"Is that scribble a squirrel or an artistic expression of the futility of all your hopes and dreams?"

Alistair wrinkled his nose but did not look up from his doodle. "It's actually a dragon, Morrigan." He had begun sketching it absentmindedly during math class, and now he was still tinkering away with his pencil through his lunch period. The image he had in his head was vague at best, but nevertheless he had the distinct impression that his drawing could not capture whatever it was he was trying to put down on paper. He was no artist, but the sensation was still a source of frustration.

Morrigan shrugged noncommittally. "Well clearly you're never going to be an artist, so as far as I'm concerned, it still represents that your efforts are in vain."

"The Chantry says everyone's talents are gifts from the Maker," he asserted, somewhat defensively.

She raised an eyebrow. "Like I needed more evidence that no such being exists," she replied, feigning lament.

He closed his notebook and hid it away in his backpack, eyebrows threaded low on his forehead in annoyance. "What do you want? Shouldn't you be hiding away in the chemistry lab, working on whatever nefarious plan you've managed to justify as your senior project?"

"I can't fault a wee sophomore for fearing what he does not understand," she cooed. "Why, you're practically still a babe!"

"Yep, I'm definitely a babe," he agreed with a smirk, earning him a withering sigh.

"A little birdie told me you have been trying to convince Lady Aeducan of just that," she said after a moment, embellishing her friend's name sardonically. The tips of Alistair's ears were hot.

"What- Where did you hear that?" he stammered.

"So, 'tis true after all."

"Huh? I didn't say that!" He relented when she narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. "I mean, not that I wouldn't want to, maybe, it's just I can barely look at her straight, let alone talk to her, and also-"

Morrigan waved her hand dismissively. "I don't really care," she said. "The only reason I'm tolerating your presence right now is because I wanted to warn you to give up."

He bristled. "What?"

She pursed her lips, yellow eyes flashing darkly under her eyeshadow, and for just a moment, Alistair thought he saw her bathed in fire, blood splattering her cheeks. He blinked and the vision was gone.

She had been talking in the meantime, he realized, and he had missed the beginning of her little speech. "… And since the incident with her father forced her to break up with Gorim, she has been avoiding the subject of relationships altogether-"

"I already know I don't stand a chance, Morrigan," he cut in. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were telling me to back off so you could have her all to yourself. Or," he paused, "maybe you're jealous that I'm thinking about her instead of y-"

"Finish that sentence and you will die a painful death," she threatened. He believed her, too; he had no doubt that she could whip up some horrible concoction and poison his lunch. He might not die, necessarily – she would never risk jail time for such a minor offense to her pride – but he certainly would not put it past her to make him sick for a month, at the very least. She was the chemistry department's pride and joy for a reason.

"Look, Morrigan," he said evenly, "I get it. Some small part of you, some tiny, microscopic portion of your ant-sized heart, actually cares enough that you don't want to see me rejected. So thanks for the warning, but it's kind of pointless since I already know she's miles out of my league."

"I did not come here to talk about you." She was grinding her teeth on every consonant. "Although I realize with your single-celled brain, 'tis difficult for you to distinguish that the world does not, in fact, revolve around you."

"Stop insulting my intelligence!"

"This isn't about intelligence-"

"You're not about intelligence."

Her eye twitched at the sheer childishness of his retort. "Clearly, with remarks like that, you have shown your true genius," she muttered. She shook her head. "But once again, this is not about you. This is about her."

"Yes, yes, she's of noble blood and it is forbidden for a commoner like me to marry into the royal family," he drawled, sarcastic. At least, as far as he knew there was no royalty at their high school, but being lavishly rich was about the same anyway.

"I happen to have some interest in the wellbeing of this particular human," Morrigan said, pronouncing "human" as if it were a foreign concept. Alistair wondered, not for the first time, if she were perhaps another species after all. "If you endanger her in any way, you will regret it. Most likely by turning green for a few days, or losing mobility in your arms. I've always wanted to experiment on a human. Actually, Mr. Irving does owe me a favor…" She spoke with such distant nonchalance that he almost believed she was talking about what kind of clothing she liked instead of how best to make him suffer.

"Right," he said slowly, "I think I'm going to avoid coming to school for a few days."

"I'm not telling you to back off because you don't have a chance," she elaborated, "although you certainly don't. But you're a pest. She has far better things to do with her time than entertain a flea."

He did not bother denying it. He knew she was right. "She also has better things to do than hang out with a witch," he replied weakly. "Or the meaner thing that rhymes with 'witch.'"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "I know you're delusional most of the time, but even you must realize your illusions of grandeur are just that. You are nothing but a thoughtless idiot, too self-absorbed to think about the wellbeing of your supposed 'love,' too inconsiderate to even try to comprehend how she feels after just breaking up." She stopped to observe him for a beat, and then concluded her assessment: "You're a vulture."

He frowned. "Wait, how did I go from a flea to a vulture? That doesn't make any evolutionary sense. No wonder you dropped out of bio to take chem."

"'Tis a metaphor, you fool. No wonder you're failing English," she hissed.

"I'm not failing!" he protested, then added lamely, "Barely."

"I can feel my brain cells dying in your presence." She crossed her arms, her face screwed up like she had just been told to wear hot pink. "I've made my point. I'm leaving before I waste anymore of my life on you." She strode away, disappearing as abruptly as she had come.

But her words lingered. A vulture, huh? That was a new one. He had expected being compared to a flea because, really, it was an apt simile. Fleas were useless insects, insignificant, and yet obnoxious to deal with, surviving as they did on their vampiric diets. He could see the similarities. He was not any good at anything – his dismal track record with sports and his below-average grades could attest to that. Nobody needed him. In fact, as Morrigan had so thoroughly explained, his presence was more than unwanted. But he still continued to make a pest of himself. At least his parents had been smart and dropped him off at his uncle's house immediately so they would not have to deal with him. Poor Eamon had had to tolerate him for something like ten years before he managed to oust him to the nearest Chantry orphanage.

He unearthed his notebook from his backpack and tried to distract himself by adding to his doodle but his hand trembled when he focused on the small details. He made a mistake and moved to erase it, but accidentally erased a whole section of the wing. Irritated, he clumsily attempted to pencil it back in but he could not get it to look as good as it had before. A hot flash of anger possessed his hand and he scribbled thick, dark lines all over his work until the paper ripped from the pressure.

He thought the tear looked like a downturned sword.