Author's Note: I own nothing . . . So this story is tied to a roleplay site, knockwoodschool dot proboards98 dot com. The characters are inspired by the members in part . . .and I apologize for the first chapter or two being in present tense; I didn't feel like editing into past tense at this time but it ceases to be so shortly.
Want to read about Ian's arrival? Read Orychle's Knockwood story . . . he also started posting mine but since I have my own account I'm taking it over until he gets a chance to delete. Enjoy! Feel free to join the site as well. Great people, great times.
Ian still feels quite nervous as he is led to his dorms. He listens to the fractured cries of the seagulls as the Wolfsbane prefect takes them across the grounds. To his left, the sun cut diamonds across the water, and streaks of Apollo pierced through the low-lying grey haze at the horizon. One cloud, silvery in the center but tinged gold with the light of sunset, caught his attention. He stared at it in heavy thought, until he stumbled over a loose rock. Ian growls, shaking himself out of a daze, feeling as though he had been soaring off into those clouds.
"Oops," Ian said sheepishly, as a beautiful girl with dark green eyes stares at him. "Fucking gravity." He grins at her, catching the sun glinting off of the yellow and blue flecks around her eyes. He was amazed by how like the sunset over the water they were. Her deep brown hair had streaks of red and gold, and her features were perfect. "Yes, well. I'm Ian-Ian Flanagan. And you are?" He flashed her a calculated smile, his eyes turning fully green before flecks of grey faded back in. A moment of pleasure, of fervent desire, fading into uncertainty and nervousness.
She pondered him for a moment as they walked, then gave him a small smile. "I'm Killy Brooks," she said. Ian ran the name through his head-yes, Brooks, he had heard that family name. So she was a pureblood too.
There wasn't much he could ask her at this point. He couldn't ask her how she was finding Knockwood so far-really, it was too soon to start asking penetrating questions about her life-what did that leave him? How was the boat ride over? He caught her gaze again. "How do you feel about being sorted into Wolfsbane. Were you pleased?" He keptin stride with her, walking more slowly so his long-legged steps did not overtake her.
Killy gave that small smile again, but obviously couldn't help letting it grow larger. "I never had any doubt. Still, it was a relief," she confessed. "Imagine being sorted into Kinrick!"
Ian laughed scornfully. "The postal house?" He was referring to the otters surrounding the isle that delivered mail by sea. "Can you imagine the shame? Of course, most of them don't even have the decency to be embarrassed by their house."
The girl laughed, and Ian's spine tingled at the sound. "I hear Aeridorn's not so bad, though," she said, looking at him.
Ian cocked his head. Should he tell her the option he had been given? He decided against it for the moment. "My brother was sorted into Aeridorn. They can't be all bad, we've always shared a lot in common." He shuffled along, continuing to cast looks at Killy. They began to talk a little more-of mundane things, of their families, of the classes they had signed up to take-Killy was also in Curses, Hexes and Dark Rituals. They continued down this line of conversation briefly until they crested a small hill and came upon the Wolfsbane Dormitory.
His jaw dropped in shock. In the direct light of the sunset, he could see the black building was actually the darkest green, and the crimson streaks through the stone were accented by those in shades of dark purple, among other colors he couldn't quite identify. But most prominent was the sense of blood-red streaks across night-black darkness. "But - that had to be - how did they ever find so much?" he asked in a whisper.
"What?" said Killy, confused. She was also looking at the dormitory in awe.
Ian shook his head. "That's bloodstone-but where did they find so much? It's extremely rare, extremely expensive, and extremely fragile. I suppose it's enchanted not to break, but it's still quite pricey." He marveled at it a few moments longer.
"Bloodstone?" Killy said, interrupting his thoughts. "What a name . . . ." She looked hungrily at the building.
"It's also known as Heliotrope, because it reflects the sun. It helps one become more knowledgeable in the ways of the world, and increases talent, and magic in general. It's very, very powerful." He stared again, eyes green and bright as he took in the ominous splendor of Wolfsbane.
Killy looked at him, then back at their home. "Wow," she said simply. "It's glorious."
"Perfect," Ian agreed quietly, and he took a deep breath as they were led inside, all his doubts and fears about choosing Wolfsbane over Aeridorn forgotten in the marvelous shadow of the darkest of houses.
The prefects led them into a large, low-celinged room, a decadent décor of polished oak accented with dark cherry. Overstuffed sofas and high-backed armchairs were scattered around antique end tables and squat coffee tables, many of which were piled with yellowed books bound in dark leather. Ian was startled by the whole feel, which was much like a library. I wouldn't have expected it of Wolfsbane, Ian thought in mingled surprise and pleasure. He eyed the built-in bookshelves. There were many heavy tomes, yes, but also a series of wicked objects, including some travesties of skulls and twisted artifacts he couldn't quite identify. Every few feet, a dark-eyed portrait of an imposing witch or wizard was hung. Most merely gazed critically at the newest batch of Wolfsbane followers, but some had more appraising, hawkish gazes.
"That one doesn't look too shabby," drawled one graying portrait in a heavy Old-Southern accent. Ian glanced at the portrait nervously. He took in a little more of the room. From the center, a darkened hallway stretched further back into the building, lit by weak and watery sconces, whose light illuminated nothing more than their own wall mounts. To the right, a wide staircase flowed directly upwards, and to the left, another hallway, this one wide and grand, jutted a short way eastwards. Two archways framed the entryway, and he felt as shiver as he passed beneath them, as though he had truly passed into another world.
The Wolfsbane prefect in the lead walked over to the huge fireplace along the northern wall, and stepped up onto the hearth. "Quiet, everyone-may I have your attention?" The freshest member of the house turned towards him with different expressions. Some looked nervous, some excited, and others just exhausted from the travels of the day. "Welcome to Knockwood's finest house. I am hoping that all of you will continue in our fine traditions, bringing honor and renown to the talents of our house. My name is Orpheus, and I am a fifth year." Ian looked at him. He certainly radiated adulthood, being of full legal age was not the sum of it. "I am one of your prefects." And Ian listened with halfhearted interest as Orpheus explained the layout of the dormitory and the rules for the building, including restrictions on the coed hallway, which was the darkened corridor in front of him, and rules regarding the boys and girls floors, house etiquette, and social hours. Orpheus then finished with a bombastic and verbose addendum about the proud tradition of Wendigo Wolfsbane, and the history of their "impeachable cohorts." Just as Ian thought he would die with boredom, stifling yet another yawn, Orpheus turned the floor over to a cluster of older students. "These boys and girls will lead you to your rooms, which you will remain in for the duration of your education here, unless, of course, you find reason to move to the coed hallway. After you settle in, feel free to return to the lounge or roam the grounds until curfew. I bid you all good night."
Ian waited until his name was called, then sauntered over to the short young man who had called for him. He stood with two other boys, waiting until the leader had gathered all members of his group.
One young man in particular caught his interest; he was a blond-haired man of average height, with the elegant features of another pureblood. "Hello," Ian said cautiously.
The boy looked back at him with a similar degree of wariness. "Hello, there," he echoed in a low tone. "I'm Tyler." And he did not offer his hand just yet.
"Ian. Ian Flanagan," he responded. "I suppose we must have rooms near each other-maybe even shared."
Tyler just looked ahead and nodded. "I guess we might, at that," he said slowly. Then he warmed a little, as though these careful sparks had melted a thin, icy exterior. "What's your story?" he asks.
Ian is surprised by such a direct question, but reconsiders his surprise when he realizes there isn't much point in beating around the bush. "Well, I'm delighted to be in Wolfsbane, though my brother was sorted into Aeridorn. I do love my books, though, so that's something he and I have in common." And he smiles at Tyler, suggesting he has revealed some telling secret. "In my spare time, I enjoy surfing, and art. Sometimes I write. You?"
"About the same," Tyler says noncommittally. Just then, the final member of their group heads over, and the boy in charge leads them up the large staircase, down a hallway, through a door and into a stairwell, and up a spiral staircase. They exit the stairwell, and find a maze of narrow corridors.
"Boys' floor," announces the young man. "My name is Gerald Brink, feel free to talk to me if you need anything." He motions them down one hallway, then begins pointing out rooms. "Stefan Belugi-here." They round a corner. "Thelius Phaeron and Ulysses McDane-in here." They continue on. "Tyler Dias-in here." Without going any further, he points to his left. "Ian Flanagan? Yes? You're in here. If you need anything else, ask your roommates." And Gerald disappears into the claustrophobic darkness.
Ian stares at the door. It is heavy, dark wood, with two perpendicular iron bands spaced near the upper and lower borders of the door. A large iron keyhole right above the doorknob is fitted with a brass key. Ian tries to turn the key, but finds it incredibly resistant. He glances over his shoulder; he sees Tyler remove a similar key from a like keyhole. Ian looks back to his own door, does the same. The key feels hot in his hand, as though someone has thrown it into a brazier. He gasps as his name appears in brass on the door, directly beneath two others. "Ian Flanagan, 1st Year." Directly above his name are two others, reading "Jake Harmonae, 4th Year," and "Malakai Whitefeather, 4th Year." Ian squints at the door, trying the handle, which gave the little click indicative of being locked. He shrugs, then puts his key in the lock. This time, it slips in and turns without resistance.
"Huh," Ian says, turning the knob again with no resistance. As he opens the door, he catches Tyler watching him and quickly moving to attempt the same thing. He laughs a little, silently, and slips into his room, shutting the door behind him.
The room was neither as dark nor as empty as Ian expected. He only sees to beds in front of him, one a single bed, and one a loft with a desk and chair beneath it. A second desk and chair are crammed against a corner wall, and a nightstand is against the bed on the floor. All of the furniture is dark wood, and both beds are hung with blood red velvet curtains. Both are occupied. He looks at the two older boys in confusion.
"Oh, look, it's the new meat," the boy on the loft bed remarks, only half serious. He clambers down from his perch, grinning. "I'm Jake." Jake is tall, with dark golden hair the color of ripe wheat, and moss-green eyes.
Ian grins at Jake, holding out a hand. "Charmed. So, you must be Malakai Whitefeather?" he asks the other boy, who is staring at him over a sketchpad, charcoal still in hand. Malakai is darker-skinned, with a dark sheen of black hair, and deep brown eyes, His features are chiseled and haunting, and his smoldering stare almost spellbinding.
"Yes, I'm Malakai," says the young man in a rich baritone. "Welcome to our room." He motions to Ian's right. "That's your alcove. Jake and I have shared this space for three whole years now, and we figured we'd stay where we belong. Go ahead-it's a fortunate space."
Ian steps forward and peers around a corner. A single bed sits beneath a dark window, with a nightsand, and against a wall like a tiny hallway between his small area and the main part of the room, there is his own desk and chair. "Privacy!" he says aloud, not fully able to contain his glee.
"Yeah, Bruce graduated last year," Jake explains, and opens a door in the wall. "We still share a closet and bookshelf, and some odds and ends. But I think you'll be happy over in your own private corner."
Ian walks over to the bed. His trunk is already set out, and he begins to unpack his things. He hangs his clothing in the back of the closet, lamenting this small misery, and puts some of his books on the shelf. He begins unpacking art supplies onto the desk, and finally tires of this mundane activity for the moment. Ian decides to head down to the common room. "I'm going to the lounge. Want to go?" he asks his roommates.
Jake nods and grins at him. "Sure, why not? We'd probably be down there anyway, except we were supposed to wait here. Make sure you made it into the room okay and all." He beckons to Malakai, who slams his sketchpad shut and tucks it under his arm. Together, the three roommates walk back down the staircases into the lounge.
This time, there are far more students down here. Ian is shocked to see any number of them engaged in sketching, painting, or writing. He hadn't expected the Wolfsbanes to be such an artistic bunch. Then again, he himself took great pleasure in aesthetic pursuits.
Among the students engaged in this are Tyler, and Killy. He sees her, lounging on a plump sofa with a notebook, chewing thoughtfully on a quill and gazing off with a captivated aura. One leg is tucked beneath her, and one is stretched out in a most striking fashion. Every so often, she would write something down. Ian slides onto the couch beside her.
She glances at him from underneath long lashes, but continues to write. He smiles at her, then begins to search for his pad and his paints. He pulls out the set of multicolored pigments and sets them on the coffee table in front of him, but is unable to find a pad.
"Here," says Malakai, grabbing a sketchbook off a stack on one table and tossing it to him. Ian catches it and takes a look. It's quality paper, well-suited for either sketching or painting. "You'd be surprised at the number of Wolfsbanes who need these. This is a public stack-the house elves keep them stocked. Along with the paints, quills, and pastels on that shelf," Malakai finishes, pointing to one built-in bookshelf with a series of drawers."
"Thanks," Ian says, and opens the pad. Instead of beginning with his paints, he took out a quill and began sketching the girls sprawled lazily on the other side of the couch. He watches the lines and curves forming swiftly on the paper with a certain pleasure and pride.
He sees Killy glancing over at his efforts. As Ian must continually look at her to catch her form and her nuances, it is not surprising that she noticed him. She smiles quizzically. "What are you doing?" she asks, trying to steal a glance at his pad.
Ian looks back down at the paper. "Drawing the most beautiful thing I can see," he answers, intentionally not looking at her. She starts, then continues with her own work. Ian keeps going, and soon enough, there eyes meet as he appraises her again.
"You're really drawing me?" she asks. "I'm the most beautiful thing?"
"Yup," Ian answers again. She is waiting expectantly, so he yields and flips the pad around. Killy gasps.
"That's me," she comments with wonder. "It's so perfect!"
"What are you working on?" he queries. Killy blushes a little.
"I'm writing a song."
Ian smiles. "Really? That's so cool." He scratches on his paper a few more times, then reaches for the paints. He opens a green, dips a brush in it, and tackles the daunting task of her eyes. Ian's efforts are not so quick now; this part requires careful measurement and consideration. Killy has entirely stopped writing her songs, and is now enraptured by Ian's painting. He allows himself to stare deeply into her eyes, locking gazes, peering where he has no real business looking. When Killy's breathing has become harsh and quick, he nonchalantly breaks the stare, mixes a gorgeous blue, and adds a few accents to the painting, to her eyes.
She is still staring, leaning forward, and he smirks sideways at her. Ian sets the brushes down on the table and leans back against the sofa. She is waiting there, lips slightly parted, looking at Ian with fascination.
"Do you like it so far?" asks Ian, motioning to the pad.
"It's wonderful," she tells him. "Do you always paint like that?"
He shakes his head a little sadly. "No, only when I see something that truly captivates and inspires me." And he takes the liberty of touching her face, of stroking her hair. For a moment longer, she is frozen, then Killy leans in until they are mere centimeters apart.
"Can you feel me?" she asks.
Ian blushes furiously, his face matching his hair. What does that mean? he wonders. "Yes!" he answers hungrily, and takes her close, pulling that perfect body close to him and kissing her softly on the lips.
Shocked at first, Killy jerks back. Her jaw is set with anger momentarily. Her response to fear and uncertainty? Ian wonders. He eases back himself, looking apologetic. At the same time, he exudes an air of hurt. "I'm sorry," he says to her, "I just couldn't help but touch your perfection." He hopes she will continue to take his bait.
She looks down at her hands, biting her lip. "You're awfully forward."
Ian chuckles. "Of course. I see something I want and I go for it. Isn't that the Wolfsbane way?" He stretches again, arm moving towards her. He'll have this diamond if it takes all night. So Ian backs off and returns to painting, a graceful and seductive dance of social artistry.
Killy, of course, cannot help but watch him, still attempting to steal glances at his work. Ian turns the pad towards himself protectively, like a mother shielding her child, working feverishly all the same. Finally, Killy can stand it no longer.
"Let me see!" she begs.
Ian doesn't take his eyes off his paper. "Kiss me," he says.
"What? No!"
"Fine." He mixes another color, a rich yellow-gold like bleached sunflowers, and makes quick, delicate brushstrokes.
Killy is tense now, curiosity winding her up. "Come on, Ian, let me have a look."
"All right. Just as soon as you kiss me."
"It's not fair!"
"Neither is life." He takes a deep breath, gripping the pad slightly as though he will flip it towards her. She gasps softly with anticipation. In a cruel twist, he holds his pose a moment longer, then continues to paint in hidden strokes.
"Fine!" Killy says in frustration. "Fine, fine, fine!" She leans over him, grabbing his face, and parting her lips. Just as Ian relaxes his grip to plunge into her mouth, Killy laughs triumphantly, pulls her hands away, and snatches the pad from Ian. He gapes at her while she scans his efforts.
Total Wolfsbane, Ian thinks with admiration and increasing desire. Her impromptu trickery only intensifies his will to have her. My, gods, but isn't she amazing! Ian drunk her in, licking his lips as she touched the outside of the pad, wanting to stroke the forms in front of her, resisting only because she knew it would damage the painting.
"This is amazing, Ian."
"Do you think so?" he asks, injecting an air of insecurity and doubt into his voice.
"Of course it's incredible. Don't you know that?" she asks, looking at Ian in disbelief.
Of course I do, Killy dear. "Then what don't you like about me?"
Killy ponders this briefly, then laughs. "Nothing, really. There's nothing wrong with you." She exhales, then smiles, a bittersweet affair.
"Kiss me, Killy," he says, eyes an odd mixture of green and chrome.
The girl puts her hands between her knees. "Okay, Ian. But I don't come cheap."
"You're priceless," he agrees in all seriousness, joining with her, tasting her lips, tasting the sweet warmth of her breath, feeling the hard curves of her body in his hands. From that point on, it was all an ecstatic blur. He was heedless of Tyler's hard stares, heedless of jealous snickering, and heedless of the hours as they flew by. Ian only knew, as he stumbled up to his dorm room in throbbing exhaustion, that he had found the proper soul to accompany him into his immortal conquest. It never occurred to him to wonder when he began to think in such terms. Perhaps it was merely the heavy history of Wolfsbane luring another spirit into the realm of imagination and glory.
Ian woke around three in the morning, craving a cigarette. He realized nobody had mentioned whether he could smoke inside, so he made his way down the hallways, down the stairs, to just outside of the front door. From the west, to his left, Ian heard the raucous sounds of partying. He was sleepy, and couldn't quite figure it out-who was it in the west? He stared up at the stars, suddenly feeling very lonely. He missed his brother. Orychle had always been right there when Ian needed him, always just a few steps away, always ready to fling the door open and listen. With a faint hope, he headed over west, cresting the hill and seeing not the symbol of an owl-though he knew better, loud Aeridorns?-but that of the Otter.
He made his way down the hill anyway, stumbling a little on the dewey grass that blanketed the slope, and frowned at the scene.
"Welcome!" said a warm voice from behind him. Ian turned around, startled, to find one of his year mates standing behind him. His blond hair and warm eyes spoke confidence, flickering in the light of the Tiki torches. Ian could not see himself, but he knew from Brandon's harder assessment of the boy in front of him that the low firelight gave him darkened shadows, his red hair, fine features, and green-grey eyes combining to make him look very foxlike indeed, and gave others cause to stop and shiver. But then Ian smiled.
"Why, hello, Brandon, I remember you from the sorting." Ian shook his hand. "What's happening here? It's so late, and you seem to be very boisterous and . . ." he peered through the front door of their house, which was propped open, "and there are quite a few Everards in there, along with a few strays."
"Yeah, we're having a party! Beginning of a new year, sort of a welcome for the new students, you know? Get to know everyone's fun side, you know? It loosens everyone up, breaks the ice. Come on in. You're invited too! Everyone is, even Wolfsbanes," he said cheerily, with a wink.
Ian was rather tired, but the party looked like fun. He made is way through the throng of students in front of the entryway and went inside.
"Have a beer," said one young Everard, handing him a drink in a red plastic cup.
Ian raised an eyebrow. "Butterbeer? Doesn't seem the drink for a wild party."
"No!" laughed the Everard. "Muggle beer. Go on, it's good!"
Ian took a swig. It was all right, and he downed the drink. The Everard reached for his wand and filled Ian's glass. When Ian looked surprised at this,the boy grinned.
"Not everything about it's Muggle," he said with another laugh. "I'm Frenzeil." He had slightly wide-set hazel eyes, and a cheeky grin. His shoulder-length hair was a cross between brown and gold, and it was, all together, a not unattractive package. "Come on in here, have a seat." And Frenzeil led Ian into an area set with a few couches in front of a cheery blue fire. Ian stared at the cerulean flames with interest.
"Hello," said one girl. "A Wolfsbane, huh? Well, that's all well and good. Come sit by the fire!" Ian looked at the girl, she was wearing a visor with the Everard crest on the front. She had on a long-sleeved green shirt, and her green eyes sparkled cheerily by the complementary flames. The turquoise cast to the room made it difficult to determine the color of her hair, but Ian suspected it was somewhere in the red range.
"Can't say as we've met," Ian said. "I'm Ian-"
"Ian Flanagan, yes" she cut in, "I saw you get sorted. "This is Roxanne, and Candy, and Brandon, and that's Louis, and she's Colba, and the last one there is Yuri." the girl finished by pointing at an older Aeridorn who smiled softly.
"And you?" Ian said, with his officially patented trademark smile, one that laughed at the obvious being seen for the first time, the one he used when irony awoke.
"Oh, I'm Sharie. Sharie Morse." She raised her glass, and everyone around did the same. "To Ian!"
Ian chuckled as he took another sip of his beer. Sharie grinned at him. "We haven't seen too many new Wolfsbanes at this party. What's your story?"
He shook his head. "Don't have one. You?"
Sharie giggled. "I'm an Aeridorn, though the castle told me I could be in here if I wanted. I figured I'd come down here and get to know everyone. Everards are told about the party out right. I guess with us and the Wolfsbanes, it's up to other members who know about it to let you know. How did you find us?"
"Nic fit. And you were noisy," Ian explained, using the cup as a cover to check out what Frenzeil was doing. He had pulled out a guitar and was strumming a melody for the benefit of the crowd. Ian played a little himself, and wanted to ask Frenzeil about that, but Sharie hadn't quite finished with him just yet.
"So, you're a smoker? You know, that's bad for your Quidditch. Do you play? I'm a seeker." She was pretty bouncy for an Aeridorn, Ian decided.
"Uh, yes, I do play. I may not play right now, though." He sighed. "I prefer broom racing, anyhow."
Her eyes went big. "That sounds like fun, too. How do you get into that?"
"Grow up with a brother within months of your age," he answered with a laugh. "See what you do first-a seven person game, or something that works with two people." He grins. "Boys are very competitive. Foot race, broom race, wrestling, dueling-it's anticipated if not expected."
"You have a brother your own age? Does he go to school here?" She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, then gasps in delight. Ian sees her sharp Aeridorn mind working. "Of course! How could I not see the resemblance! Orychle's your brother, isn't he?"
"Yeah he is," Ian said. "No surprise he went into Aeridorn. It was all he could talk about before we got here-the silver wisdom of Athena."
A loud, drawn out cheer of "GOOOO, KIN, KIN, KIN-ER-RICK!" went up around them. Several of the non-Kinrick students joined in for good measure. Ian tried hard not to screw of his face and cover his ears, and was pleased to find himself succeed.
"This party gets a little loud," Frenzeil yelled to him apologetically. Ian could see that. "Oh-watch out!"
Ian ducked as a drunken Everard tumbled over the back of the couch, just narrowly missing her head by the table. "Careful!" Ian says, "Are you all right?"
She blinks her sparkling blue eyes a few times, her halo of light brown hair pillowing her head. "I think so. Can you help me up?" She closes her eyes for the moment.
Sharie moves over to her in concern, slipping her hands underneath the girl's shoulders and leveraging her weight to flip her up. "Are you okay?"
The girl blinks a few times, then grins. "Fan-frigging-tastic. I just a leeetle tipsy," she confesses. "I'm Candy," she explains to the group.
"Yeah, sure," Ian says, rolling his eyes. "Um, aren't any of you in her house? Can't you take her home? I think she's had enough tonight," he says.
Candy sways a little on the couch, then stares furiously at Ian. "I do that sort of thing all the time! It has nothing to do with the alcohol. I really never pay attention to what I'm doing." She looks mad, her jaw set in a stubborn line. "And it isn't really your business, either, Wolfsbane."
Ian sighs. "My name is Ian, Candy, and I did you quite a few courtesies when I called you nothing derogatory; I expect the same respect. So please don't give me shit," he says coldly, the birth of icy fury in his tone. He cocks his head, calming down, and smiles. "But, thank you for the compliment; I am a Wolfsbane and proud of it."
"All right, then," Candy said agreeably. "So, Wolfsbane? Your house is kind of creepy. I like our house; it's strong and firm and comfortable. Did you know Everard was the last of the house founders to die? Most of the people are really cool. There's a couple of stuck up goody two shoes, but I'm guessing they're cool once you get to know them. I like most people. How about you?" She doesn't wait long enough for Ian to answer. "Anyway, I'm going out for Quidditch when they start tryouts. I'm hoping to get seeker. I think I'd make a good seeker, I'm pretty quick. Sharp eyes too. Both of those are absolutely necessary. Hey, did you ever want-"
Ian rubbed his temple. His exhaustion, which had just started to abate, was quickly returning, accompanied by the beginnings of a wicked headache. "Excuse me," he says, standing up and looking for Frenzeil, who is nowhere to be found. He weaves his way through the common areas, looking for the young Kinrick, but has no luck. He excuses himself into the dark night, intent this time on sleeping.
Footsteps thunder out towards him. "It's Sharie, wait up!" he hears from behind him.
Ian turns, glaring at her. "What is it? I'm tired."
"Don't be mad at me because Candy irritated you," she says, looking hurt and a little mad. "I just wanted to make sure you're all right. You dashed out of there so quickly."
He sighs, running his hands through his hair, trying to brush it back. It had gotten a little long, and he really should get around to cutting it. "I'm sorry. I'm just exhausted, that's all. I can't deal with really hyper people when I'm not. So, why did you follow me out, anyway?"
Sharie smiled. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay. You left so abruptly."
He gives her a hard look. ""I'm fine. Thanks anyway." He turns around and starts walking back. "Say hi to my brother for me, will you?"
When Ian approached the entrance to the Wolfsbane dormitory, he found a girls sitting outside on the stoop, smoking a cigarette. She had black hair, and though she was pale, her skin shone like polished pearl in the moonlight, as though her aspect drank to refreshment in the rare night of the light alone. He sat next to the girl and lit a cigarette himself, taking a drag. She turns to him, staring coldly. Her lips are painted blood red. Ian doesn't say anything, and she continues to stare. A cold shiver runs down Ian's back, as though someone has dropped a chunk of ice into his shirt.
"Ian," he offers, staring at those cool blue eyes.
"Libby," she answers.
He chews on his cigarette, trying to figure her out. They sit through their cigarettes in silence, each obviously attempting a covert analysis of the other's character, essence, motives. She is lounging backwards, leaning against a planter. He finishes his cigarette, reaches over her, and grinds it out in the ficus. "See you later," he says, standing up to go inside.
"Later," she agrees nonchalantly, and Ian returns to his dorm, ready for some much needed sleep.