hadriel_logs | I Drink From Your Gaze, A New Masquerade

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I Drink From Your Gaze, A New Masquerade

Who: Rue Ryuzaki (Beyond Birthday) and OPEN + 1 closed.
What: Stepford Event
Where: Parks, Classrooms, and Graffiti - oh, my.
When: July 16th-July 25th
Warnings: TBA (but definitely expect some.)

[ Classroom - You hold the truth like a knife; you couldn't leave it behind. ]

Rue Ryuzaki writes his name at the top right corner of the board, as he does at the beginning of every class and what grade of Chemistry (9 - 12) he's teaching beneath it. Precise, easy, and then he turns back to the class. On his desk is an array of beakers, with some not-so-clearly-distinguishable ingredients lying beside them in bags.

"I would like to start with an experiment for display today, class." His voice is even, not even hinting if it will be interesting or not. But if you suspect it will be boring, well then... you clearly have never attended one of Ryuzaki's classes, pressing the envelope on what may or may not be legal in the classroom.

"A show of hands - how many of you have ever experimented with gunpowder? Fireworks, let's say."

Perhaps to no one's surprise, many of the students keep their hands down. Are you one of the ones that raises their hand? Perhaps you're actually afraid to admit it and keep your hand down. Or perhaps you think this suddenly became a huge red flag as a class. Please hold your questions until you're called on, though.

[ The Park - You came and took it away; the innocence I cannot replace. ]

It's a pleasant afternoon, though it's one of the few that Ryuzaki gets to attend in the park after school has ended for the day. He's still wearing his business-casual attire that he attends his classes in, but he has his camera, and a pouch on his side containing a couple additional lenses, should he see fit to use them.

Ryuzaki examines many things through the lense, not sticking to any one particular thing. He takes shots of scenery and people alike, but only the ones that seem to bear anything interesting at the very least. Although, they tend to be tinier observations. A person with an unusual smile. A red leaf sitting amidst it's green brethren. A particularly fuzzy caterpillar that thought it's appropriate home was on Ryuzaki's leg (and he seems unperturbed to allow it to continue crawling on him).

Perhaps you're curious as to what he's photographing? Or are you the latest one he's observing through his lense? It's not like he's trying to hide it.

[ Graffiti (Closed to Sharon) - Tell me that you were never real; you need another soul to steal. ]

Late at night, Ryuzaki finds himself, again, having trouble sleeping. Time for the standby - he grabs his camera and heads out into the night to see what he can find. Even if it doesn't do anything to aid him in his sleep, it does make for some fascinating photos later. The night is quiet, and usually lonely. He likes it that way. To see where his train of thought takes him.

Tonight, he strays off of his usual path, hoping to see something new, for anything that can spark his fascination. And it would appear he's in luck - he's run acrost a stretch of rather impressive graffiti. He certainly doesn't get to see this too often. He starts snapping away as he moves for different angles involved.

What he hadn't expected at this time of night was to find the source: ahead appears to be a girl, still spraypainting away as she continues her masterpiece. For a moment, Ryuzaki stares, curiously watching her movements as she goes along. And then - CLICK - he's caught an image of the culprit.

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The graffiti Sharon was working on was some of her favorites styles, usually beginning with a focus on something beautiful, something Alice in Wonderland-esque, but slowly the work gets darker and characters change. In the background, there may be familiar events that tickle the back of the mind of any of who have experienced the large variety of horror within the city, but she mostly claims that it's a statement of the unnecessary amount of police men and what a waste of money it is.

She's gotten good at lying becuase most of the horror she paints are things she dreams about. Fire. Gunshots. Undead things. Real life monsters all in her head.

She hears the first few snaps of his camera in the distance, her focus solely on her art. She pulls out a can of paint and begins to carefully add shadows, layering or smudging with one of her fingers. It's when the camera snaps again, this time closer, that she lifts her head. There's no deer in headlights look, not at all like someone who's gotten caught doing something unsavory. She appears more annoyed than anything else.

"Don't you know it's rude as fuck to take someone's picture without at least asking?" She snaps, pulling back from the wall. Her fingers are shades of the rainbow and her hair, thought blonde, is clearly bleached to such a brassy color. There's a satchel of things up against the wall and everything she wears is well-worn.

"Oh, is it?" Ryuzaki's eyes only widen a little in what can probably only be described as feigned surprise. He's clearly not otherwise taken aback. He flicks the reel as he rolls the film to the next negative, and then he's back to holding the camera up to his face, observing Sharon through the lens.

"You do have quite a talent in your artwork. What do you call it?" He turns back to what she was painting and snaps more photos of it, capturing the progression from dream to subliminal nightmare. The darker figures do pull at the corners of his mind, though not from something resembling the horrors of the city, but the echoes of something more familiar. A sense of mission pulls beneath the surface. As if something he had long forgotten is begging to be remembered.

But in Pleasant Valley, these thoughts are out of place. Aren't they? Though, Ryuzaki certainly doesn't dismiss these thoughts from protruding either, allowing them to take root as they so desire. As if almost curious as to what this mission may have been. Almost.

And with that train of thought, he turns back to Sharon and snaps another photo of her, clearly not adhering to the first mark of disapproval she had given.

Sharon thought her words would be enough to get the stranger to back off and quit with the camera but he sticks with it, clicking away. She tries to ignore it, though some small part of her swells that someone is interested in her work at all but when he snaps another picture of her, she stops, a glare settling her features.

"Could you fucking quit?" She asks sharply, dropping the brush back into the bucket. It's common knowledge that Sharon does most of the street art in the city, even having spent a night or two in the local jail, so it doesn't bother her to get caught red-handed, but there's nothing more distracting than some cameraman snapping away while she's trying to keep her brain in the right space.

Lately chemistry had been a blast. Judging by the set-up that Ryuzaki-sensei had brought in, today would be no exception to that. From his place in the second-last row, off to the side, Akira scanned the room as their teacher asked them about their experiences with explosives. From his place in the room he could hear quiet murmuring from some of his fellow-students, most of them wondering if they should really admit to the likes of what he was asking.

Well. This lecture would probably be more exciting if at least one of them stepped up to the plate, right? So after a few moments of no other brave volunteers, up goes Akira's hand into the air finally, just as it seemed no one would confess.

Abigail is enjoying a nice day out in the park. She has her hair tied back and is dressed in simple running clothes. She jogs along, happy to have some exercise after spending all day in classes sitting at desk. A light breeze hits her at just the right moment and everything feels wonderful. Until she feels as if she's been watched.

She stops and looks over to spot a teacher. Not one of her teachers, but she recognizes him from school. The suit practically scream authority figure to her, but it's the camera that really gets her attention. Her hand reaches up, tugging her hair down from the ponytail to cover the spot where her ear used to be. She then pulls a scarf from her pocket and ties it around her neck to hide her other scar as best she can, to pass as 'normal'. She is used to comments about her appearance from insensitive classmates. It isn't fair to assume that a teacher would feel the same way or be snapping pictures of her for his amusement. But bullying has her a little paranoid.

"Hi." She says and takes a few step closer. "What's up with the camera?"

Ryuzaki waits patiently, allowing the murmuring to continue as the students see fit. He doesn't seem particularly intent to continue unless at least one person cooperates. He stands still enough, purely observing the students, with a stare that's very nearly eerie. Perhaps it's a good thing he doesn't teach grade school, if only for the expressions and movements he makes while seemingly blissfully unaware of the effect it causes on others.

Finally, a hand goes up and Ryuzaki looks toward it.

"Ah, yes, Akira. Very good. Please come up here with me, then." His voice is level, without a hint of surprise, as if he had expected Akira to be the sole volunteer all along. "Please share one of your experiences with the class, and hold onto this beaker."

He holds out a beaker with a clumpy, white powder in it. If Akira is well-versed, he may recognise it as Potassium Chlorate. Or is it just powdered sugar? He sets about to elevate an empty vial on a stand and set up a bunsen burner as Akira shares with the class.

"That is a very interesting art display title. Your own creation?" His tone lets on no sign of if he's being serious or facetious. Still, after a few more shots, he does lower his camera, seemingly satisfied with all of the captures.

He gets closer to the mural, inspecting the elements more closely. He crouches at a particularly darker part of the series. Though he doesn't reach out to touch it, his nose does come dangerously close to the wet paint as he examines one of the figures portrayed.

"How very interesting. What is it that inspires you to these visions? I'm quite curious."

"No, I stole it from a book I read," She responds with a heady amount of sarcasm, blue eyes rolling to further her point. The question feels like it should be obvious, despite the fact that it isn't. Her frown deepens and she grinds her teeth as he continues to snap away, finally pausing to ask another question, but this one she doesn't like and so she answers with just as much sarcasm as her first one,"I have a very active imagination."

What is it with this guy? She wants to pull him away from her art but manages to keep with a glare,"Could you back the fuck up? It's not a Where's Waldo thing."

But there are familiar faces. Maybe one that looks like L. Or Mello. Or Cecily. Or any single resident within the city that's been here. And there's fire. There are people burning in the distance. Monsters hidden amongst crowds of faces. Shadows taking on strange forms. There are things hidden in the painting that even she isn't aware of.

"Plagiarism is wrong, Ms. Graffiti." His tone is every bit as even and casual as hers is sarcastic, even while giving her the nickname in lieu of knowing her real one. "An active imagination should be able to come up with it's own titles."

He does back up, but only briefly, and certainly not at her suggestion, because he's closed in on another face. He pauses at face after face like this; shadow after shadow. Staring at them as though this is what one would do for a quiet afternoon stroll. But there's an itch at the back of his mind that pervades his senses. An itch that Ryuzaki, without a doubt, plans to appease with a good scratch.

A hand reaches up and scratches the back of Ryuzaki's head, with a definitive, thoughtful hmmm... coming from the man. He sees the L image, and he pauses strongly at that one. There's a passing similarity between Ryuzaki and L, faint though it is. But it's enough of a similarity that makes Ryuzaki finally reach up and press a finger to the chest of the L image, unconcerned about smearing any paint, as he looks back over his shoulder at Sharon.

"Is this supposed to be me?" Tone still even, it's hardly curious. However it does carry the indication that a better job could have been done if it was supposed to be him. But then the letter L surfaces to him in his mind. Letter? No, a name. But who would name someone L?

M... N... and B.

He remains fixated on L's image, like there's a piece of the puzzle he's missing and this image holds that piece hostage. As if there's something this image knows that he doesn't. The itch in the back of his mind begins to feel like an infestation.

"I don't mind doing a little wrong." He's starting to make her feel wary and she begins to pack up her supplies, slipping lids onto paint cans and wiping down her brushes but all of that comes to a halt the moment he seems to see something in her art.

She watches him, perturbed. What the hell? It's like he's analyzing every bit of her painting and then he settles on something. She wants to rip his hand back, knowing he'll smudge the colors and it'll look off to her and she'll have to go back in to make it right when all she wants to do is leave now.

The question catches her off-guard,"What?"

Why would she paint him? Or anyone? Sure, she's done some facial portraits, realistic ones in a small sketchbook tucked away in her bag (though, oddly enough, the familiar faces all have their eyes black out with a long stripe).

She moves towards the part he's so focused on, looking at all the eyes that stare back at her,"No. It's just a face I made up."

She thinks. But that seems wrong. She knows every face up there, doesn't she? Even if that can't be possible. It's not. It can't be.

Indeed, Ryuzaki had already taken a few shots of Abigail as she was jogging. And even one or two as she pulled her hair down and wrapped her scarf onto herself.

"I am taking photographs of intriguing oddities." He says it simply and easily, as though one talking about the weather. He snaps another photo of her before lowering the camera to rest around his neck.

"You're a student, aren't you?" Despite her not being one of his students, he's familiar enough with her appearance to recall her presence in the school, the way he's always observing. "Did you finish all of your homework already?"

It's hard to tell if he means it as a genuine question or if he's doing it as a passing familiarity from teaching his own students with the tone he gives.

A face she made up... No, somehow that seems impossible. The resemblance to himself in so-slight a manner. And yet it isn't him. Somehow he knows that. He recognizes that.

And he feels it - a glimmer of something from a past that isn't here. The bloody slaughter of a little girl. The immaculate cleaning of the crime scene, right down to wiping the light sockets. The outlay of the Wara Ningyo dolls. There was a mission he had to complete; a distant echo of something he was ripped away from. And a distinct sense of unease fills Ryuzaki.

Just who was he killing? What was that mission precisely? No, there's something else at the edges of his mind that he can't seem to dig out from the depths. He just knows that a deep, unsated urge to murder has risen to the surface.

It's a flash of movement, and he rips the camera strap from off of his neck. In the same fluid motion, he swings to drive his elbow square into Sharon's chest plate. Despite the sudden bloodlust and the instant need to attack, Ryuzaki displays calm, as if this is natural for him.

Just what was that mission, exactly? He's still trying to recall as he goes through this. And how easier this would be if he had a knife. It's alright, though. It's simply another opportunity to experiment, isn't it?

Edited 2017-07-26 18:08 (UTC)

It happens quickly, far quicker than she'd have expected. He tosses the camera, ripping the strap from his neck as if it were nothing. She stumbles back but not far enough to keep his elbow from being driven into her chest, not only knocking her off her feet but something inside of her cracks. The pain is blinding but she can't scream.

She can barely fucking breathe.

She's gotten into scrapes before but it was never like this. She tries to scramble back, grabbing a paint brush and flipping it to its pointed end. It's not sharp but enough pressure could drive it through him. She's got a knife in her bag but, fuck, why didn't she keep it on her person at all times. But the only real thoughts in her head now are survival.

When she falls to the ground, he makes a dive for her, the paintbrush being a surprising element in her defense. He takes the force of that paintbrush to his arm to minimize any critical injuries, feeling the puncture in the flexor muscle, and hardly wincing before he tries to slam the strap around her throat.

Strangling was a long, painful way to die. And with the pain in her chest, it would be even moreso. He is, however, relying more on the strength of his now-superiour arm, and with that in mind, he also tries to press his knee where he struck her chest before, to reduce her to something nearly powerless.

He couldn't help but wonder how much she could take before she either passed out or suffocated. And he wanted to see for himself. He wanted to watch her squirm for the last breaths she could pull.

If only he succeeds in pinning her down as such, it would truly be something interesting to observe.

He's on top of her just as quickly as she pulls up the paintbrush. She knows it's done some part of what she needed it to do, a sticky warmth on her fingers that she's all too aware of and knows she shouldn't be, but he's an insane force. There's something around her neck and then there's a new pressure on her chest, so sharp it feels as if she's been shot (something she's certain she's never experienced before).

She struggles in spite of the pain, pulling back the paintbrush in an attempt to jab it at him again, her other empty hand going for the strap, trying to slip her fingers between it and herself. It's difficult to breathe but her expression, where once it was wide with fear, is filled with nothing but rage.

Kill her. Kill her and she shall return like a phoenix from its ashes. She is... She is... It's too difficult to breathe and her struggles weaken. She just has to get some advantage. She tries to buck him off, use her legs, but with his knee on her chest, it hurts too badly to accomplish.

Fuck no. Fuck no.

She's going to die. She never had a plan for life but she never wanted to die, did she? She was just a painter and a dropout. A loser. And now she'll be a body that some will be thankful has no life and others won't even care.

Sharon keeps her eyes on him as he strangles her, as narrowed as they can be given all the pressure. Her eyesight is darkening but she won't give him any satisfaction. She glares, teeth barred, nose wrinkled, even as the color of her face changes. Fuck you, she mouths as she feels her own conciousness begin to slip in and out.

His eyes are focused intently on her, observing as she struggles, desperately trying to get that one jolt, that one grab, that one stab that will spare her life.

And he doesn't care.

He doesn't care one ounce for the pain and breathlessness of her suffering. If anything, it's the blissful reminder of what he needed to do - to be better than L and create the unsolvable crime.

What a pity for her it was that she couldn't have been knocked unconscious, drugged, like the others before he murdered them effortlessly.

And the reality finally hits him - he's not in his homeworld, he can't continue the murders to defeat L. The place he's been sucked into has prevented him from doing that. How many days had it been? The ninth day must have surely passed in which he was to commit his next murder. The rest of the world would wonder what became of the murderer, why he only stopped halfway through. And L?

L wouldn't be able to find B.

While L had not won, Ryuzaki had still undoubtedly lost. A realisation that made Ryuzaki clench his teeth at the exact time that Sharon mouthed her fuck you; a rage within as if L were saying those words instead of the pathetic artist before him.

He tightens the grasp, a subtle scowl on his face, waiting for Sharon to succumb. And though he would humour the thought of simply snapping her neck, he is conscious of his injured arm. And the gasp of air she might get when he releases the strap as he moves to grab her head just so would be opportunity enough for her to take advantage of the situation. And he's not about to risk letting her go, not after he's come this far.

No. Instead, he'll just make her suffer more by digging his knee deeper into her chest.

Intriguing oddities. He may not have called Abigail a freak, but his choice of words confirms Abigail's worries. Her hand reaches up to her hair, making sure it's in place over the spot where her ear used to be, while her other hand checks her scarf, even though she knows its in place from a moment ago. She then crosses her arms over her chest.

"I am a student, as well as a person that you could have asked permission before taking a picture of me. I am not an oddity." She mutters defensively and then shakes her head. "Already? No. It doesn't seem like it'd be healthy to go from sitting in a classroom to sitting at home without doing something active in-between. Isn't sitting too much the new smoking or something like that?"

The more pressure he applies to her chest, the more her expression shifts from fury to pain. There are things broken in her, sharp shards of bone being pressed into the softness of her internal organs. With the accompaniment of the strangling, she can feel death.

Tears prickle her eyes, though it's difficult to tell if it's a voluntary reaction to her situation or otherwise. She's died before. She remembers that. Three shots to the chest. He ruined her leather vest her dad got her. He apologized. He came to her for pressing issues but his name is gone from her mind.

This isn't how the world is supposed to be.

Her struggle lessens and lessens, strength and life leaving her. Her last sight may be of B's face but her last thought is of Mello.

Pushing himself out from behind his desk, his voluntary admission does nothing for the murmurs, except for change their direction. He can hear things along the lines of 'I knew it' and 'Of course it would be him, haven't you heard about all the trouble he gets into? but Akira seems keen on ignoring all of it as he steps up in front of the class alongside their teacher.

He takes hold of the beaker, sniffing it from a short distance away before looking back up at his peers. "Of course. I mean, which ones of us haven't set off fireworks when it comes to our town's celebration every year?"

It was only one of his experiences with things that go boom, mind you, but that was probably enough for some of the students to eat at least a few of their words.

"Oh. Well then, I request permission to take the former photographs." Ryuzaki, it's too late to request that permission when you've already taken the photos. "Although you certainly have some unusual traits, Miss Oddity."

It's not a jab, or a retaliation; just a simple, matter-of-fact statement.

"Oh, is it?" He doesn't sound the least bit surprised by this information. "Although, aren't you sitting for the same amount of time whether you do your homework first and then jog or the other way around? Isn't it said that work before play is a greater motivator?"

He actually has nothing to statistically back that up. He's just making basic comments at this point, almost in roundabout way.

"Or perhaps there is a new way of studying through activity that I am not aware of. Say, did you know if you sit with your knees to your chest, your deductive skills increase by forty percent? You could get your homework completed in a more timely manner with such a method."

That he does know for a fact. From where, he's not sure. But it's familiar, as if he's tested it himself before.

As though seemingly satisfied with her diminished struggling, Beyond gives one solid jolt through that knee into her chest; to shove out any remnants of breath she might be holding onto, to crush her chest in further and end it all, while gripping the band around her throat tighter, to make the final gasp in vain.

Even when she finally stops moving and her eyes go lifeless, he waits even longer, to be sure her heart stops undoubtedly, counting the seconds, as if a measured science. After four minutes have passed, he finally releases her, taking the strap from around her neck. He moves to the paint supplies, carefully organising them and even finishing the process of cleaning the brushes for her. He uses the camera strap as a buffer to keep from leaving fingerprints. He then picks up her bag and sets it on the ground near her feat, neatly and carefully; to the left, after he makes sure her legs are pressed together.

If he had more tools and it wasn't in the eye of the public where he could be swiftly and easily discovered, he could have done so much more. A small lament for that fact. Perhaps he should have baited her back to her home, first. Still, he lacked a copious amount of supplies for a proper premeditated murder. No, he'll do the best he can with what he has now. He'll have to.

He had set the painting supplies in a rung around her head, not unlike the halos seen in Old style Catholic artwork, and even took the effort to fold her arms to her chest. He saw it more fitting to leave her eyes open and does so.

With that, he wraps the strap around his arm, at the stab wound, musing at just how much damaged the paintbrush had done. The blood had taken a little more time to clean off of that one. But he had to make sure it stayed with its set. When satisfied at the makeshift bandage, he scoops up his fallen camera, clicking his tongue at the cracked lens. The things a fit of madness and memory can do.

He holds the camera in his good hand, as casual as ever, as though on a casual night stroll to take photos of the nightly landscape and it's peculiarities. The hand with his injured arm goes in his pocket, after pulling down the sleeve as much as possible. And he returns to the sidewalk to make his way home. He has some homework he needs to finish grading, and perhaps some homework of his own to fill out.

Akira is one of Ryuzaki's favourite students, and for this reason in particular. Akira knew how to work the truth in his favour while doing all manner of things that weren't quite legal. It showed all matter of wit, cunning, and skill. Even if Akira was significantly younger than him, Ryuzaki felt a sense of familiarity with him. Almost as if Akira were a disciple to him.

After Ryuzaki manages to get the vial elevated above the bunsen burner, he lights the burner and turns to Akira.

"That is a very good point, Akira. Many of us have experience with some form of explosive in everyday items, even. Many just do not realise it.

"Akira, as you continue, please pour a little of that mixture into the vial and allow it to liquefy."

And then he turns back to the class briefly after Akira's story.

"Class, I am going to ask a very important question, and I need your full cooperation - does anyone have gummy bears with them?"

"No permission. Not from me." If Abigail had more concerned parents, she supposed she could have used them as threat. She doubted they'd care or even be the slightest bit interested in her not liking her picture being taken. They'd simply tell her to toughen up or ignore it. "My name's Abigail. It's not unusual to jog in a park or wonder about someone taking your picture."

"If I did my homework first, it might be too late to go out jogging alone." Not that her parents would care about her being alone at night either. She shrugs. "I heard taking breaks improves focus and concentration. As for motivation, I guess it depends on the person. I lose motivation if I spend too long at something, end up with sort of a writer's block. Sometimes I just feel trapped and can't work when I'm like that. I need to get out."

She stops herself from saying more. She can't explain the constant feeling she had that she had been locked away in the past and had to climb over walls to escape.

"Sounds like it would be harder to highlight or make notes or type." Abigail comments, trying to picture getting her work done that way.

Edited 2017-08-02 07:04 (UTC)

"Hmm," it's only after some brief consideration that he does as he's instructed. Sensei probably didn't have the intention to blow them up after all, right? ...Right? Regardless, Akira pours a small amount of the contents of his beaker into the new receptacle, moving carefully as he does so.

Meanwhile, one of the female students reluctantly came forward with a small bag of gummy treats, popping a bubble of gum as she approached the front. "If it will give me extra credit I'll gladly offer some of my snacks!" She announced, offering them up pleasantly before returning to her seat.

And here's Akira, still standing and doing his part, wondering what the heck he was getting himself into, images of giant mutant gummy bears taking over his thoughts.

"Yes, of course you can have extra credit. Thank you for your cooperation."

Ryuzaki opens the bag of gummy bears and eats two or three of them, satisfied with the flavor as he munches away.

"Yes, these will do nicely."

He finally walks back over to Akira, making sure the powder is a nice glaze at this point.

"Alright, Akira, goggles please."

Ryuzaki puts on his own goggles and, after Akira does as he's told, Ryuzaki holds out a gummy bear and then drops it into the solution for a rather fantastic show. Though exciting, perhaps even startling, it's rather harmless in it's current stage.

A faint smirk crosses Ryuzaki's lips.

"As you can see here, explosives can be created with even in-home and mundane materials. Isn't rather surprising that even sweets can pack quite the punch?"

"Ah, I suppose I shall have to burn the negatives, then." Not that he sounds anything like distraught over this. And he is, also in fact, lying about burning those negatives. "Abigail. It is certainly unusual to wear your hair one way, and then go out of your way to put it back down carefully in several places after the assumption that one feels they are being watched."

"Sugar improves focus and concentration. Sugar is good for the brain and deductive reasoning. Perhaps you should eat a jar of jam or molasses to improve your perseverance in your studies. Do you like strawberry jam, Abigail? It's one of my favourites." He's absolutely being serious, right now.

"Not at all, I find the position easy to maneuver with as I grade my papers. It could also improve your flexibility. You should give it a try."

"Must be the observer effect. People change their behaviour when they're being watched." Abigail replies. It was more true for teen girls to worry about their appearance, especially one that was bullied. She feels a teacher should know that. It's strange how things just seem off about her life that way.

"I've always heard people get too much sugar. But yeah, I like strawberry jam on biscuits with goat cheese. Or on scones with clotted cream. Or between the layers of a sponge cake. Maybe even with a slice of cheesecake." She didn't know how she had come to like foods fancier than toast or a pb&j. Her parents had never treated her to them. She simply knows she likes them. "I couldn't eat an entire jar." He couldn't be serious. "How many biscuits does it take to get through that?"

"I might." Abigail said simply though she had no plan on it. It sounded uncomfortable.

Edited 2017-08-12 03:09 (UTC)

The goggles go over his glasses, as Akira steps takes a half-step back. His eyebrows raise in surprise at the chemical reaction, impressed by the nature of the light and smoke show. It probably looked a lot more intimidating than it was, which was right up his alley as a gentleman of the night.

Curiously, he wondered if the different colours would provide different effects... It was nice, being in the good books of the chemistry teacher, sometimes.

He took mental notes of the experiment, perhaps just the slightest, mischevious gleam in his eye as he looked to his sensei for further direction, if there was any.

"Akira, would you like to test this even further?" He takes a larger beaker, dropping a fair amount of the powder into it this time. "I'm willing to let you run the test of just how explosive this experiment can get. A larger amount of powder with a larger amount of gummy bears."

He holds out the bag of gummy bears to Akira and motions his hand for Akira to go ahead.

"Melt the powder as before and add as many gummy bears as you so desire."

An expectant, yet somewhat serious look locks itself upon Akira's features, almost as if halfway daring him to try it. After all, Akira's the daredevil of this class, isn't he?

Grey eyes carefully follow the professor's movements as the generous amount of powder goes into the beaker. With a few moments of contemplative silence, Akira moves to melt the powder as instructed. He was actually quite curious as to what the reaction would look like with a much larger amount of supplies— having been impressed with just the meagre amount they'd just used.

With the first step nearing completion, there's a thoughful, "Hmm," from the young man as he eyes up the gummies... and reaches in to scoop up an overflowing handful of treats. Some fall from his grip— that's how many he's trying to hold onto, as he looks to Ryuzaki one more time... a mischievous grin on his face...

As he drops them all in at once.

Edited 2017-09-15 17:50 (UTC)

Ryuzaki can't help but smirk as Akira does so. The student's bold personality living up to his expectations.

However, unfortunately for Akira, the reaction is nowhere near as drastic. In fact, the large about of gummy bears instead ignites and smolders, not unlike a log on the fire and the candy proceeds to simply melt and burn.

Before too much smoke arises, Ryuzaki takes a glass bowl and places it over the beaker to prevent the smoke from spreading and suffocate the flames, turning off the Bunsen burner.

"Very good, Akira. Do you understand why the smaller amount shot up in an explosion, but the larger quantity did not?"

How disappointing. Akira really had been hoping for fireworks, if only to make the day more interesting. But he turned his attention back towards the teacher as he's asked the question, thinking it over for a few moments, before finally setting the vial back into place and offering a simple— "Oxygen?" in reply.

It's the best guess he can give, choosing to explain his reasoning. "The reaction might need some breathing room in order to flare like the first time... much like a fire needs space in order to grow. If there's too much wood or kindling in a small space, or gummi bears in this case, it can smother the incendiary properties rather than giving it fuel."

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I Drink From Your Gaze, A New Masquerade

GRAFFITI

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classroom!

The Park

Apologies. I got lost o-o

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CW: Mentions of murder; violence

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no problem!

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CW: Death; furthered violence; blood

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pulling this out of my ass!!!!! dont mind me lol