Ravenna wasn't entirely sure if the people around her were even stupider than herself or just insane. She supposed it might have been a cultural thing she had never picked up on. In any case, she decided to try her hand at sparking conversation.
"What do you think they're making us wait for, anyhow?
Kitkat Kitkat / He's our man / If any one screws up / He sure can -ImcaAri blinked in confusion at Reg, but duly chose a nice-looking part of the wall on the other side of the strange flowing tapestry she had situated herself near.
edited 18th Mar '11 10:52:42 PM by SOCR
How can you be in two places at once when you're not anywhere at all?—Regg was smiling now, a mischievous gleam in his eye.—
"I think it's time you cooled off, Charlotte."
— And here, as he knocked the bottle one last time to the side, with his other fist he punched down hard on the back of the plastic container, flattening it.
FOOM
The whole top of the bottle split, and a wet, vaguely nutty-scented nimbus of foam roared its way into the fire-loving freshman's face and torso, engulfing her and splattering the wall behind. Collateral damage there of course was, as those unfortunates sitting to her sides found out to their chagrin.—
"He could not know it. For it was not all a joke.""They're doing it because they can. Making us wait establishes dominance, but I think they're observing us.", Sigrun said. "In short, I'd say they do it for the lulz."
Then the foam hit her. Sigrun managed to keep her composure when she was splashed, more or less. She then glared at the pranskter, with her trademark "I'm going to rip your guts out and hang you with them" glare. She said only one word: "Shit!"
edited 18th Mar '11 10:30:21 PM by SavageHeathen
You exist because we allow it and you will end because we demand it.—Reginald grinned, waving to his audience like the Queen of England did on parade.—
"Thankyew verreh much! Towels?"
—He flung one for each victim to the side of Charlotte, but not one to the chief target herself. Naturally, they gave off the strong odor of Newspice.—
"Don't try and set people on fire, freshman. It's not classy."
"He could not know it. For it was not all a joke."The cutesy act Charlotte had been putting on so far utterly cracked, and she scowled bitterly at Regg as she wiped the foam off her face.
"...I'll show you "classy", you little..." she hissed to herself, rummaging through her pockets furiously until she finally found a cigarette that hadn't been soaked in Newspice, sticking it in her mouth and carefully lighting it, not taking those bitter, venomous eyes off Regg for even one moment.
Sigrun cleaned herself as best as she could.
Still, the harm was done: Her glasses were foggy and her hair was pretty much ruined for the day. She spent the next two minutes cleaning her glasses up. The hair, alas, was beyond immediate repairs.
She threw her towel to Charlotte.
edited 19th Mar '11 6:39:34 AM by SavageHeathen
You exist because we allow it and you will end because we demand it.Trying to salvage what little she had left of the sweet, innocent thing, Charlotte tried to crack a smile at Sigrun as she caught the towel. Of course, this was somewhat hampered by the cigarette in her mouth and how much she now wanted to hurt Regg, and so she ended up with a vaguely psychotic looking half-smile.
"Th-thanks..." she half-gumbled as she wiped the foam away.
"Probably until we get relaxed, so they can catch us off guard," Odhran muttered. He cracked a small smile at the antics of the group nearby, although he didn't get how they could be so casual- After all, they were basically trapped, weren't they?
Abruptly, his stomach growled, and he remembered he was actually hungry. Ah, darn. I shoulda eaten something.
When Ari arrived, Will could do little more than stare covertly. Where his eyes deceiving him, or she have a freaking sword slung over her shoulder? Clearly, something fishy was going on here...
Alas, he did not have long to ruminate on these suspicious events, for at that moment Regg pulled his little prank and the young man found himself spattered with foam. Will sputtered and wiped frantically at his face and eyes, for they had both been open when the bottle exploded and as a result they had both taken some in.
"Damn it," he muttered angrily a moment later. "A bit more warning would have been appreciated, you know..."
He would have said more, but before he could utter so much as another word a new voice cut in; it was masculine and thick with an East Indian accent, and it came from the back of the room, behind the large screen which obstructed the stage from view.
"Miss Whitnall, Mister Georges, some restraint would be most appreciated. I did not bring you all here simply to ruin my shop with your practical jokes."
Will blinked in confusion and turned to the screen. While much of what lay beyond it could not be seen, the screen was just porous enough for him to make out the silhouette of a curious fellow, doubtless the owner of the voice which had just spoken. He was a man, dressed in what appeared to be immaculate robes of an Indian fashion, and a large turban sat atop his head; from his posture, the man was almost certainly sitting in a wheelchair, and he clutched what might have been either a cane or a sabre in his right hand, laying it flat across his lap. In his other hand, the man held the flexible tube of a hookah, and as Will watched the man pulled the apparatus away from his lips and exhale a thick cloud of acrid white smoke, filling the air with the scent of tobacco.
There was something odd about him, beyond his anachronistic clothing, however; from what little Will could see of this Indian nobleman, his hands seemed to be positioned oddly, almost as if they were facing the wrong way. Furthermore, there was an odd blue cast to the man's skin, a hue that could not be passed over as a trick of the light.
Will stifled the urge to gulp, sensing that something was wrong here. "Are you the Maharaja?" he asked.
The man nodded. "I am indeed. I suppose you are all won—"
Abruptly the man trailed off into a coughing fit, and it was then that Will realized the Maharaja was old. For the briefest instant, he felt a pang of sympathy; old guy probably doesn't have a lot of time left...
The Danse Macabre Codex-Rebecca had arrived fairly on time, but she'd hesitated for a while, eyeing up the shop, wondering whether she should go inside. Things were getting weirder by the minute: first her dream, then that thing she'd seen in the classroom window, then the bizarre messenger. And now she was waiting outside a shop she was sure wasn't there last week on the instructions of a letter she didn't really understand.-
-Eventually, she'd built herself up to going inside, and she opened the door, glancing around at the peculiar sight around her-
"Hello... I'm... here about the letter."
-She waved the envelope weakly-
"One thing, though- apparently the eldest goat is the bastard child of Muhammad Ali and the Hulk." ~ Exelixi, on The Three Billy Goats Gruff.Edith stretched her head back behind her seat and groaned to herself, her light eyes rolling back as she counted the imaginary stars on the ceiling. Each one represented how bored she was, surrounded by quite a few people she probably wouldn't like, and too few who she wouldn't. Her head turned in mock attention when the old man began to speak, then twisted back to the stars when he began his coughing fit.

—Regg waved to the latest and uninvited guest, an ominous hiss of overpressurised air coming from the completely white bottle.—
"Just in time, Ari. I'd get to a different patch of wall..."
"He could not know it. For it was not all a joke."