Hawlin — Roleplayer Guild

"Je vous jure que l'horloge a arrêté au moins deux fois..."

Keepa tapped the eraser of their pencil against the otherwise blank page of their diary which sat inside a larger notebook which had pages filled with drafts of a thesis and abbreviation of an outline written sideways at the top of the page. With one hand propping their head up and elbow on the desk, the other ink black hand and arm fiddled with the pencil. The area between the elbow and shoulder was still plated, hinting to the rest having recently been cut off in a fight...the reason for being late to school, today. Thankfully, such reasons often pass because of the reality of their occurrence as well as Mr. H, Hawlaines Krail, who had stepped out for the moment while the class worked on their term papers, allowing Keepa to find a seat relatively unnoticed. Mr. H had a weird way of timing his "smoke breaks" conveniently around the time late arrivals show up. He seemed to have a great interest in the duels, and referred to Keepa's arm as his 'pass', jokingly. There were suspicions of him either being a part of, or maybe even running a gambling ring with the teachers, but the rumors were unfounded and unimportant. Keepa had managed to complete most of the preparation part of the project, so the hard part, now, was finding time out of their busy schedule of procrastinating and getting into fights over their appearance or gender.
They tentatively watched the clock, face boredly smooshing into a funny expression as they tried to remember what time-

~Ringidingring!~

The sudden, unexpected bell jolted Keepa out of their daydream, their hand flicking the pencil into the air and sticking into a ceiling panel out of surprise. Everyone else was piling out of the room and hopefully nobody saw. Quickly packing up to make their escape, Keepa couldn't help but notice that the hand had wasted the rest of the page with a sketch of an ouroboros. It happened more often than you'd think, often when they had a writing utensil and were daydreaming. It also didn't help that Keepa was left handed, giving the Aspect free reign on anything in its grip when the "wielder" wasn't paying attention.
Shaking their head as they stuffed everything into the messenger bag, they grumbled a soft "I wonder if anyone else has zeis sort of problem..." and headed off to lunch.

~~~~~

Pizza line...alacarte...pizza line...oh, one for main lunch- nope, pizza line.

I stood back from the swell, gauging how classmates valued their typical pizza or whatever ghastly slop they served at alacarte upon request. I, on the other hand, had eyes for another; the sleek and fit club sandwich (which I suppose was more lettuce than pepperoni and ham to account for weight), carefully wrapped and set in a pile of its brethren next to a deep pot containing the most recent batch of the soup of the day. I had lost track of the day and my hopes for clam chowder were snuffed underneath a tidal-wave of Chicken Wild Rice.
No complaints...and barely a line, to boot!
I took a moment to check the tally, finding that I had been doodling ouroburo serpents all over the section otherwise reserved for keeping count whilst daydreaming of surfing a sandwich on an ocean of soup. Gawd, I'm hungry. I would be annoyed if it wasn't so darn good at drawing with its machinelike precision which still creeped me out, sometimes. I forgave the hand and concluded that only the group's decisions would matter today, on this glorious day of chicken wild rice...if only I knew where they were. Sheathing my instruments of bookkeeping, I began to make my way across the cafeteria towards the Soup&Sandwich line.

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The Jaded

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