The murmurs grew louder, the words of which Kasa could only figure out in a series of disjointed moments. Fine lines formed between her eyebrows, preaching her obvious irritation and impatience. Was the outside world this barbaric? She opened her eyes to look around, catching a few unappealing faces – likely humans – before they landed on a student with an unusual hair colour of deep purple. Well, her pink hair was just as strange in the first place. It would appear that other students had emptied a path for him, but it was in the way he moved that intimidated her. Never had she seen someone radiate with the confidence of a venerable prince, and at the same time, one who seemed to make certain that everybody was aware of it.
Perhaps people would think a prince must have manners, or at least be the epitome of what is upright and graceful. Kasa did not agree – such an individual could be as ill mannered as an unruly child if he cannot afford to give another person little respect. To be mannered is to rise above all situations with grace, and to take pleasure in being able to do common behaviour in a way that most people cannot. Even as she thought such things, she found herself torn by her nature. She could sense he was no ordinary vampire, and she felt compelled to pay her respect. Alas, she can only hope the paths of such unnatural people do not cross hers lest she would be convinced to mend her ways for the worse.
She kept her handkerchief as she turned away to face the stage again. The murmurs slowly faded when someone began to tap on the microphone. A customary welcome was said and repeated, but shrill reverberations entered and left a sting in her ears, which did not leave for quite some time. Whenever it did leave, she was not quite sure if she was indulging in the aftermath of temporary deafness, or if her mind had been condemned hollow from confusion. Her eyes focused on the suspect of her short-lived pain, who she can only assume to be the Headmaster of the academy. He left nothing to her impression, his fiery hair a tad bit distracting under the light that borrowed its life on the stage. As he spoke diplomatic verses and expectations, she gave her utmost attention, noticing first that he did not have the decency to even introduce himself. How was she to know he was truly the Headmaster?
She afforded a soft sigh before hearing her name filter through the mild silence of the auditorium. She raised her arm to match the name to its rightful face. Other names followed – two of which were familiar surnames, Kuran and Hiō. It would be quite easy to seek those two by following her sensation of imposed modesty. Perhaps it can be safe to assume that the prince of vanity earlier was Hiō Zen. A frown marred her delicate visage, which she quickly covered with a gentle tap of her fingertips. It disappeared the moment she lowered her hand, but even a small smile did not rescue the frustration darkening her gaze. She knew all too well that fate sang misfortune more often than favour for mortals.
Perhaps people would think a prince must have manners, or at least be the epitome of what is upright and graceful. Kasa did not agree – such an individual could be as ill mannered as an unruly child if he cannot afford to give another person little respect. To be mannered is to rise above all situations with grace, and to take pleasure in being able to do common behaviour in a way that most people cannot. Even as she thought such things, she found herself torn by her nature. She could sense he was no ordinary vampire, and she felt compelled to pay her respect. Alas, she can only hope the paths of such unnatural people do not cross hers lest she would be convinced to mend her ways for the worse.
She kept her handkerchief as she turned away to face the stage again. The murmurs slowly faded when someone began to tap on the microphone. A customary welcome was said and repeated, but shrill reverberations entered and left a sting in her ears, which did not leave for quite some time. Whenever it did leave, she was not quite sure if she was indulging in the aftermath of temporary deafness, or if her mind had been condemned hollow from confusion. Her eyes focused on the suspect of her short-lived pain, who she can only assume to be the Headmaster of the academy. He left nothing to her impression, his fiery hair a tad bit distracting under the light that borrowed its life on the stage. As he spoke diplomatic verses and expectations, she gave her utmost attention, noticing first that he did not have the decency to even introduce himself. How was she to know he was truly the Headmaster?
She afforded a soft sigh before hearing her name filter through the mild silence of the auditorium. She raised her arm to match the name to its rightful face. Other names followed – two of which were familiar surnames, Kuran and Hiō. It would be quite easy to seek those two by following her sensation of imposed modesty. Perhaps it can be safe to assume that the prince of vanity earlier was Hiō Zen. A frown marred her delicate visage, which she quickly covered with a gentle tap of her fingertips. It disappeared the moment she lowered her hand, but even a small smile did not rescue the frustration darkening her gaze. She knew all too well that fate sang misfortune more often than favour for mortals.
● ● ●
“You’re a star,” Rigen said to super-sunshine Unmei after her dramatic entrance. She went her way to find seats, but as he was about to follow, he took in the different scents that polluted his immediate perception. He could have sworn that the mixture of sweat and faint perfume was not pleasant, yet he could not avoid the infection taking over the chambers of his nostrils. In his nervous assumption, he tried to force a sneeze out to remove the spirits of these false monsters, but they continued to linger and consume his effort to futility. They were going to stay for a while, it seems, and he felt pre-emptively defeated from the inescapability. It was not the scent itself that he thought was unappealing, but the idea of combining natural and artificial modes of body scent was never meant to be. And something that was never meant to be should stick to the rules and understand what never means.
He shrugged off the thought, and discovered that Unmei was not within sight. As he was about to weave his way through the clutter of people, a voice pulled everyone’s attention, and forced him into a standstill, arms pressed to his sides like a soldier about to march. There were plenty of words said, and he honestly did not have the patience to listen or to pretend that it was going to help his stay in this place. It easily made him bored to care for common things. He pulled his hands to his back, gripping the wrist of his left arm with the other hand. Slowly, he brought his weight on his heels, and started to sway back and forth. Someone raised a hand – a pink-haired girl named Kasa – after his name was mentioned in a salad of names that held little meaning to him at present. But how lucky he was that Unmei was in his group!
He searched for the traces of blonde hair, but cold air and a sharp tongue interrupted him from a spot not too far from him. Unmei had bumped into someone, who did not seem the least bit pleased with the collision. The person told Unmei to clear the path in words that sounded like it bordered warning and distaste. Rigen did not want to get involved, but it does not seem right to abandon Unmei in the clutches of a purple embodiment of evil. When he was about to initiate his approach, a cloud of pink glided towards the two, and it took a few seconds for him to register it was another member of his group. “Hiō-sama,” Kasa said, her tone subtle but respectful. She lowered her head, but did not linger in the gesture any more than a few seconds. She took a few steps backwards to open a path for this Hiō guy. Rigen could not see her face, but it seemed like she was looking at the floor. He started towards their direction, his gait imitating the movement of a buoyant feather. “How dare you leave me, Unmei-san!” he said with a wide smile.
He shrugged off the thought, and discovered that Unmei was not within sight. As he was about to weave his way through the clutter of people, a voice pulled everyone’s attention, and forced him into a standstill, arms pressed to his sides like a soldier about to march. There were plenty of words said, and he honestly did not have the patience to listen or to pretend that it was going to help his stay in this place. It easily made him bored to care for common things. He pulled his hands to his back, gripping the wrist of his left arm with the other hand. Slowly, he brought his weight on his heels, and started to sway back and forth. Someone raised a hand – a pink-haired girl named Kasa – after his name was mentioned in a salad of names that held little meaning to him at present. But how lucky he was that Unmei was in his group!
He searched for the traces of blonde hair, but cold air and a sharp tongue interrupted him from a spot not too far from him. Unmei had bumped into someone, who did not seem the least bit pleased with the collision. The person told Unmei to clear the path in words that sounded like it bordered warning and distaste. Rigen did not want to get involved, but it does not seem right to abandon Unmei in the clutches of a purple embodiment of evil. When he was about to initiate his approach, a cloud of pink glided towards the two, and it took a few seconds for him to register it was another member of his group. “Hiō-sama,” Kasa said, her tone subtle but respectful. She lowered her head, but did not linger in the gesture any more than a few seconds. She took a few steps backwards to open a path for this Hiō guy. Rigen could not see her face, but it seemed like she was looking at the floor. He started towards their direction, his gait imitating the movement of a buoyant feather. “How dare you leave me, Unmei-san!” he said with a wide smile.