Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26709630-20160408221123/@comment-25686329-20160408222733

Nietzsche Varanus checked his watch, hissed and sighed. He was sitting in the common room, slouched in a chair, laptop and papers skewed around him.

Another hour of his precious time sucked away by this infernal, stupid schoolwork. He stifled a frustrated yell and instead elected to pick up a single sheet of paper and spit on it.

This, of course, did not go how he wanted it to, and he spat a very hot ember, a small puff of fire onto the work, where it caught flame instantly.

He made no attempt to stifle the flame, only peering into the redness and vainly trying to find meaning within it's rampant path as it consumed the single page. His eyes were empty as he stared, but eventually he blew it/ shook the fire out (this time with air; he was more careful now) and was left holding a charred stub of what was probably once a writeup for Chem-myth-stry.

He grunted, defeated, and let his head hit the back of the chair.

Where was justice now? Where was the author? Could his suffering not be seen? He wasn't even going to use half of this crap, nah, not even a tenth and yet he was still sitting here letting the establishment strip him of his free will and precious seconds of life.

He began to gather some of the other papers to put them away, but he felt a presence and his eyes flicked upwards.

"Can I... help you?" He said to the person standing more or less nearby.