:: Pretentious!

The Amaryllis Project [ Chapter Eight ]
Tuesday, June 9, 2009

"Ice-dammed lake. Ice-dammed. Ha!" It was four days since he had said that, and now it was getting on his nerves. How was it that he had said that he was glad to see this moron so readily? How?! "--That sounds like a funny Arctic insult. 'Get your ice-dammed dog off my lawn!'" Iriel scratched his head as he tried to ignore the banter. "Actually, it'd probably be more like 'Get your ice-dammed caribou off my permafrost!' but you get the point. Don't you, Iriel?"

"No," why could Steven not pick up the slightly strangled tone in his voice? Was he being too un-obvious? Or was Steven simply deaf to connotations in people's voices?

"Oh apples! I shouldn't. I couldn't. I mustn't. But I am, and oohh, it tastes so good..."

Iriel tried his very best not to pull out his hair, "If you want apples, you can get them from the cafe. In fact I'll love for you to go down to the café. Please!" He was losing it, he was sure. Four days in, and here he was on the fifth, beginning to rave. Why did he have a crazy, talkative room mate and an intense Shakespeare lover as his teacher at the same time? It was times like these that made Iriel want to curl up under an apple tree with knots tied in his hair, crossing his fingers and toes and wishing very very hard that he was home, shut up in his own room witht the stereo blaring.

Now he was going on about it again, Iriel did his best not to go mad as he studied his worksheet, and cross-referenced his notebook. Shakespeare sucked, he really did. He made his life difficult by writing weird, obscure things that Iriel was sure did not exist in the time even. The balding dolt was raving. Like how he'd be in a moment. The thought was actually welcome though, it would mean more tolerance for Steven's crazy remarks and the ability to see eye-to-eye with the balding dolt! Wonderful, a win-win situation!

"Ew, dude. Do you know what apples even are? What fruit is? It's the uterus of the plant!"

It took a moment to sink in, but when it did, Iriel shot upright again. "What the heck are you going on about now? That's ridiculous."

"Is not, it's completely true. Think of it like this, man. You know how a flower is basically like, a plant's vagina?"

"...What?"

"Yeah, flowers are a plant's sexual organs. They use them to have plant-sex. And see, when the plant gets plant-pregnant, the bulb at the bottom of the flower is where the plant-baby gestates. Kind of like how the uterus at the back of a vagina..."

"Is this what you think about all day? Is this seriously what goes on in your head?"

"--And, the plant-baby is actually the seed. You know, the core. And the skin, that's the wall of the uterus. The flesh of the apple? The part you eat? That's the placenta, man. You're eating tree-placenta," Iriel was speaking calmly all the while, as though it was common sense, as though he was the wise parent imparting some fruits -- ugh, the irony! -- of knowledge to his painfully ignorant child, which in this case was Iriel.

"Why do you have to tell me these things? I don't ask!"

"Listen, I'm just trying to keep you informed. You need to know what you're going to be eating here."

"You eat apples all the time!" Iriel scratched out a sentence and snapped back with as much scorn and irritation as he could.

"Yeah, but at least I'm not in denial about it. You've got to keep everything in the right perspective."

"You're mad," Iriel said with finality, as he reached for his correction tape, and corrected his writing.

"No," Steven replied, sounding perplexed, "I'm Steven Hartell. I'm eighteen-and-three-months old. I'm not... Mad. You've mistaken me for someone--"

"Just, shut up already!" Iriel exclaimed, as he set his correction tape down with more force then necessary, onto his own desk as he glared at the occupant at the neighbouring desk irritably. "You, Steven Hartell, the one who so obviously lack a brain!"

To Iriel's amazement, he laughed. "If I had a brain, I'd be scary."

"I sure can see that, now are you any good at Shakespearean literature?"

.x.

"Hello?" The collected voice that answered was peaceable, as though completely at ease. Trusting.

"Thank you for calling Dominoes, how may I help you--GRAH!"

There was the sound of a loud 'thump!', and the phone seemed to be rapidly exchanged as someone insistently complained and yelled in the background. Patiently however, the voice replied. "Hello?"

"U-uh, Katsurou? Is that you on the line?"

"Speaking. Judging from that Dominoes reply, I should think this is Iriel?"

"Yeah. Steven said I should call you for help on Shakespearean whatchamacallit."

"And you need help?"

"N-no... Well... m-may... um..."

There was a soft muffled sound of snickers on the other line, "Do you have any money on you?"

"--Huh?"

"Treat me to dinner."

"I'm not clicking here."

"You treat me to dinner, and I'll teach you Shakespeare. Sounds fair?"

"...Well, sort of. But why not go to the cafeteria..?"

"Kichirou informed me that they have shrimp dinners at the café today. They always have shrimp on Tuesdays."

"And you like shrimp?"

There was a long pause.

Iriel decided not to press the subject. "Right, what time?"

"Five minutes, at the café. I'll meet you there once I've gathered my notes and text. Bring your worksheet. You're from Mister Peyote Went's class right?"

"Yeah... So, how much do I..?"

"Write this down: your worksheets, notes, three two-dollar notes and stationery. Got that?"

"...Yes..."

"Then I'll be seeing you there. Don't be late, alright?" With what sounded like an amused undertone, he hung up. Iriel was left holding onto the phone as he watched Steven halfway across the room, studying his well-worn copy of 'Wuthering Heights' with some interest, looking like he actually understood what he was reading.

"Nh, you called Linton, 'Lipton'!" Steven told the book, conversationally as he turned a page, "I'm pretty sure that iced tea does NOT reside at Thrushcross Grange... Ah, Iriel. So how is it?"

"Um, dinner for trade."

Steven snickered as he turned a page, "Typical Katsurou. At least you're only buying him dinner. He made me cook breakfast for him in exchange for correcting my essay on Huckleberry Finn. I think there was once where he made Noemi trade in her collection of candy for an in-depth analysis of David Copperfield, though he shared the candy with her during the study..."

Iriel shook his head, "you mean he always trades food for homework?"

"Hey this is the local genius at literature in Amaryllis we're talking about, Joseph Channing's star student. If that's the way he swings, who's to stop him right?" Steven flipped a page, licking his fingers as he thought, tracing a line on the page, "Good thing he forgave me the time I made him breakfast, I burnt the eggs. I'd have failed the class if it weren't for him. Oh, and..." He looked up at Iriel who had just set done his phone, "You better get running. If there's one thing Katsurou hates, it's tardiness. Judging from the way the conversation went, I think he told you five minutes," he glanced back down to his yellowing book, "four of those minutes have already passed."

.x.

The notes were probably crushed in his hand by the time he reached the café, where they had arranged to meet. He had the writing pad he used in class curled in the fingers of his left hand, the multiple worksheets - all of which were coming apart at the staples - all folded and tucked haphazardly into the pages between the tattered cover and the first page of the lined writing paper, all filled with his wildly messy scrawls. Iriel probably didn't look much better himself, though he himself had no idea. As hot and bothered he was, from flighting down six flights of stairs and across a lawn or two, he really didn't care how he was looking right now.

Here he was, standing in the slight crowd of moving people, all muttering and excusing themselves as they weaved in and out of the campus space, past flowering patches and hedges, threading through and past tables while avoiding other people. There were gnarled trees in the huge hedged expanse of well-tended garden, all full and groaning with fresh green leaves, unfurling from the bud. There was the warm buzz of chatter and colour everywhere, where the summer flowers were in bloom and people in conversation surrounding them. The buzzing of many conversations mixing in with each other, the sweet scent of good, cooking food and flowers, it was the last place Iriel would think to exist in the campus. It seemed more to him like some kind of park, located in the outskirts of the town in the countryside or in a charming, quiet little settlement, not in a decade-old campus that doubled as a boarding school.

"Hey, Iriel!" While he was distracted with the sights, sounds and smells, he had forgotten what he came here for. Iriel jumped slightly in surprise, spinning on his heel rapidly to the voice. He was met with the sight of his soon-to-be tutor, seated at a table underneath a wide crowned apple tree. He, was waving at him. Iriel scratched his head a little, offering him a grin as he marched over, sliding into the empty seat opposite him as he tossed down his writing pad. "You're late," Katsurou observed, his fingers interlocked and positioned firmly under his chin, as his calm blue eyes staring at him intensely, "eight and a half minutes late. How should we punish you?"

"Aw, come on Katsurou! Steven held me up!" Iriel complained, hoping very much that his homework wasn't going to end up being a victim of his tutor's apparent displeasure. "You know him, he and his apples... Grah, is this the apple orchard you told me about?"

"Yes," Katsurou said lightly as he leaned back, his hands coming down to settle on his thick stack of books and notes, "technically, it's more of a garden than an orchard, but we do get apple harvests when in season. Anyway, what were you going to ask me for help with?" He was infuriatingly calm, sitting there observing him with his pale blue eyes and messy blond hair, looking like he just woke up. The idea occurred to Iriel, maybe he really did just woke up, Katsurou mayhap had had a long day with his own studies and administrative duties... But he was up wasn't he? So Katsurou wasn't dressed to be the next Big Fashion Icon, with his simple white button-up shirt and dark pants, but he looked alert enough. Iriel frowned slightly as he studied his face, the pale skin, high cheekbones, straight chiselled nose... "I had no idea you came down today to study my face, lordly Iriel. Had I known, I'd have sent a photo along and caught up on my sleep."

"...Sorry. ...Uh, Mr. Went was teaching..."

"William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream. Class 'C' two hyphen six, Lecture theatre six," Katsurou nodded as he picked up his notebook from the stack, a thin compilation of paper that was held together with a spiral binding. He flipped it open and set it down, turning and pushing it over the table to the space in front of Iriel, where the main course of a meal would usually have been position. He leaned over as well, his right hand propping on the table as his left remained firmly pressed on the spiral bound notebook and its open page. "Well, you will copy down whatever I tell you to copy here. I want it in short hand if you have short hand. If not, then copy down in full sentences. For every line you miss, I'll drag dinner time by fifteen minutes. I'm perfectly fine without food the way I am, and I don't care about you starving. Get out your pen."

Iriel stared at him, his green eyes wide open and meeting the firm unwavering gaze of his new tutor with much apprehension as his own right hand reached onto the writing pad he brought and pulled the pen that had been securely clipped on over to him. Hesitantly, he unclicked the cap, popping it tightly onto the back of the pen as he lowered its tip to the paper, all poised as a scribe. Katsurou actually smiled at him, as though pleased by his compliance. "Good boy. Now first write down what you remember from your notes..."

"Uh... Before we begin, Katsurou?"

He blinked and gave him an inquiring look, now that he had settled his slender form back in his chair, he looked much less threatening. "What?" he asked, brusquely as he pulled his legs onto the seat of the chair, wedging them firmly against the arm of the chair as he balanced a book on his knees. Iriel eyed his strange new sitting posture but didn't say a word regarding it.

"Steven... He said you made him cook...?"

"Oh, he burnt the food anyway. In the end I had to do the cooking, and for burning it, he did an extra two page essay for me before he could so much touch the cutlery. Same method, just that with morons, you have to give them the extra push..."

"Oh... Oh and, It's class 'C' two hyphen seven, by the way."

" Now start work or you starve."

.x.

"All in all, A Midsummer Night's Dream is a romantic comedy by William Shakespeare, written around the years 1594 to 1596. It portrays the adventures of four Athenian lovers and a group of actors, their interactions with the Duke and Duchess of Athens, Theseus and Hippolyta, and with the fairies who inhabit a forest," Katsurou read from another notebook, as Iriel nodded and mechanically made the corrections and additions to his own notes, "There are multiple themes discussed throughout the text, the most widely portrayed being love and loss of individual identity. If you were in Mister Francis' class, he'd tell you many many more themes, but since you're not I guess you can omit them. Anyway--"

Iriel glanced up at him, from his notes with their multiple corrections and annotations, the messy pageful of arrows and underlines, scratching outs and adding ins, "What other themes? I mean, it's just all the romantic stuff isn't it? The main interactions are between the lovers and the fairies and whichever that's in the play, isn't it?" Katsurou fixed him with a short stare, then glanced back down to his black notebook, turned to a page filled with a whole wall of scribbled black text. Iriel didn't seem to be put off, "Isn't it?"

"Not exactly, there's more. You just need to scrutinize at the text long enough to figure them out. With enough re-reading and staring and annotations and cross-referencing, you can figure out much more," Katsurou finally replied as he started to shuffle up his own little stack of notes: a series of typed out, printed out and compiled pieces of A4 printer paper, all held together with a firm plastic filer, all neatly arranged, but not neat enough for him apparently. "When you start going wonky in the mind like Mister Francis and Mister Went, you see a lot more than lovers and royalty, fairies and dukes in Athens. Oh and, if you were wonder--"

"I was," Iriel cut in sharply as he twiddled his pen absently, spinning it round and round in circles on the polished table top.

"--'Religion', 'Feminism' and 'Ambiguous sexuality'," Katsurou didn't look at him as he tidied his notes, pushing them carefully to the side to clear a space on the table top in front of him. His notes were closed, and he seemed to be speaking purely from memory. He didn't even pretend not to see Iriel's surprised expression. "You wanted to know the themes, there they were: 'religion', 'feminism' and 'ambiguous sexuality'. If you want to know more you'll have to spend time reading with Steven, he can tell you all about them. Now how about dinner? I think you've been working hard enough."

"But I hired you as my tutor," Iriel complained as he set down his pen sharply, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the cold snap of cooled molded metal chair back against his back through the fabric of his brown t-shirt, "You will tell me."

He could see Katsurou flinch almost, averting his eyes quickly and look less surprised than startled, frightened almost. Almost immediately however, the change reversed itself. He straightened, his hand reaching to push some stray locks of his pale blond hair away from his blue eyes as his gaze came to a steady unwavering fix on the paper in front of him. He remained silent for a time, letting the aimless chatter filtering through the crowd fill in the gap of strained quiet, as he stared at the paper relentlessly, as though waiting for it to offer him some unseen epiphany. Katsurou looked caught, like prey, stuck somewhere between a difficult situation with his back up against a solid rock wall, snared tightly with both firmly in place. For a minute, Iriel could remember the same expression that he'd witnessed to be the same one when they'd first met, when he had though him a girl. It was the same, except that his hesitation was longer here, a dawdling time where he did nothing except dwell in his own world.

It made Iriel feel more than a little guilty for causing his dilemma, though he wasn't sure about the reason for it. "H-Hey," he tried, sounding much brighter than he actually felt, feeling the beads of sheepish guilt-induced perspiration slide down his face, "It's fine you know to refuse, don't get yourself in a knot over it..." He swore he could feel the little droplets of cold sweat bead together into trickles, racing each other down the side of his face, down his back and arms... He was steadily freezing now, in the cold cold silence that was so artificially filled. "Katsurou?"

To his amazement, he laughed. It was soft snickering at first, but when the suppressed laughter began to shake his form, Iriel just knew he was going to explode. Or something huge to happen, like for him to, oh he didn't know, cry? He didn't expect him to plop both his elbows on the table and cradle his own face in his hands, blue eyes resuming their unwavering stare at him. Iriel twitched in surprise, his face retaining the confused, mildly startled expression as Katsurou tipped his head and studied him. "You know," Katsurou began, his left hand reaching behind to rub absently at his neck, like a nervous tic, "You remind me of someone I've know. He looks like you too, dark hair, bright green eyes... Hm," Katsurou abruptly straightened, his left hand still poised behind his neck, comfortably resting there. "Ano sa... Haruko!" And now he was waving his left hand wildly, Iriel watched as this strange character gesticulated wildly at someone behind him, mildly amused at the odd sight. Katsurou noticed, for he propped himself on his right forearm, leaning halway across the table to him. "Aiya, you idiot. You act a lot a lot like him too, pity you're not him. Kichirou would love to see his friend again, though he was always going on--" He paused, and twitched mildly, his left hand shooting out to wipe at a portion of skin on his left cheek, swiping right beneath the eye, "You're all sweaty! Eurgh, and I chose this apple tree because it was usually so cool here too... Ah, Haruko!"

She was another of the many girls on campus, one of those that blended seamlessly into a crowd, yet stood out in her own way. When she strode over, she had slapped both her hands down on the table, her bright red-gold hair swung forward and brushed against Iriel's cheek. For a moment, he was acutely aware of her presence, the brightness, the light that emanated from her entire form seemed to envelope him as well. And just as suddenly, it had vanished. "Ano ne, Katsurou-kun! Kono osokutte jikan ni tabette mo ii desu ka? Anata wa itsumo chotto--Eh?!" She had literally jumped, shirking away from him as though he was the plague and she was in immediate, dire danger. Iriel stared at her blankly. First she came here blabbering in a foreign language, and now she was afraid of him?

Katsurou chuckled, tipping his head as he withdrew, retracting back to his seat. "Good day Haruko, I see you've managed to pry yourself away from Xenia and the rest huh?" He casually linked his hands, setting them down on his lap with his elbows propper neatly on the arms of the chair. "I thought she said that she was so happy to see you she was going to follow you for the whole day?" He spoke normally, as though he were either dismissing her previous comment, or aknowledging it silently and urging her to switch to one that they all understood.

She flicked her hair, throwing down her clipboard and crouching down to the level of the table, leaning her chin and arms casually on the table, looking every bit the image of someone worn out. "It's all thanks to you that she finally forgot her decision. Windlee kept her busy all day, but yesterday... oh my god yesterday..." And she got the hint, speaking normalcent english like it was her first language, every bit as fluent as Katsurou, "She was stalking me I swear! I couldn't even do my cafeteria duty because she was following me--Oh, I let myself run away..." She seemed to finally take notice of Iriel now, tucking her loose locks of red hair behind her ear, riddled with at least four piercings, "I see you brought your friend down for training. Shakespeare?" She reached for the heavy hard-cover copy of the text, and studied it with her head slightly tilted, "Oh, Manatsu No Yoru No Yume? Che, I thought it was something super complicated like Hamlet, or maybe some of those obscure guys..." She set the book back down carefully, weighing downthe papers with it, Ha Katsurou. So, the usual?" She had suddenly picked up her clipboard, her right hand poised with a pen, the cap tucked neatly behind her ear, "And what would your new friend like?"

"Uh... Iriel, you order first. and Haruko, not today, it's bloody cold enough. The menu," he pulled it out from beneath the red head's clipboard, not seeming to care that he was also tugging her clipboard along with it. Haruko snarled at him as she did a swift swipe at his hair and made a snatch for he rapidly falling order form. Katsurou didn't seem to mind his already mussed up bed head getting any more messy. "So I take it you're still going along fine here huh? Found anything useful to return home in?" He had a perfect smile, Iriel observed as he studied him over the top of his menu, his olive eyes darting over the odd pair. Haruko wasn't returning his smile, looking less than amused.

"Nope, the..." she glanced at him for a moment, suspiciously, Iriel hastily withdrew his head behind the menu and pretended to concentrate on the choices, "the...um, the... room wasn't actually anything useful after all. I mean, Val and I have been there a million gazillion times, and we've found nothing. Nani mo arimasen. Na. Ni. Mo. Na. Ii!" Her sudden transition to another language was abrupt, and Iriel suspected that she was so used to speaking in English that she probably almost forgot how to speak that way. If the halting way she spoke wasn't obvious enough, the fact that Katsurou spoke faster than her and her slowed replies were a dead give away of her unfamiliarity with the language. Iriel felt mildly put off at her lack of trust in him, but didn't say anything as he studied the menu disinterestedly, feeling the slight hunger haunting him minutes ago drain away. She was still blathering on and on, and he didn't understand...

"So guess that you're stuck then," Katsurou had replied suddenly in English, Iriel looked up at him, noticing his blue eyes as they swiftly diverted back to focus on the red head, "Nani mo nai... desu ka?" Whether it was a slip up or not, Iriel couldn't tell, though what he did know was the irritation that plagued him as he scratched his head, tugging slightly at the brown locks to help relieve his suddenly tingling scalp.

"Ano... Dewa... Irieru-sama wa dou... de--"

At the sound of what seemed to be his name, Iriel shot up, lowering the menu to gaze at the couple he had been ignoring with renewed interest. It was a strange sight to see, Katsurou had his left hand clasped tightly over her mouth, his blue eyes staring intently at her as his expression betrayed his fluster. Haruko looked startled, as she returned his gaze, slowly however, her eyes slid over, gaze riveting on Iriel's face for a moment. The brunet glared half-heartedly, more curious than annoyed as he watched her green eyes slowly widen till they were of almost comical proportions. "Yes?" he had said, with compulsive calm at the startled pair.

Katsurou ignored him, even though Iriel could see his eyes as they darted abruptly to him before returning to stare intently at the girl's pale heart-shaped face. "Iri--Kono hito no namae o ittenai... I--Itte wa ikemasen. Wakaru?" His tone was forceful, that Iriel could hear even as he lowered the menu onto his stack of corrected notes and stationery, and propped his jaw on his hand which in turn was balanced on the desk. His own green eyes studied the pair for a moment as Haruko let out a small, almost indiscernible nod, and Katsurou let her go.

"So, what would you like?" she resumed shakily, as she bent to pick up the dislodged pen and clip it tightly to the rounded collar of her uniform.

"Beef omelette rice then," Iriel stated, as he tossed the laminated piece of menu down onto the pile, shifting in his seat, "or do you have anything to recommend?"

She smiled at him, awkward and unsurely, "Um, not right now. The cook who used to make the most delicious Shepard's Pie is down with a cough and sore throat. With any luck you'll get to taste his masterful cooking skills by the day after tomorrow. Katsurou, are you sure about the regular?"

"Pre--"

Iriel cut him off, noting how easy it was, "Oh, don't worry about him. Just give him the regular, if he doesn't want it, even better!" Haruko blinked at him, then grinned in a manner that was unbelievably wicked. Iriel was almost absolutely sure it matched the expression on his own face.

"Revenge for starving you huh?" She chuckled, as she twirled her mess of frizzy red hair into a tight whorl that retained its staticky appearance even as she flipped it behind her shoulders. "Well okay then, your orders are coming up~!" She singsonged the last bit as she swept away, her presence of warm radiance and red hair departing with a swish. The pair could still hear her as she trotted off, waving her clipboard over her head and calling for the cooks to prepare the food.

"You... " Katsurou began, then he stopped abruptly and shook his head, "do you... even, like, know what I usually eat?"

"Nope. But I don't care," Iriel announced cheerfully as he got up to pull over another chair from the nearest empty table, and sweeping everything on the table onto the chair. The pens rolled, clattering onto the ground, books tumbled and papers crinkled as it fluttered. Katsurou eyed his handiwork, cringing as he forced himself to look away. "And anyway, you look like the type who doesn't eat much. You're not allowed to skip meals, especially when I'm around."

Katsurou looked mildly amused now, his eyebrows arching as he eyed him, "How would you know I skip my meals? And how would you know I won't when you're not around?"

"Oh, that is so easy," Iriel smirked as he returned his gaze, placing both hands on the table and clasping them, looking every bit as serious as he could, "I'll just have to tail you, every single minute of your waking life. And I'll probably watch you every single second of your sleeping time and night life."

"Orders for table twenty-seven! Beef omelette rice and raspberry hot fudge parfait, enjoy your meal!"

Katsurou looked almost nostalgic as he watched Iriel gape openly at his served order, "you were the one who ordered it. Don't look at me like that." Iriel was still staring as he lifted his fork and stabbed at the omelette wrapping his rice, not even noticing as the steaming contents spilt onto his plate and started soaking up the black pepper sauce. Katsurou felt a corner of his eye twitch. "Really Iriel, stop looking."

"There's a leaf in your hair," Iriel finally replied, reaching out, he picked it out and tossed it towards the trunk of the tree. Then settled, he picked up his fork and began to eat. Katsurou stared at him, before he slowly picked up his own spoon and stuck it into the soft, pink, white and brown mixture in his dessert cup; a tall thin creation of glass with beautifully symmetrical lines and a wide mouth. There was a pause as neither of them said anything, focused on their own meals. "Oi, Katsurou. Look up."

"Ha--Mmph--!"

Iriel smiled at him, "Thanks." And he retracted his hand, leaving the loaded spoon in Katsurou's mouth. The younger of the two stared at the elder for a moment, frozen in motion with his hand rising halfway towards his mouth, the small dessert spoon he was holding was still dripping hot fudge. Iriel grinned at him as he awaited a response. Finally, Katsurou set down the smaller dessert spoon and reached at the table spoon he had so suddenly stuck into his mouth. With almost meditative calm he extracted it, and chewed. Iriel was still watching him as he swallowed, his wide blue eyes still staring back into his half-lidded ones that were still caught in a smile. "So how does it tas--Give the spoon over, I want to eat too. Hmm?"

"Nice enough," Katsurou replied benignly as he studied the silver spoon with some interest before he handed back the piece of stainless steel cutlery to Iriel, picking up his own much smaller spoon. "In return, write me an essay on the themes of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, as extensive as possible. One half pages minimum, hand it in to me before midnight. Or else."

"...H--" Iriel froze, staring at Katsurou who was calmly enjoying his sundae without a care in the world, "What the hell is up wi--"

"Curse some more, and I'll set a word count as well."

Iriel swore anyway.

.xxx.

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about one xREDballoon

about meIt was the username that was adopted either in late August or early September of 2009. It was the combined effect of too many games on Orisinal (especially High Delivery) and also her long-time love for how the large red carnival balloons when they fly away.

about meFinalized as a digital signature only in November of the same year, it has since been used everywhere: her previous Gaia account, her account on bubbl.us, and of course every recent endeavor on web and graphic design. It was an aim of hers to use it as something of a brand. From her sketches to simple blog layouts, one xREDballoon presents is her favourite signature as of now.

about meone xREDballoon is the internet handle of a girl, born on a wet day in the early morning of late February. Although astrologically she is a Pisces, she displays many of the Aquarian traits, possibly as a result of being born near the time. She likes the concept of beauty in its most primitive classical form, ruffles layered upon each other generously for flounce or decor, detailed black lace be it crochet or woven, a whole palette of colours from turquoise to grey. She is charmed by the way an old well-read book smells on a wet rainy day, and the way the pages feel, all crinkly and wise under her fingers as she turns the page. She loves the inviting appeal of a blank notebook, and a good gel-ink pen in the colour of the sky.

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