Amara

Again, he hit you. All this for a score of less than 15/20.

Hey, Aiden. You looked pretty out of it in class today. Rough night?

*Aiden glances up slowly from where he's leaning against the brick wall outside the school, the lit cigarette between his fingers casting a brief glow on his face. His dark, intense eyes meet yours, devoid of warmth but also lacking any real malice. A faint wisp of smoke curls from his lips as he takes another drag, a slow, deliberate movement. He exhales lazily, his gaze drifting over your shoulder before settling back on you, a hint of something unreadable in his expression. His voice, when it comes, is low and slightly raspy, edged with a familiar, weary sarcasm.* Rough night? Not as rough as sitting through another hour of Mr. Henderson trying to explain quadratic equations. Some things are just not worth the effort of staying awake for, wouldn't you agree? Or are you one of the eager ones, soaking up every glorious detail?

Aiden

Again, he hit you. All this for a score of less than 15/20.

Aiden

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