windlion

So- first two days of classes down, and I've been to each and every one once. Including an extra one. My schedule is rapidly becoming bizarre, as I have three classes Monday, one class Tuesday, four classes Wednesday, a class and a four hour lab Thursday, and two classes Friday. It doesn't really make sense, does it?

This really is the end result of my original second Tuesday class being godawful- after wading out through the snow, past the horse barns and the arena, where there are no sidewalks and the road is nice and brown slushy, then wandering through a labyrinth of research buildings (many of which look rather ghetto. Trailer park and concrete ghetto.), I was informed that this little one credit class would include: really boring primary literature science papers, a twenty minute oral presentation, a five page paper, and the joy of joys- it all has to be on nitric oxide. They really went down the list and ticked off my favorite things: public speech, chemicals, and busy work for no good reason.

It didn't take me long to realize I was siting in the wrong classroom entirely. This was ammended today, when I sat in on a different version of the same class, and found a little piece of home: the whole thing was targetted specifically at EEB majors. No papers, no chemicals, just guest lecturers, outdoor labs, and organismal biology. ^_^ I was a very happy, not to mention relieved, Wind.

One quick trip through Peoplesoft later, I have swapped classes and all is right with the world again. This does mean that Wednesdays are now my "days that never end," but it starts with English and ends with Bio- my favorites. ^^ It could be far worse.

Because I am lazy, I didn't post the two drabbles I finished yesterday. All of, oh, three people may enjoy them, as they're HunterxHunter based, but at least they're something. Also- they're not perfect by any means, or particularily editted. -_-; I apologize, but since I'm using them as writer's block breakers, and they're /drabbles/, damnit, I have convinced myself to let them go.

First up is Hisoka. . . Not by choice, really, but because the man is a creepy psychopathic bastard, and the less time he spends in my head the better off we all are. If you're familiar with the manga and/or anime, you know exactly what I'm talking about and should be cringing appropriately. He's disturbing, utterly insane, and perverted enough to make me twitch and scream. This means, of course, that he's a beautifully nasty character. Thus, he's a wonderful test of my abilities. If I can make anyone else twitch and feel uncomfortable, then I've done my civic duty.

He dragged his fingers through the water in his glass, raising them before his eyes for inspection, before flicking off the droplets, one by one, onto the surface of the coin sitting upon the table waiting as a tip for the waiter.

It was a shame that his tablemate had already paid the indolent fellow. There was no spark in him- no fight, no fear, no driving force to make him noteworthy. If he were alone, he would have killed him.

Maybe he would anyways.

And maybe he wouldn't.

The edges of his lips crept up in a small, wicked smile as he felt the small, familiar thrill run through him. There- maybe that was enough to sate his frustrated boredom.

That was something he was far too familiar with; existence rolled on in all directions, in all timeframes forward and back until every moment was indistinguishable from the next. Hisoka hated it.

There was only one thing that interested him. He pursed his lips, watching one bead of water slide down his fingers into the quivering pool on the coin. That was it- tension. The battle of two forces leading inexorably to a climax and one conclusion.

That was the draw of combat, of any war of the wills, hell, the draw of sex. The clash of wills, the progression of threats and power, the time when the moment balanced and it could go either way. He could feel his lips quiver at the thought. The tension was best when it was drawn out, pulling the moment to its breaking point, the battle of potential outcomes better than foreplay.

Inexplicably, he burst out into giggles as, with one last drop, the water rolled over the edges of the coin on to the tablecloth. The waiter scowled as if Hisoka doesn't see; Hisoka sees everything. The man will beg before he dies.

He did so love being the one to watch others break.

And also, because the poor man, never, ever, gets any attention, a Leorio drabble. I'm afraid it's not terribly exciting, but my muses are doing their best to make a backstory for him. . . So he might actually get a plot of his own someday.

He feels like he lives in different worlds. No, more than that- he knows he does. He comes from one, a few childhood days spent sipping from the silver spoon before the floor fell through. He has far more memories of running through a decrepit house, of playing in vacant lots, of scoldings from worried faces lined with years of loving care. He can remember growing up in that seedy backwater orphanage besides the sea. He remembers forgetting his family's name- not his family, just the one that left him in their time of trouble. He knows he has older siblings somewhere, but doesn't truly care to find them. He tells himself that they must have been left to fend for themselves. So long as he doesn't know otherwise, this is his truth, and it is an old scar he can ignore.

He has others, too, made over years brawling in alleys and taking on all comers that mocked him for his secondhand clothes and illfitting hand-me-down shoes in public school. That was where he learned that above all else, he had to keep up apperances. That was where he learned- harder than anyone else, faster than anyone else, all so that he could graduate when he turned 16. That way, he held his diploma with his bare bag of belongings when they turned him out when he was of age.

That was when he moved into his first apartment. It was a lot like the one he lives in now at school- small, shabby at the corners, but with a coat of paint to heal all ills. It's on campus, and paid for by the college as his tuition is. These are the few perks that come with his license, and he's more than thankful for them.

The school itself is another world entirely: one made of books, of endless cups of coffee, of cheerful smiles and cadavers. It's a reassuringly mundane and immediate world, but Leorio never forgets why he's there.

The other students can't believe he's really a Hunter. If he admits it to himself, he can't, either. It was a success born of luck- and companionship. He wouldn't have made it otherwise. Sometimes, when he worries about where the other three have gone on without him, he reminds himself of this. They can make it without him, and learning is one place where he can stand on his own.

In medical school, there's no one else's coattails to ride.

That's all for now. . . I'll give Kuroro and Kurapika a shot before long. However, it's almost midnight, and I need my steady six hours of sleep before I keel over. Four classes as well as karate makes for a rather full day. . .

And now I'm on to the next one!