Delinquent Academy RP

"Jenny MacCarthy, pleased to meet you in this desolate and pointless world."

"Aita, I'll give you another example. You see a kid with a nice backpack, what do you say?"
Aita smiled, "Easy! Tell him he has a nice backpack and then murder him and take it from him."

"Yeah, got agree with Aita there," Zanna thought to themselves.

"Desolate and pointless. . . ," She repeated, more to herself. "I already like you, Jen."

Mrs. Clarke blanched. "Umm. No. Aita, here let me write down the rules." she grabbed a marker and started writing on the whiteboard.

• No Blood
• No death
• No murder
• And no talking about your scythe.
  "Understand?" Mrs. Clarke asked.
  Aita frowned, "But nothing else is interesting!"

"Why are you here?" she asked, "You seem fine."

Zanna wish they could see what the teacher had written down, but the door was not working with them.

"I did a lot of random shit," Quinn sighed. "Wish I wasn't here, though."

Mrs. Clarke set down her marker and the bell rang. "Well, Aita, class is over, goodbye!" she hurried out the door, racked with fear. Aita smiled, knowing that she was afraid of him. He picked up his briefcase and headed out the door, his white hair that reached his chin swaying as he walked.

"Well….. severe depression and twice attempting suicide for me. You've got it better."

Zanna saw the teacher run out of the room followed by the mysterious boy, they called out to the boy, "Hi there!"

Aita turned, smiling. He ran over what Mrs. Clarke had taught him in his head, "Hello person."

"Well, you're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Jack asked Jenny.

"Yeah, you can drop the act. Name's Zanna. They/them pronouns please," they stretched a hand out to the boy.

Aita frowned, and held his hand back. Did they want to slap him?

"Hardly a ray of sunshine." she said. (Jenny can't tell whether or not you're being sarcastic.)

"Huh?" Zanna was confused, "Have you never shook hands before? Like this?"
They put their hands together and did the traditional action.

"Barely any sunshine in this whole goddamn place." She replied.

"Sarcasm," Jack said, bored. It annoyed him when people didn't get sarcasm.

"Yeah. I've been thinking of breaking out of this asylum."

Aita pulled his hand away and picked up his briefcase. "Hello Zanna, I would just love to stay and chat, but I'm hungry," he drawled and licked his lips.

"Mind if I join ya?" Zanna asked.

"I would mind." Aita smiled and pulled at the red stitches circling his arm.

"I'd gladly join you," Jack replied. "It would be great to be out of this place,"

"That's cool, I go find the others," Zanna paused for a moment, before walking away. They would try again another day.

As Zanna left the school they thought about where they would go to put graffiti, since they swore some kids were talking about it after class. Sure enough there was a group of kids right where they thought they would be.

Aita walked along the halls, stopping occasionally to say hi to a student and watch as their eyes widened and they whispered to each other, "That's the new kid. The murderer." He ambled along until he reached the cafeteria and sat down to eat a sandwich.

(I'm heading off for the night.)

(Goodnight)

Back at her house, Morrigan sat on the kitchen counter, pressing a cheese knife into the soft pads of her finger tips one by one with trembling hands, watching the blood trickle off them and pool on the counter. She dug the knife deeper, wincing in pain and opening her mouth to cry out, but she bit down on her tongue. I deserve this. I don’t have the right to cry for help. Checking the time through a curtain of tangled black hair, she bit back another scream. 10:37. It didn’t matter that she was late, they wouldn’t miss another stupid freak. She dragged the knife along her forearm, allowing herself a small whimper. Tears sprang to her eyes. And besides, she knew all the stuff anyways.

Finally, she let go if the knife, her whole right hand swamped with pain, and ran into her room to grab a leather jacket, which she threw over her skull t-shirt and black ripped jeans, checking her look in the mirror. Her hands were still trembling. She looked herself over, hoping her whole goth look would scare the other teens away.

In fact, that was the only reason she’d become goth in the first place, to make herself less approachable. Morrigan didn’t deserve friends or a social life. She didn’t deserve anything.

A few minutes later, she was out the door.