Though Rai was somewhat less irritable than usual after exerting herself and "enjoying" the company of Xander, there was really no way she would allow the O'Reilly girl to keep jabbering with Borelli any longer without having some sort of bodily fluids spilled, prefferably blood. They just went on and on and on and on, and sometimes the Arnal boy would interject some equally useless comment, and then the Tall Flaming Red Head Who Dared To Smile At Her would smile and agree with that accent. That terrible, terrible accent. Stupid lilting Irish! And so cheerful! Kami, what'd a girl have to do for a little quiet to contemplate the best way to not kill people?

"Hey, Raiya!"

Kami, was TFRHWDTSAH talking to her? Was he trying to draw her into the conversation? Why the hell would he do that? Unless he had a death wish or something...

Well that was an interesting possibility...

"Oh, Rai-ya!"

Rai snapped out of her trance in which she relished the mental image of TFRHWDTSAH's even paler than normal complexion with blood pooling around the corpse. She started to imagine the lifeless green eyes but stopped short with a shudder to yell,

"WHAT?"

His sister, Borelli, and Arnal were clearly taken aback, but the Red Head himself didn't even flinch, apparently expecting her reaction.

"So that guy was your cousin, right?"

She blinked, trying to discern his intentions for the question, got halfway through Reading him, and had to stop. There was just something about him that ticked. Her. Off.

"Second."

"He seemed very Dawson-ish."

"He's a Dawson. We invented Dawson-ism."

"Ya don't say?"

"I do say, and I'm not saying anything else."

"Raiya."

Rai ignored him, choosing to dwell rather on how Borelli would look with a chopstick stuffed in each ear than on the Irishman beside her.

"Oh, Rai-ya."

It was such a pleasant image, though it made him look more like a buffon than normal.

"Rai-ya Dawson!"

One of these days she was going to teach herself how to be deaf on command. That would be positively lovely.

"Rai-!"

"Patrick, just be quiet."

Well wasn't that great, Mirko actually had some sense.

"She's not going to stop being a bitch anytime soon, why fight it?"

All right, maybe he didn't have as much sense as she'd been about to believe, but, well, who was she to argue with the truth?

"I hear that."

Okay, now that Rai wouldn't take. London had no right to call her a bitch like it was an insult when she perfected bitchiness! Even Rai could admit when she was beaten, though not out loud, and while she kicked London's ass in many things such as skill, looks, and creativity, the Brit was clearly the bigger bitch.

"Hypocrite," Rai muttered. Admittedly not her best comeback, but it served her purpose. The blonde turned her head and glared at her.

"What did you call me?"

"Well, directly I called you a hypocrite, but I believe the connotation of that accusation would be that I indirectly called you a bitch. And a bigger one than me."

Rai didn't think she'd ever seen a London light up that quickly. Really that was quite possibly the fastest Blaze in history. Too bad it was coming right at her, giving her no real time to admire it, or she may have studied the fire dancing on London's hands more closely. As it were, she had to leap out of the way and grab one of her larger knives from her bag and use it as a shield to ward off the flaming fists of fury which were trying to land a blow.

Suddenly, while she was preparing to actually take the offensive rather than just stand around and deflect London's attacks, the Brit was pulled back somehow. Just as she was trying to see around London to glimpse Mirko pulling the blonde out of range, she, too, felt a tugging at her waist, only her experience was much worse. Rai was pulled a good three or four feet off the ground.

"O'Reilly, put me down," she growled, kicking her legs wildly.

"Sorry, Raiya," The Smiler said mock-mournfully, "but I can't do that if you're just gonna try and kill people. If you can get a hold of your temper, maybe I can let ya down on solid ground again, but right now, well, personally I don't wanna get in your crossfire with Miss Brietta over there."

London was struggling uselessly against Mirko's hold while the Arnal boy held her burning fists, presumably because he was the only one whose burns would heal after coming into direct contact with fire.

"Put. Me. Down."

"Nope! Only if ya give me a solemn promise not t' kill Brietta down there."

Rai snorted derisively. Obviously she was not going to kill London in the first place, only severely injure and possibly maim her.

"All right, I promise; now put me down."

"Ya have t' promise not t' hurt or attack her either."

Rai turned around to glare angrily at O'Reilly, who gave her an apologetic shrug.

"Ya didn't really think I was that dense, did ya, Raiya?"

Actually, she had, and her look clearly portrayed that she did in fact think him to be that dense because the boy gave a sigh and shook his head.

"Well, thanks, Raiya, but that still doesn't get ya let down."

"Don't call me that."

"That's not the promise I'm looking for, Raiya."

"Don't call me Raiya. My name's Rai."

"I like Raiya, now promise not to hurt or kill Brietta."

"My name is Rai. R-A-I. There is no ya at the end."

"Do you wanna get down or not, Raiya?"

"DON'T CALL ME FUCKING RAIYA, ASSHOLE!"

"You're startin' t' get a little heavy, Raiya, so do us both a favor and promise, please?"

"IF YOU CALL ME RAIYA ONE MORE TIME I'LL KICK YOUR TEETH INTO YOUR SKULL AND MAKE YOU EAT GLASS!"

"Seriously, Raiya, I really think ya ought t' just promise ya won't kill her or maim her. See, Brietta's already calmed down."

This was true. London was standing with her arms crossed and only lightly smouldering while the Arnal boy nursed his quickly healing hands and Mirko stared off into space. Borelli chose to look up now and make a comment.

"Aww, man, why couldn't you have been wearing your uniform, Rai?"

Rai turned around to give a murderous look at her captor and said through gritted teeth,

"If I promise not to hurt or kill London, will you let me down to murder Borelli?"

He appeared to think it over, though not for very long.

"Aye, I suppose that'd work."

"All right, I promise if you let me down I will not kill or maim Brietta London this time, though I make no such guarantees regarding Borelli or you, for that matter, should you continue to call me Raiya."

"I take it that's as good as I'm gonna get, right?"

A terse nod was his reply. Rai heard him sigh, then suddenly the ground was rushing towards her at a rather alarming rate. Happily, she did not go splat. Saddly, neither did the boy holding her. Actually, this probably wasn't as bad as it seemed, since he was the one keeping her from going splat. He waited until she had fully regained balance before removing his arms, and she immediately lept at Borelli.

"What did you say, Borelli?" she demanded as she held a knife to his Adam's apple. The Italian laughed nervously and looked from side to side.

"Uhh...nothing, Rai?" The knife pressed harder on his throat, making him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Are you lying to me, Borelli? That's really not a good idea, me being a Sakaio and all, is it?"

Borelli gulped, his Adam's apple moving dangerously up and down under the knife.

"I may have...commented...about you..."

"And?" Somehow though her tone was prodding him on, Borelli knew she didn't really want to hear what he had said, only to kill him for it. Sadly, or happily, depending on your point of view, she did not get her wish. Tirado--or as Xander had put it, "Freaky Eyes"--stepped in.

"Put him down."

It took all of Rai's concentration and then some not to look at the Spanish girl's fawn eyes. And then, she failed. Her voice, it was just too compelling, and her eyes were worse. She could feel them fixated on the back of her head, and couldn't help but want to look at them. As soon as she did, she was lost. Borelli fell to the ground in a heap, and Rai was finally able to think about things other than Freaky Eyes.

Actually, she did think about Freaky Eyes, just not about obeying her. No, now her daydreaming revolved around the various uses of a weed whacker. It was actually quite effective in areas other than whacking weeds, in case you were unaware. Just sharp enough to cut, and just blunt enough to hurt. Ahhh...yes, lawn maintenece tools used how they were intended. Because really, who invented a machine that could chop things with grass in mind? There were far more interesting things to lacerate in life.

It was on this train of thought that she found herself being jerked backwards by a particular Irishman, who gave her an expectant look and gestured expectantly towards some unfamiliar door.

"What, O'Reilly?" she demanded, resigned to his presence and the fact that he would undoubtedly annoy her regardless of painful discouragement. Damn cheerful people were too hard fend off. Why couldn't everyone be pushed away by the prospect of a fork lodged in his temporal lobe? People these days...

Anyways, back to the Red Head of Doom: "Ya have Ancient Clan History now, right?"

Rai didn't even bother to inquire as to how he knew this stalker-ish bit of information, only jerked her head in a nod and gave him an expectant look.

"Well, that's the classroom, lass." Indeed it was, Rai realised, as she glanced over at the room he had pointed out earlier. The wall next to it was clearly labeled in flowing script "Ancient and Structural History: Ms. Belova", and the woman who had been friendly with Johan the night before was standing outside of it, welcoming the other rookies cheerfully to her class. Rai disliked her all over again for her cheerfulness. It sickened her. No, literally, it made her want to hurl right on the woman's perfectly pressed collared blouse.

In an effort to not appear too much like she needed help from people she would much rather see strangeled by a giant jellyfish (a Portugese man of war, perhaps), she ignored O'Reilly and breezed past both him and Ms. Belova with her nose in the air wrinkled in a way that suggested she did not appreciate her new teacher's perfume.

Mirko for one was glad he did not have to spend the next two hours of his day with the Dawson girl. He was not, however, thrilled by the fact that the Sed classes--as the academic and other not-training classes were called--were about twice as long as training sessions. On the somewhat less bleak side of things, though, at least there were two to three training sessions a day for everyone and only one or two Sed classes. Today he was forced to suffer through Strat and ACH. Oh, God, he wasn't here for more than twenty four hours and he was already using the damned slang for everything. This was the problem with having an older brother: you tended to pick up on his lazy speech habits and forget the actual names of things.

London was walking somewhat next to him, if not a step or two behind every now and then thanks to her shorter stride, examining her fingernails. He was going to have to put up with her for every class thanks to their matching rotation. That was almost as bad as the Dawson girl. O'Reilly and his sister were on separate rotations with Patrick attending Literature and (Mirko supposed you did need normal studies to at least appear as such outside of their Circle) and double training sessions after mid-break, and Eavan was assigned Maths and double training.

Mirko didn't bother listening to the two idiots who were jabbering, presumably about their scheduals, only taking the time to pray that theirs didn't match his, and the Tirado girl didn't really speak at all, so he didn't know what hers was like. All he knew at this point was that he was about to miss the door to Strat I if he didn't move the idiots who were in his way.

It wasn't difficult to push them to the floor and step over Borelli and Arnal as they lay in a heap, blocking the middle of the hallway. The two weren't particularly happy about this arrangement, but it wasn't Mirko's style to care. London didn't seem bothered by them either. Actually, she was smirking amusedly as she continued studying her nails and "accidentally" stepped on Borelli's arm and Arnal's foot at the same time.

"Owwwww..." they moaned in unison. London rolled her eyes.

"You shouldn't be on the floor if you don't want to be trodden on," she informed them with her clipped accent as they groaned in pain.

Mirko walked into Gruenwald's classroom at the same time as London. She gave him a look declaring her belief that she was highly superior to him. He stepped back and gestured to the door so as to allow her first in a way that was so polite it was sarcastic. In she stepped without a glance at him, not bothering to appreciate the sardonic action. He didn't mind going in after her, particularly if it avoided a petty fight that would only be a hassle.

The Strat room was much like a university classroom designed for a maximum of fifty students with a terraced semi circle of desks made of what was clearly quality wood. In the front center was a larger, older, most likely more expensive desk behind which Master Gruenwald was sitting, shuffling papers. Behind him on the wall was a giant blackboard with nothing written on it.

He took a seat in the middle row near enough to the door that he would be one of the frst ones out. London took the seat next to him so that they were sharing a desk, and he nearly cringed but quickly reassessed the situtation and found it in his favor when Arnal and Borelli, still chattering animatedly, decided to park it at the desk above them.

"Hey, Mirko!"

It somewhat irked him that Arnal seemed to think they were already on a first name basis. In protest, he opted not to answer the overly-forward Frenchman, choosing instead to notice that the other Dawson--the male with the irritating sneer--was sitting on the opposite side of the room. Oh joy of joys, another arrogant ass in this place filled with spoiled pretentious brats. One only had to look at the rest of the Dawsons and the London sisters to see this was true.

"Mirko!"

Gruenwald looked up as the bells whose source Mirko had yet to determine began to chime and surveyed the teenagers in front of him with distate. Mirko felt similarly disdainful of those around him, particularly a certain pair of dark haired boys who were gesticulating rather wildly in an attempt, he could only assume, to somehow get his attention.

"Mir-ko!!"

It was a true testament to Mirko's ignoring abilities that he could manage to stare blankly at Gruenwald as the man rose, gave an overview glare that skimmed over the gathering, then locked on Arnal and Borelli.

"Is there a particular reason why the two of you are acting like a pair of escaped chimpanzees?"

London contained a belittling laugh next to him, and Mirko couldn't help but agree with the Strat Professor. Both boys looked at each other and exchanged wide eyed looks, slowly sinking into their seats. Mirko could just make out Gruenwald's mutter of "can't believe he's the Headmaster's son" as the teacher turned his attention once more to the class as a whole.

"Well, what are you miscreants milling about for? Get out the textbooks in the top drawer of your desks and start reading Chapter One!"

Mirko and the other students all obeyed, possibly because Gruenwald was of a Strength clan and teachers were often not above corporal punishment. Presumably they were all groaning on the inside as they pulled rather large texts out of their desks and studied the small print with dismay along with the sizable chapters. Two, however, had the audacity--or potentially the lack of intelligence and common sense--to groan audibly.

Three guesses who.

And the first two don't count.

"Does someone have an issue with the assignment?" Gruenwald demanded with a steel edge in his voice poorly disguised with a sarcastic drop of honey. He turned on heel and glared cooly when he guessed at the source of the dissention. "Borreli? Arnal? Would one of you care to express any concerns with your reading?"

Both boys, Mirko assumed, resembled deer in the headlights with the full attention and animosity of the rather large, silvery-haired German. The silence behind him reinforced the liklihood of this hypothesis, that is until it was broken.

"Do, you?"

The voice that responded from what was presumably Borelli's desk--Mirko didn't look back--sounded strangely like Gruenwald's. Several people in the class snickered and pointed towards Borelli, a few with mouths agape. Gruenwald's eyes narrowed to slits blade-thin, and he slowly ascended the steps to approach the miscreant. Only when the large Master grabbed his student by the arm and began dragging what was not the tall, lanky frame of a teenaged boy, but rather a carbon copy of himself did Mirko realize what was happening.

Borelli had the audacity to shapeshift into Gruenwald's form and talk back to him. Leaning back in his chair, Mirko settled in to watch the fireworks; London did the same.

Rai had noticed that her day was happily idjit-free--until the unfortunate occurence of lunch/midday break. For some odd reason Arnal had decided he, too, was allowed to take his meals with the Dawson clan along with the chattering O'Reillys, Mirko, and London. She took a moment to wonder why Johan hadn't kicked his ass out of the table, then remembered that he was related to Isabella Pancietti, who was on her cousin's team. Curst genetics.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Dawson!" the 'Annoying Frenchie', as Xander had dubbed him, called with far too much enthusiasm. Rai directed a sharply pointed look at Johan at the head of the table with London's older sister.

"No, Rai, you may not kill Pierre."

"'S not like anything I cut off wouldn't grow back," she muttered as she sat down heavily with her tray, which was piled high with various entrees and as many carbs as she could find like all of her cousins'.

"Yes, Kiraiya, but it's the wish to dismember that would hurt the most, and I can't have you wounding my teammate's little brother," he countered. "It wouldn't do well for team morale."

"Who gives a damn?" London--the older one--asked. "Wouldn't do anything to my morale, and I'm the one that matters as far as you're concerned." Johan shrugged in acquiescence and nodded.

"Where's his annoying comrade?" Rai demanded, choosing to change the subject rather than impale any part of Arnal with Borelli's father so attentive to their table. London The Younger smirked, and even Mirko's mouth lifted slightly at the corners.

"He's on lockdown at the moment," Mirko answered. "Gruenwald wanted to beat the shit out of him, and the Headmaster was close to agreeing."

"He chose to shapeshift at the wrong time," Arnal clarified sheepishly.

"Idiot took Gruenwald's shape and mocked him," London added, snorting derisivly. Rai's slit eyes widened, and her mouth assumed a smirk similar to London's.

"Please tell me the Ass kicked the Idiot's ass."

"As surprised as I am that I understood that sentence, yes," Mirko replied. "Then he called the Headmaster, who wasn't thrilled with his son."

"That's an understatement," London muttered, still grinning darkly. "Looked near boiling point, he did."

"Oui, his eyes kept changing color, and they only do that when he is really angry," Pierre agreed, then he abruptly turned around and winced.

The Headmaster was standing up at his chair in the middle of the faculty table, and his expression was rather grave. Rai suspected he had made himself a bit larger than he was in order to intimidate the student body, and it was working, if one judged by how quickly the room went silent.

"Students of Perimo," he intoned, voice firm, "it seems to me that many of the Active members of our clans are already taking advantage of their Gifts this year." A pointed glance directed itself towards the Dawson table, presumably at Rai and London. "I feel as though certain rules of this institution have been forgotten over the summer or were never learned. Today I will be lenient, but should any other Active clansmember choose to use his or her Gift irresponsibly from here on out, there will be sevre consequences. Gifts are only to be used in training or for menial work; they are not to be directed towards fellow classmates, and especially--" Now Rai saw that Borelli was sitting shamefacedly next to his father, who paused to shoot a glare at him. "Especially not towards teachers." Borelli blushed, and the rest of the student body stayed quiet. Then the Headmaster sat down and folded his hands on the table. "Enjoy your lunch, and don't be late to your afternoon classes."

Xander, Rai noticed as the rest of Perimo reentered their private conversations, was speaking intently to the Headmaster over Borelli's head. He wanted to announce something, too. With a gesture of approval from the Headmaster, he stood up, but he didn't have quite the presense that his boss did. A few students quieted when he rose, but he had to yell to get everyone's attention.

"Oi! Listen up! I just want to remind you Rookies that your Trials are next week, so if you want to do well I suggest you work out in the evenings, too. I'm also going to try something a little different this year: I'm putting you all in groups of four before Trials and merging you into groups of eight after them. Now that I've worked with all the Circles today, I'll be posting the half teams tomorrow morning for you guys, so look for them outside the training room before breakfast. These will be three of the people you work with for the next four years and most likely for the rest of your lives, so learn to love each other, or at least not want each other dead. I'll be expecting all Circle Rookies to be with their mini teams when they come in to Training tomorrow afternoon." He paused long enough to grin cheekily at Rai, which put her somewhat ill at ease. "As for the rest of you, I'll be getting to your teams when I get you all. Now you may enjoy your lunch."

As if. Arnal and the O'Reillys started up conversation shortly after Xander sat, and Rai's lunch was filled with the lilt and flow of Irish and French accents. Remind her again why she couldn't kill?

Hello! Me again! Yeah, I realize that this is prolly not the best chapter, though I do like the beginning, but I thought I'd try and update, so here it is!