly, the hazy fog began to dissipate. 

Kurt just registered what Brody had been saying. The nurse's office? He shook his head. He avoided it like the plague. She would undoubtedly try to call his non-existent parents. 

He followed Brody's advise and pinched his nose with one bony hand, then signed with the other. 

[I]"Can you help me to the bathroom?"[/i] He grunted as he tried to stand on shaky legs. No doubt his blood sugar was desperately low. But he scored that five bucks, though. The jocks had scurried off and forgotten to get it back. Kurt didn't intend on reminding them either.