A PORTRAIT OF PERFECTION. (open)

[bek]

There was something intensely comforting about the silence of the library at lunchtime. Perhaps it was because the chaos and thunder of outside ceased as soon as the door shut behind you, perhaps it was simply that to enter the library during 'free time' was scandalous behaviour and thus, rarely done. Whatever the reason, it was a haven that Lark gratefully accepted, it calmed her down when her emotions were high. There was a rule here that stated; no shifting in the corridors. For her, that was easier said than done. What, with her painful inability to control her shifts. Even the wolf inside her was annoyed with that, they both craved silence and peace sometimes. It was just easier.

She sat between the shelves of Art and Classic Literature, it was her favourite spot; mainly due to the heater which was nestled between the shelves. It made even the coldest of days bareable. It also caused her to drift off to sleep sometimes, but as her days and nights were jam-packed with work and commitments - she wasn't complaining about a few lunchtime naps. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, a fact she quickly rectified. It was annoying to read books when you had to keep brushing hair out of your face. She rescued one of her favourites from its place on the shelf. The Picture of Dorian Gray. It was timeless, and even though she'd read it a thousand times, it never lost its worth. Her head rested against the shelf as she balanced the book on her knees, flicking the pages as she needed to. She concentrated on nothing, allowing herself to fall into a doze.

It didn't take long for her to fall asleep. The book thudded onto the floor as she moved her knees slightly, falling shut. She was peaceful in sleep, although her eyes fluttered beneath her eyelids at some unknown dream and her lips parted every now and then in unspoken words. She was that deeply asleep that she didn't register when lunchtime ended. She'd be late for her class again, which wasn't that uncommon.

[lioness]

and in your denim eyes
i see something's awry

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[/blockquote]Mary-May walked slowly through the library, looking for the book her English teacher had entreated her with finding. It had been a hectic week or so for the young girl; sure she was used to boarding schools, had gone to them all her life, but this one was so different that she was still trying to acclimatise. Firstly, she was having to get used to speaking in English all the time, and she was more used to British English than American English. Secondly, seeing her classmates bursting into animal form at any given moment was rather unnerving. As of yet, Mary-May hadn’t mastered the technique of shifting at will; she found it hard to shift in class, and yet often she woke up to find herself in cat-form.

Her more-or-less random wandering eventually brought her, by chance to the classic literature section, and there she stopped, surprised to see another human. The girl looked older, a junior or senior, but what was strange was that she appeared to be fast asleep. Mary-May hesitated, not wanting to disturb the older girl, but the book she was looking for, John Steinbeck’s Of Mice And Men, was likely to be in this very section. Looking over her shoulder, she could see her classmates spread out around the library, looking for whatever book they’d been given. The teacher sat in one of the chairs, and Mary-May could have sworn he was staring right at her.

Moving as quietly as she could, she tiptoed around the shelves, muttering the letters of the French alphabet as she tiptoed through the section “S-Q, S-Q, S-T” She whispered, then she found the right book and almost smiled. She reached up to draw it out, but the books were packed too tightly onto the shelves, and she had to use some force to tug it out. In doing so she managed to dislodge the neighbouring books, and before she could catch them they fell to the floor, loudly. Mary-May blinked in irritation; some of her classmates turned curiously to find the source of the noise, but Mary-May was more concerned about the sleeping girl; if that noise hadn’t woken her up, she must be knocked-out.
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[bek]

She dreamed strangely, one moment she was in a room with no windows or doors and the next she was on a road in the middle of nowhere. Her dreams were quick and she never quite got a grasp on what was happening around her before it changed again. It didn't matter though; no sooner was she deep in her reverie that she was broken from it by a loud thud next to her. Lark started awake with a gasp upon her lips and her blue eyes wide open as she sat upright. As happens with those asleep, she had a moment of disorientation where she could not figure out her whereabouts. When she finally did realise where she was - she was thoroughly confused.

It took her another moment from waking to realise that there was a girl stading above her and scattered novels about her feet. A blush slowly crept up her cheeks, realising now that she must have been asleep for a while, since nobody was in here at the start of lunch. Lark had no means of telling the time, she didn't wear a watch and the only clock was over the desk in the library. Slowly she gathered the books that the other girl had dropped into a pile, looking down so that nobody would notice her embarrasment.

"You wouldn't h-happen to have the time would you?"

She spoke quietly, in a slow way as if it was hard to force the words out. It was, even now her shyness was creeping in. Making even the easiest of questions hard to voice. Breifly she looked up and slotted the books easily back in place; she'd been in this spot so often that even the positions of the books on the shelf was familiar to her. She tried to smile at the girl, even though she knew it looked more like a pained grimace than any welcoming gesture. The next words she spoke were half to herself, she barely realised that she was speaking them.

"I'm going to be late again, aren't i?"

[lioness]

and in your denim eyes
i see something's awry

[/center][/i]

[/blockquote]Mary-May grimaced slightly as, sure enough, the girl woke up. Quite apart from the fact that Mary-May disliked disturbing people, she was well aware of the inter-grade bullying that occurred in every school, and now she was worried that she’d become a target if the girl was upset and told her friends about it. That said, the girl didn’t look upset; in fact, once she’d gotten over the disorientation of waking up in an unusual place, Mary-May thought she looked more embarrassed than anything else.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you up.” She said, helping the girl to pick up the fallen books. Her voice was thickly accented, but she spoke slowly and was perfectly comprehensible. She kept her hazel eyes on the girl’s face, looking out for any change of expression now that the she was fully awake, but the slight pink blush remained at her cheeks, and there was no hint of a scowl. Inwardly, Mary-May cursed herself for being so quick to jump to conclusions; not all the kids from the higher grades could be bullies. In fact, this one seemed positively shy.

“No, sorry, but it’s about ten minutes after the end of lunch, I think.” Mary-May said in answer to the girl’s question, thinking that that was probably the information she was after. Mary-May caught the odd attempt at a smile, but it was equally as hard to return the awkward gesture as it had been to give it; she was not accustomed to smiling, especially since starting school. The children in her class had not been unkind, but none had made any effort to befriend her either. She didn’t mind to much; she was a loner by nature, but it was nice to talk to someone once in a while.

“Yes,” she said in answer to the second question, as bluntly honest as always. She caught sight of the book underneath the chair the girl had been sitting on, and tried to surreptitiously peer at the title.
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[bek]

Lark waved away the other girl's attempt at an apology, if anything she welcomed the fact that somebody had woken her up. Otherwise, she'd probably just continue napping until her body felt restored enough to wake itself up. Besides, it wasn't as if the girl had done it intentionally - it was an accident and accidents were meant to be forgiven. She ran a vacant hand through her black hair, which, during the process of her slumber had managed to fight its way free of the hair tie. "Really, it isn't a problem... I'd, uh, probably sleep through my class if you hadn't." She shrugged nervously, her eyes flicked about the girls face, never really retaining eye contact for very long. God she was pathetic, she couldn't even maintain polite conversation without looking like she wanted to escape from it. No wonder she had failed public speaking every time she'd tried it.

It seemed almost as if the other girl was as nervous as she was - well, not really "as nervous" since that was a feat that seemed nearly impossible. Regardless of this she managed to give a normal reply, confirming what Lark had expected. She was already going to be late for her class, what was another ten minutes anyway? She needed to go to her locker, since she wasn't entirely certain what her next class was. English? American History? God she was useless. "Ten minutes? I didn't realise i slept q-quite that long. Crap." She laughed nervously again, though this time it was a little more friendly and less embarrassed. Her face was still a little flushed and she still stuttered nervously when she spoke. But at least she was speaking, anybody who had known her (or even had spoken to her) would recognise that for the acomplishment that it was.

"Thanks though. What's your name? I'm Elaria. Just feels weird to talk to you and not know who you are. Know what i mean? Yeah..." The sentence started normally, yet she trailed off once she realised that she was rambling. Cursing herself inwardly, there was not much that she could do about it, yet it seemed that everything that she did made her look and feel like an idiot. Lark noticed the girl eyeing off the book she'd been reading, she held it out, wondering whether she wanted to borrow it or just look. Once you knew it essentially word for word, the novelty of borrowing it out to read it became nonexistent. "The Picture of Dorian Gray. It's a good read, even if Wilde uses the 'ly' adverbs a little bit too much." Now she smiled properly, she liked talking about books, in fact she liked talking about almost anything that didn't require her to utilise any proper conversation skills.