Skylar Donovan
Earbuds muffling outward distractions, Skylar was careful not to headbutt into anyone even remotely inclined to hand out shock therapy – or worse, third-degree burns. Problem was, that feat was easier said than done, and after narrowly missing one such magical “accident” by a hair (seriously, she was glad having those stunning reflexes) she anxiously, and hastily, navigated herself to where she wasn't surrounded by fellow magic Joes. Not that creepy ghost-hallyways were any better, but, y'know, between playing frogger with mages-to-be who created a tornado if they so much as sneezed, and spending a fifteen minute detour through some dusty ol' hallway – The latter seemed all the more appealing (and less bothersome).
And so with new-found quiet, Skylar resumed her initial intent to take a look at this “Magic Combat 101” business. And maybe try to muster up some motivation while she's at it, too. Like, what, did they really expect students to take this combat thing seriously? Clearly this wasn't just for fun, or at least somewhere deep down Skylar prayed this wasn't going to be another one of those school-activities where they try to enforce some kind of class-community motive. Though in hindsight, it may as well be.
Schools had a tendency to take the nature of group-mentality to an almost religious devotion, like it was the next best thing discovered since sliced bread. Funnily enough the opposite was true with anxious individuals the likes of Skylar. Add her usual lacklustre and brash retorts to that and you can see why this kid never made any friends in high school.
'Beats flicking cashew nuts, s'pose,' With a shrug, Skylar took a small note of the class title plastered on the door before inching inside; careful not to set off any suspicion from the already present students, whom she gave a passing glance (and not much else) as she took up residence at one of the desks in the back of the room.