Alexander Academy of Excellence

The feathery sounds of flipping pages were muffled by the chit chat of the wide lunchroom, rubbing the corners of each page with his index and forefinger's pads- pale hands holding a hard book. Emil wasn't one for paperbacks, a picky detail about him. The texture of hard cover seemed more firm and "sure", whilst lithe paperback was feeble and easy to tear or break. It was almost a pet peeve, you could say.
His actions were slow and collected, leisurely taking his time to read over each and every word, digesting the vocabulary. Nonetheless, he was a quick reader, and in the matter of a minute a page would be turned attentively. His food was growing cold, he noted from his peripheral vision, eyeing the tray beside him. It honestly didn't occur to him that he'd need to eat sooner or later. He honestly didn't feel hungry, more or less thirsty all the time. Drink, drink, drink. It's why he'd carry a water bottle or two with him most of the time, however, he was wary in the classrooms. He knew not to really bring them into a classroom, in fear he'd get scolded. He wondered why he feared such, when he's gotten scolded before for something not even relevant to water bottles. Why was he even thinking about water bottles anyways? He's supposed to be reading. Maybe it was time to put down his book for awhile.
Setting it calmly in his lap, he was pressed up against the wall, not fancying eating at tables. He was fond of people, but strangers made him feel uneasy, especially having to sit with them and eat. He just prayed it wasn't a "sin" to sit against the wall. He really didn't feel like getting caught- and with having all these stupid rules too? He wouldn't get surprised if he got detention. Now it was no makeup. Expectantly, Emil didn't wear makeup, but he could tell just by the irate expressions and irritated twitches on some girl's faces, and possibly some guys, that it wasn't going well for them. He almost felt sympathy. His attention faded from the worry of getting "disciplined" and instead, he focused on gulping down water. He reached out for his drink and unscrewed the cap with a few turns and flicks before he clutched the white cap in his fist and tipped his head back, pressing the opening to his lips and chugging down water. After a few long seconds, he pulled the bottle away and sighed loudly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and resting the bottle beside him. Nothing eventful was really happening in the lunchroom, and he found himself losing interest. Perhaps he'd go back to reading.

As usual, Wulan Lestari's thought process that day was largely taken up by thoughts more or less along the lines of "Everything fucking sucks".

Shit had been goin' good. She'd thought she'd had a chance. She'd only ever done what she'd needed to do to survive-- anything and everything that entailed. Hell, given just a little while longer, Wu was certain the cops woulda simply given up and stopped giving a shit, and then she could... well, she probably wouldn't have found herself livin' the high life. But at the very least, she woulda been living at all.

Now she was the one who had given up and stopped giving a shit. They'd caught up to her. Given her a choice. Some academy in who the fuck knew where, or prison. In both cases, she'd end up with her freedom restricted, stripped of her most valued possessions and passions, hurled into an unfamiliar place that was almost certainly as dog-eat-dog as the rest of the world. The only difference was, if she went to prison, she'd'a been there a hell of a lot longer than if she just swallowed her pride and came to Alexander's Academy for Faggotry or whatever it was called.

And oh, the multifarious methods this shithole of a school employed in testing her patience. Taking her music from her was one thing. One agonising, wholly unhelpful way they went about it. Telling her she couldn't fight... shit, that was like telling a painter that they couldn't paint, or a scene kid that they couldn't whine about how nobody loves them. Some people are painters. Some people are poets. Some people are musicians. Wu? Wu was decidedly a fighter. That was her calling, as far as she could tell. Well, everybody's got their own way of contributing to society. That's mine.

... that statement made more sense the less Wu thought about it.

The Indonesian delinquent scowled, and turned her attention back to the book in her hands, sweaty from the summer haze that had infiltrated the building. This was how she wiled her days away now-- every day, she'd try and make it through her classes without headbutting somebody, and then when it was all over with at last, she'd come here, pick up a book, and read. Stay the fuck away from other people. Other people didn't do her no good. Other people would only test her patience further, provoke her into violence-- and then she'd be fucked. Then she'd be sent to prison, languishing behind bars for years, and she'd probably get shanked in her sleep by a crackhead for good measure.

Fuck, did she wanna punch somebody right now. Just-- anybody. She wanted to do violence, dammit. All this fuckin' rage and distress was building up and she had no way to get rid of it. Man, there were so many times the urge to just give everything the metaphorical finger and haul off and beat the shit outta one of the teachers was so great, Wu's fist was already pulled back for the beating when she actually stopped to think. She couldn't let herself get caught up in the moment. That was how she'd ended up here in the first place. She'd have to keep her eye on the future.

And as usual, it looked ugly as fuck.

It was another day at the Academy for the special students attending it, and of those students included a certain average looking boy. Cecil's day started the way they always have: wake up, get ready for class,a quick breakfast, then proceed forward to classrooms. His time at the academy proved to be quite different from his usual hometown routine- it's much more organized and planned with structure. Or at least it should be. The students at the school are much more unruly than those at his older school. He was already preparing for high school when out of the blue, that mayor guy walked into him just playing with the school's hamsters and declared that his actions were "borderline inhumane" and were in need of "strict rehabilitation." No matter how many times he thought about it, Cecil couldn't find anything wrong with what he did. He was only playing. Well, he was basically drowning the hamsters in the school fountain, but that's not much different than what he's been doing his whole life. And because of his actions- which again he finds were completely normal- here he was.

It's the middle of the day now, and Cecil decided to break away from his usual routine. He was getting tired of seeing the same kids get beat up and the same other kids doing the beating. Also, if he walked away now, he would have a chance of not getting beat up himself. Just as he was leaving, he noticed the older high school girls get into a small situation. A situation which was really small-scale, at least at that current stage. Someone might get beaten up, Cecil concludes, and is usually right. Eh, but who knows. Maybe things will be different today. Maybe he'd finally be accepted for once, and have someone to confide to.

... Nah.

A menacing threat pierced the table he stood near, and when Cecil shot his head upward after coming back from his thoughts, his eyes meet a crooked finger pointing at him. Didn't take more than a single breath or for the bully to complete the words "you're next" before Cecil skedaddled out of there. Ah, and as expected, the bully and his underlings gave chase. Cecil didn't even have time to get lunch: a new record at this school.

In his haste, Cecil didn't check what room he snuck into to avoid the five children coming after him. He waited a small moment and peeked his head out to check the surroundings. Damn, they're lurking around. And one kid is too close for comfort. Cecil closed the door and hid behind what he identified was a bookshelf, and sometime in the moment met the eyes of a lady with a faint scar on her face. Cecil furrowed his eyebrows and put a finger to his mouth, begging her to keep quiet. And then, the doors busted open.

"Hey, little shit, this where you at!?" The head of the group yelled out. Cecil proceeded to cover his ears and stay crouched.

The library of Alexander's Academy of Excellence was one place where you could be fairly certain you wouldn't be bothered.

One of few places, in fact-- there appeared to be quite a woeful dearth of passion for the written word 'round here, and there weren't a whole lotta folks who made a habit of visiting the library. Oh well. Their fuckin' loss, and Wu's gain. Reading was... well, it wasn't nearly as cathartic and emotionally satisfying as music, but it was still one of few reliefs that approached, if never really rivalled or surpassed, the release of violence and alcohol. There was just something about delving into a book, eschewing this life, leaving behind this existence for a new one, even if only momentarily... shit, it was hard to explain. Everybody needed a break from themselves every now and then, right? Or... maybe it was just her. Fuck if Wu knew. She had enough trouble figuring herself out to bother trying to figure out anybody else.

Torn from my state of being... choosing to be forgotten...

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Wu was 'playing' an old Suffocation song-- a perennial favourite of hers. It was a habit she'd had to get used to ever since she'd come to Some Faggot's Asscademy of Bullshit and discovered that they absolutely prohibited any and all electronic devices. CD players, cassette tape players, MP3 players (in the case of any rich fucks who happened to be capable of not only affording that shit but also the means of getting music onto it)-- all strictly forbidden by the wardens of this makeshift little prison. And thus was it that she was made to scavenge what she could recall of those songs in her own head-- one supposed she could only be grateful that whatever asshole deity may or may not have actually existed had at the very least seen fit to bless her with a memory sufficient to keep her from going psychotic for lack of the one thing that rivalled violence in terms of sheer release. After all, she'd spun old records like Intrauterine Cannibalism and Scream Bloody Gore so damn much the tunes had been practically burned right into her ear drums-- fortuitously so. She'd probably have gone off on a goddamn serial killing spree without that.

One so distant from where I was conceived, a-- wait... what?

Wu's brow furrowed-- the sound of a door opening and subsequently shutting in great haste was decidedly not part of that song. She glanced up with a bitter scowl, irritation prickling at her skin, and her eyes fell upon... a diminutive runt of a kid, just campin' out right there behind a bookcase, lookin' like he'd just fled the jaws of a damn shark. Looking at her frantically, as though he had just realised she was there, the kid raised a finger to his lips. Wu raised an eyebrow. Fuck that shit-- she didn't give a shit. She was all ready to toss the little shit right back into the jaws...

... when a thought struck her.

She'd been hankering for a fight-- granted, she'd been hankering for a fight, for booze, for smokes, and for music she could actually fucking listen to besides in her head, but she'd quickly figured out that attempts to smuggle alcohol or cigarettes 'inside', so to speak, were ultimately futile, and she wasn't even gonna start again on music. Fights were also hard to come by-- she was determined to make it outta here successfully, preferably not destined to trade out the academy for a prison cell, so she forced herself to resist the urge. But... c'mon. Here, in the library? Nobody came into the fuckin' library. Nobody'd see. If they caught on, she'd just say it was... self defence. Or hell, that she was helpin' out the kid. That'd probably work, right? Well, maybe if the staff completely forgot the kind of person Wulan was...

The doors into the library practically slammed open, and in walked a couple shitheads, lookin' just dumb as all fuck-- real alpha bully types, you could tell. Man, Wu already fuckin' hated 'em. Well, she kinda already hated most people she came across, but... well, fuck it, they were just very clearly asshats. "Hey, little shit, this where you at?" Shithead #1 called out-- behind the bookcase, Wu espied the aforementioned little shit covering his ears, looking just scared to shit. Dumb runt musta pissed off one of the big fish, she noted wisely, before standing up from her seat, and fixin' the lead shithead with a real mean glare.

"Hey, jackass... I'm readin' here," she grunted. She briefly pondered goading him on and waiting for him to throw the first punch, but she quickly lost patience. And so, without skipping a beat, she simply stepped forward, and headbutted the bully right between the eyes.

((Figured I'd leave the bullies up to you, Arete, in case that was your intent. Or maybe I'm just lazy. Probably the latter. Anyway.))