//CLOSED March Registration

Sarthas slipped inside the castle before he could catch her final reply, but her voice followed him non the less echoing in this thoughts. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was about her that seemed so...familiar. He was certain he had never seen the woman before today. Nor had he set foot on the Island before a week ago. Still, there was something irritatingly similar about the way she carried herself. Scoffing the man pushed the thoughts away for now. He had other more pressing issues to attend too with the school's head administrator and he would not be distracted from his goal. Sarthas did have to admit however, that he had no idea where the woman was...or where he was for that matter. The inspection of his gaze fell over the walls and and the flooring of the place carefully taking note of the artwork here and there. The assassin did not see the art in the same light as most, instead he simply noted its uses.

For instance, one could use one of the many suits of armor as a quick hiding place, or an obstacle to deflect projectiles in a fight. It never even occurred to the man that the ancient things might have some intrinsic value. He memorized everything, every single door he passed, every window and every tapestry that covered the wall. Anything that might be of use later, he simply filed it away in his mind to be used if necessary as his feet quickly took him over the polished stone floor. It would have been a rather eerie sight to see the man move along, his footfalls were so light that there seemed to be no sound at all in the dark man's passing. It was almost as if he were floating over the stone. The man's eyes caught a sign, hanging rather conspicuously over one of the many smooth wooden doors at the end of the enormous hall. “Student Registration” He uttered the words with a strangely wistful voice as if he were divining some deeper meaning behind them.

There was a long pause as he considered his choices. Certainly the office would be the most logical place to seek information but Sarthas had never actually walked into any home or building for that matter invited. Not to say that he was invited here, he of course had received no invitation or letter of any kind, but such minor inconveniences had never stopped the man in the past. The darkness waited in silence watching the door for a long moment before at last letting that awful smile once more return to his lips. “When in Rome...” No sooner had the words left his lips than he started forward once more, gripping the latch with the tender touch of one used to expecting deadly traps. After turning the knob slightly with no ill-effects he continued, the sound of the latch being pulled across the inside of the door was barely a whisper in reality, but to Sarthas it screamed across his ears. At last the man pressed his shoulder into the door and it swung easily open.

The moment the man entered the room he instantly regretted it, the creature of shadows had to dodge to the side, pressing his back firmly to the door to avoid being trampled by a woman's passing. But Sarthas was used to surprises and he instantly adapted, letting the young woman slip by with only the slightest of brushes against his figure. The sound of bare feet lightly pattering on stone followed in her wake and the faintest hint of something familiar crossed the man's nose...blood. Watching the woman vanish behind the closed door Sarthas cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. Just another oddity to add to the back of his mind, this castle seemed to be filled with oddity's.

Turning back to the room itself, he had to narrow his eyes to avoid being blinded by the harsh electric lighting that saturated the lavishly decorated office. The gentle soft hum of electricity beat a constant rhythm against his senses. The smell of old furniture with a faint metallic taint of metal, mixed with fragrant restorative oils assaulted the dark man. The room was large, that much could not be disputed, but to Sarthas it felt extremely confining. There were no dark corners, no shadows....no pillars or other objects to use as cover between him and the large desk that spanned the length of the room. It was almost like he was on the wrong side of a shooting gallery. The man's eyes scanned the room quickly taking note of the couches and comfortable chairs. That disgusting smile spread a little further over his ghostly lips. “Well, at least one could be comfortable when they died.”

The words were quiet yet not so silent that if anyone were bothering to listen they wouldn't be overheard. Barely a foot away stood a man dressed in similar attire, at least as far as the era was concerned but the difference in feeling between the two was like night and day. Sarthas seemed a shadow while this man seemed much more akin to the light. From what Sarthas had managed to see of the woman's features who had left the room moments before, this man in front of him was related. Nodding at the man, as if in hello to an enemy, he let the rotting brown of his eyes pick the stranger apart for a few seconds before flashing what could only be considered the most ridiculous smile imaginable. “How clumsy of me not to have smelled the lady sooner.” He gave the man no time to respond, before walking a few more feet into the office to give himself some measure of distance from the man.

Shifting his gaze to behind the desk Sarthas picked out two figures, assessing both nearly simultaneously although a good amount of distance separated them. One, seemed to be finishing up rearranging things from a closet. This man was armed, two revolvers seated comfortably at his sides. His clothing was simple and efficient, something Sarthas could relate too. His skin was tanned with one who had spent far too many long days in the sun and the way he slowly moved sorting through things conveyed a calm carefree personality. The second figure, was seated at a desk, his back to Sarthas, hunched over a computer screen clicking idly at the mouse in his hand. This one was a bit harder to read, perhaps because his face was hidden but for some reason the dark man didn't think that was it at all.

Keeping that awful smile plastered on his lips beneath the shadow of the cowl he wore, he quickly made his way to the desk in his usual silent manor. Lifting his right hand and curling his fingers he rapped on the top of the desk, three times in quick succession, before letting his voice carry above the rather heavy silence in the room. “Sorry to be a bother, but could you direct me to the one in charge.” With the way the man's words dripped in venom, it was questionable weather the cloaked figure could actually feel sorry for anything, much less a minor inconvenience. He certainly did look right at home in the old castle with the way he was dressed. The long thick black cloak, the cowl that topped it and the home made matching cotton clothing. The boots were obviously leather, but certainly not any kind you could find at a local store shoe store. Even the daggers that remained sheathed on the outside of his thighs seemed far too long for daggers yet too short to be considered anything else. Sarthas waited in silence for the response, the sickening dead brown of his eyes flickering from one figure to the next like the tongue of a snake coiled to strike.

Sitting there behind the desk, Riley began to zone out on the crappy game called Solitaire. Although he wanted to be more sociable, the purple haired female brought a bit of discomfort to his eyes. He would be lying if her words did not upset him in the slightest, but it didn't hit him where she probably wanted it to be. He just felt annoyed, if anything, about the female testing him in the room. How the hell is she going to pass judgment on him? Furthermore, should she be giving such advice when she can't even keep her fingers to herself? To pass this kind of ruling would only make Riley shrug off the awkwardness with a sigh. He couldn't blame the girl for at least being curious about the armor, and the cowboy was taking care of it.

*SWISH!*

Hearing a loud clutter, he would look up to see Gunnar playing in the closet. "If ya break it, ya buy it cowboy." Ignoring the fact that a halberd just sliced through the air, nearly inches from Gunnar's face, he continued to play the tiny game on the desk. It was not as if he didn't care if the man got his face sliced off, it just that it didn't so Riley didn't need to show concern. Although if Gunnar lost half of his face to the rusted blade, Riley wasn't the type to sit there and watch the man bleed to death. He would attempt to at least cover the wounds and call for an ambulance. He was an asshole, but he wasn't a fucked up cruel socio-path.

Reaching the end of the game in mere moments, he watched the victory shuffle as he heard the rasp on the desk. Riley would wait a moment before turning around in the chair to face the newcomer who... looked like he came from a creepy slasher film. "Nice costume." Leaving many other comments tucked away, he would rise from the desk and step towards the man standing in the black attire that reminded him of the Crow if it weren't for the long daggers hanging at his sides. What the hell was up with these people sporting weapons around in the open like that? He was carrying his own piece, but he didn't freaking parade it around. It reminded him of males who drove big trucks jacked 20 inches off of the tires and equipped with loud spoilers and fucked up speakers. All he had to say towards them was ..

"Compensating much?"

Shaking his head, and hiding his own joke, he would reach under the desk and pull out some paperwork for him to fill out. "Anyways, just fill this out if you are registering for the school. Management isn't here, so that makes me the next best thing." As he reached under the desk to grab the paperwork, he didn't let his eyes remove from the strange boy's direction. He just had this weird vibe coming from the man who just entered. A rather... uneasy vibe. Something that made Riley want to punch several holes into a wall repeatedly until the boy's face didn't exist in his mind anymore. The light facade of uneasiness only showed for a second before he pointed to the paperwork and then the corner nearby. "Just work on it over there if you like." A pen was placed next to the paperwork on the desk as Riley's facial features returned to their normal cocky calmness.

"Anything else you need to ask?" Well he was TRYING to be nice.

Sarthas eyes snapped to the man at the desk, sticking to him the moment he decided to get up. Every mussel in his body tensed though outwardly he appeared relaxed and calm. It was less that he felt threatened and more of a habit. There were only two reasons anyone had willingly came toward the dark man. One, they wanted to fight to save their pathetic lives or two they were suicidal, neither of which this particular stranger seemed to want. Sarthas got the distinct impression from the man's next words that he could care less what anyone thought. In fact, if the smiling killer could put a word to it he would likely have called it asinine...at least they had something in common. Sarthas smile faded ever so slightly as the next words found his ears and a clipboard was placed in front of him on top of the desk. “...registering for the school...” He repeated the words to himself tilting his head slightly to the side as if considering this option for the first time. Sarthas remained at the desk staring at the man across from him for a long moment before catching the young stranger's final words. "Anything else you need to ask?"

Now Riley might not have been a Sociopath, but Sarthas on the other hand was at best borderline. Knowing this, what would a psychotic killer with no moral understanding at all, or the slightest grasp at social decor do in this particular situation? It didn't take long for everyone in the room to find out. Flicking the pin with his right thumb that had been so politely placed next to the clipboard, he made the thing roll onto the paper itself. Keeping the man in front of him fixed with his eyes, Sarthas reacted rather suddenly. Jerking his left arm up and then back down, the sound of the blade burying itself into the polished wooden desk was impossibly loud in the tense air of the office. In one smooth lightning quick movement the dark man had pulled the weapon from his side and slammed it into the top of the clipboard, severing the pin in half. Enough strength had been put into the downward thrust of the blade to punch a hole in the form, clipboard and desk all in one frighteningly violent action. The ink from the severed pen bled into the paper, spidering its way half-way down the form until there was a large black stain. “Hows that?” The man spoke the words quietly with a hint of amusement. Apparently Riley wasn't the only one with a sense of humor.

Sitting behind the desk, he began to vaguely remember his responsibilities in the office. Take registration and answer questions. That was it. Reading that piece of print off parchment, he began to realize very quickly this school was not an ordinary school. Well scratch that, he already knew it was not ordinary when the school was being held in an old castle. But when a person says "outside the norm" you might expect the kids to run around wearing goth clothes or sporting some kind of awkward staff, at the very most. Nevertheless, the world seemed to flip upside down at the castle. First off, there was no security. Secondly, he didn't see any code of conduct for wearing weapons on campus. And lastly, some fucking idiot forgot to screen the psychopath that decided it would be "funny" to brandish his knife outside his holster.

As cocky as Riley may play, he understood that if he ran around spouting shit out of his ass, he better have the balls to back it up. This goes to say the crazy psycho machete bastard wasn't the only one traveling with an assortment of armaments. As soon as the sudden movement was made, Riley instantly took a step back and draw his right hand along his right side. Instantly thumbing his thumb underneath the over-shirt, his fingers would slide upwards and down into his waist band to grab that favorite grip. With a cold hard grasp, his fingers dancing along the the metal strap as it was popped off. Just as the knife came slashing downwards towards the clipboard, the weapon was drawn in slow motion... as if he felt his life depended on it.

As the blade bent through the clipboard, his CZ-52 handgun + modfied tact rail was drawn and pointed towards the crazed man's face, 3 feet away from the tip of his nose. Call it quick draw, but there were a few things he practiced on a regular basis.

The safety was thumbed off as Riley's cold eyes glared at his opponent. The hammer was already pulled back.

"Wanna try that again?"

A round was already chambered.

The man across from him reacted almost exactly the way he anticipated, with a slight variation. Time seemed to freeze in the killer's mind as the stranger burst into motion. He watched it all as if he were watching the bullet time in some matrix ripoff in high definition. Every single tiny response was cataloged in the killer's well trained brain. The way he lowered his stance slightly, his legs visibly tensing to propel him backward. Sarthas continued with the slow arc of his blade. The way his arm dropped to grip his hidden weapon. He altered the blades trajectory ever so slightly so it would connect with the pin. The young man in front of him continued to draw his weapon, bringing it to bear, the sound of a safely snapping into its new home was loud enough to echo in the vast darkness of his thoughts.

Sarthas never even flinched, that ridiculous smile regaining the luster it had lost only moments before. Now one would think that having a gun pointed at their face would be somewhat unsettling, but for the man dressed in black it seemed not to matter. The tiniest shift in weight was the only obvious reaction at all to his opponent's now visible weapon, but it was the small things that mattered in life and death situations. This realization had come early on in the dark man's childhood as he was forced to subdue or kill his other siblings and only reinforced later as the killings continued. You see, unlike most of the so called “killers” today, Sarthas existed for the sole purpose of taking lives. He did not kill because he wanted money or because of some questionable emotion. The creature killed because that is what he was taught to do. He never hesitated because of morality or silly ideals. Should he kill the man in front of his wife and child? If it was the most efficient way to go about it than it wasn't even a question. But what did this have to do with the current situation you might ask? Put simply, Sarthas was efficient and didn't do things simply to do them, there was always a reason and this was no different.

He might have altered the direction of the blade, to present a more deadly threat, lunging forward adding to his momentum and getting inside the man's guard. Or maybe he could have dropped his weight, as his opponent jumped back to use the counter as a shield from view. There were a number of actions the man could have selected but the one he picked seemed odd, at least on the surface. There were two other men in the room, at least one of which was armed but he of course had to assume that both were. This combined with his location in relation to each of them made things complicated and Sarthas wasn't stupid. He might have been borderline insane, but stupid people didn't live very long in his profession and he was after all....still alive.

Keeping the man in front of him fixed with his amused smile, Sartha's relaxed his grip on the hilt of the blade buried in the polished wood of the desk. “I suppose....” He began, letting his words dance in the tense air a moment before continuing. “...that is unacceptable?” Considering the man's response that was quite the understatement. “But you look like a smart man...so lets play a game.” He lifted his left hand, slowly trailing his fingers up while rotating his wrist toward the ceiling so that the palm of his hand was pressed to the top of the hilt of the blade. “The average reaction time of a human male between the ages of twenty to twenty-five is 0.1778 seconds. If one takes into account the muzzle velocity of a your particular weapon with a 7.62mm round at 480 meters per second, is it possible for a man...” Sarthas smile stretched to abnormal proportions, seemingly consuming his entire face. “...to deflect that round with a piece of c69 steel an inch thick.?” Ether he was insane, or genius but that distinction was always questionable when it came to things like this.

It was quite clear that although he was dressed in an outfit from the sixteenth century, he had a firm grasp on the reality of modern warfare. In fact the way he had just come up with those numbers within only a few seconds of seeing the weapon, was down right astounding. Or terribly disturbing, depending on how one looked at it. After all this was the mind of killing machine, not a scientist in a lab. “And if that someone was capable of doing this...would it be not be logical to assume they might also be able to ruin your whole day?” And so that was that. Sarthas was taunting the man behind the desk who had gun pointed at his head a short three feet away. Ether he was suicidal, extremely confident in his ability to do what he just suggested or just plain mad. Whatever the case, it was now up to the man with the gun to decide.

Analysis leading to borderline insanity. At first, Riley just thought the guy was a classic nut job... thinking it would be cool to show off his shiny new toys. After a few exchanges of words, he realized this guy probably didn't brandish his blades just for shits and giggles. Compensating or not, this guy knew his shit and preferred to be on top of the food chain. His intelligence was not as baffling as he would predict, as at this range the boy was still in decent reach of slicing off Riley's right hand and going for the killing blow. Nevertheless, Riley kept his distance at 3 feet for a specific purpose. It kept him in range of the desk that he could use for cover and it gave him enough reaction time to use his more aggressive parlor tricks. In this case, bringing a knife to a gun fight was the best idea in this very particular situation. Nevertheless, it was not as if Riley didn't have a few tricks up his sleeves.

"So lets say you are correct, that the weapon I am using isn't powerful enough to break your blades. But you also have to consider the consequences on those assumptions. As you can probably tell, this weapon does not look like the original design for all intents and purposes. The original design lacked many flaws modern weapons have remedied... the tact rail not being the advantage in this case. " Rubbing the side of the barrel with his trigger finger he continued. "For you to consider that this is an average weapon is a mistake on your part. If you at least consider the fact that I had to completely modify the underside of the weapon to add a tact rail, you could at least ponder the possibility that I am using super loaded rounds, a modified extended barrel, a hair trigger, and much more lethal bullet tips. " Turning the weapon 15 degrees rotation to Riley's right, the weapon still pointed at the goth dude, he would show the modified trigger base hidden in the grove of the weapon. "So your initial reaction time may be correct, but the velocity of the weapon increases well over 500 meters per second at this rate. Since you know the weapon uses rifle tips, that means the penetration power is far greater than that of a standard handgun bullet. Nevertheless, being able to punch through standard Kevlar is one thing, but tempered steel... well, I rather not put it to the test. Even if your weapon was indestructible, to be able to deflect a blow without injuring your stance, flow of attack, or weapon is impossible to even predict. Since speed and counter blows are your forte, a single attempt at deflecting a shot could result in a bad mistake. Like forgetting that my other hand is under the desk, holding onto the groove of a shotgun barrel."

Knocking his hand under the desk, he wiggled a pivoting object that made a small squeak noise. It would only registered if there was complete silence in the room.

"Before you ask, I will admit they were a bit cheap when making the wall portion of the desk... it isn't bullet resistant to a modified slug round. Hope you are wearing ceramic plates on your genitals." He paused for effect, a wide grin on his face as well.

"So having to deflect more than one shot from multiple directions is a rather difficult feat, my friend. I may lose my hand, but you will not have the ability to spread such a destructive seed. And a shot below the belt is much more lethal... especially if its turned to shreds."

One handed shooting was okay if you were only going to fire one shot. Can't miss at that range...

There was a long pause, where the two gentleman stared at each other. Or at least he thought it was a long pause, considering the fact that Riley's time concept slowed when he had a psychopath considering himself as the next kill. Still he felt a bit of awkwardness as they compared their dick sizes together. It was just all talk at this point, no one was going to do anything. With his right hand, he holstered his weapon and sighed deeply. "Anyways, fill out your paperwork and give me a check for the repair bill. 300 dollars should suffice, given the circumstances. Your room assignment is E, my friend. Welcome to Caislin Hallows." Pretending with his right hand that he was throwing glitter everywhere, he merely sat down into the chair... lounging back and sighing deeply. Still, he wasn't dumb enough to let go of the trigger for the shotgun under the desk.

When the young man spoke once more Sarthas had to admit he was almost impressed....almost. His opponent was apparently no slouch and quite capable of thinking on his feet. This of course only made things all the more entertaining. He did have to admit that he had no idea about the specifics of the gun pointed at his head, all he had to go off of was its make and model and the diameter of the barrel. The obvious modifications were only a testament to how much Sarthas didn't know, but of course that was the whole idea. From the moment he walked into the room he had began his testing and observations. Watching and gauging reactions, prodding for more information. The entire act from his first footstep toward the counter till the last words that had left his mouth was a calculated dance meant to discover information. What did he want to understand, why these strangers of course...and now he knew so very much more than he had before. At least about this particular man, the other two had remained strangely silent through the whole ordeal. No matter, there was time for that later.

His smile never even faded in the slightest as the man across from him smiled back. The tiniest hint of a squeak, after the loud rap on wood, which would have been missed by most normal people, was not not missed by Sarthas. At last the the final piece of the puzzle fell into place, like wilted leaves falling from a dieing tree . The dark man had a second blade, but deflecting a shotgun round a this range was pretty much impossible. He could considerably reduce its velocity however he would likely end up cracking himself in his own crotch with the flat of his blade with devastating results at the very best, the worst missing the round entirely. Or if it was buckshot...well he could minimize the damage slightly. Had the man across from him not been kind enough to make that tiniest of noises he never would have had a chance to even estimate where the round would be coming from. But once again, it was the little things that were important. Now he knew almost exactly what he was dealing with thanks to his calculated prodding and could make the necessary adjustments.

But even as his body tensed in anticipation his opponent lowered his pistol returning it to its holster and leaned back. The dark man's smile faltered for a moment. It was this type of thinking that Sarthas had such a difficult time understanding. Had he been on the opposite side of the counter, he would have immediately started shooting the instant the blade came out. There would have been no time to consider things, as it was the most efficient means of ending the conflict quickly. But people like this man, and frankly most of the rest of the world were governed by morale's and ideals. Even the simplest concept of right and wrong escaped the murdering monster that stood there watching what should have been his opponent. He had been taught to kill and to do whatever was necessary to make that killing possible...but nothing more. Any emotion that might have been considered weakness was beat or cut out of the man early on and so here he was, faced with yet another situation that seemed unreasonable. The man's twisted smile returned once again.

Letting his left hand gently drop from the top of the blade, he ran his thumb and forefinger along its edges. The razor of the steel cut a deep grove into his flesh, spilling crimson life in drops from his fingers. Without taking his eyes from the man in front of him who most assuredly still had a shotgun at the ready, he gently rubbed the wounds on his fingers over the unspoiled paper. With his usual dexterity, he wrote his name with his own blood in large letters on the bottom half of the ruined forum just below the large black ink stain. It was almost as if he were signing his work. What was unusual, besides the fact that the disturbed creature of a man was writing with his own blood, was that each letter was written both top to bottom and bottom to top simultaneously with both fingers meeting in the center. This type of writing was very unusual and if one knew enough about such things might provide an interesting clue about his past, not that ether of the men were likely interested in such things at the moment.

Finished, Sarthas reached forward and slowly pulled the blade from the desk letting it hang loosely at his side. “Put it on my tab, I'm sure there will be more.” His twisted smile turned into a grin of sorts as he flashed teeth at the most interesting man he had met all week. With the slightest of bows, he backed away from the counter to the door, slipping by the man he had passed on the way in once again, this time in reverse. Once more his words tainted the air with their fowl sound. “We will meet again, no need to rush things.” The way he spoke the words left little room to doubt the assassin's statement. His eyes flickered to the spot where the pistol had vanished from view only a few short moments ago. “Besides, I like your work.” And with that the man was gone, slipping from the room as quietly as he had entered. Leaving his former opponent to wonder if words of praise from a psychopathic, homicidal, twisted shadow of a man were a good thing.....or a very, very bad thing.

“Blasted kid, here I am helpin’ out while you sit on your butt playing on your computer, and you’ve got a mind to talk to me like that?” grumbled Gunnar as he turned to Riley for a moment. He would have given the younger man what for, had Gunnar not seen that he was actually back to doing his job. Narrowing his eyes a moment longer, Gunnar looked over the latest arrival that had taken up a position in front of the desk. It didn’t take long for Gunnar to judge the character as ‘trouble-brewing’. But so far, he had thought that a few times about the people he had seen in the room. While the new fellah carried a pair of daggers, Gunnar had seen some girl had walked around with a battle axe earlier, so he wondered just how far from the norm the dark figure was. Heck, he himself still had a pair of holstered revolvers hanging from his belt. Being at this supposed school was going to take some getting used to, figured Gunnar as shook his head and turned back to the closet to finish his self-appointed task.

Before he knew it, there was a thunk of steel sinking into wood, a sharp contrast to the clash of the halbard’s blade on the floor a few minutes before, and Gunnar’s muscles tensed. Reflexes taking over, he dropped the bottle of cleaner in his right hand, and reached for a revolver. Before the plastic bottle had hit the floor with a soft thud and bounced back up, Gunnar was forcing himself to relax and release the handle of his gun. The sound that had put him on edge had come from a few feet behind him, and Gunnar placed it roughly at the desk—at which a certain ornery, possibly bored young man sat. Hazarding a guess that Riley was the cause of the noise that he startled him, Gunnar turned around again with another complaint already bubbling up onto his lips. When Gunnar saw the scene though, he stopped mid-turn as the words fizzled in his mouth, leaving a bad taste. He didn’t know if Riley was to blame or not—though figuring the kid’s mouth, Gunnar wouldn’t have been surprised if he was—but it looked like ‘trouble-brewing’ had finally fermented into just plain old ‘trouble’. Careful to keep hidden behind Riley, so that he was mostly out of view, Gunnar put his hand on his revolver. The ex-ranch hand was ready to yank the firearm out of its revolver and to dredge up a little extra something else to give the bullet some added kick. When no violence came, Gunnar whispered a small thanks to no one in particular, and took his hand off his gun. With the contest of ‘who has the bigger pair’ having come to an uncertain conclusion, at least as far as Gunnar saw, the so-called cowboy wondered if the duo would later have to figure out just who the real winner was.

When the dark man signed the form in blood, a shiver ran right down Gunnar’s spine. It’d been a while since he’d seen anything written in blood and the sight of it exhumed old memories that were best left buried and forgotten. As he stared down at the still glistening blood on the page, the color drained from Gunnar’s normally suntanned face. He lifted a hand and gave the back of his neck an awkward rub. When he looked up, he realized the ghoul was gone. Gunnar’s mouth had gone dry and he swallowed hard, trying to draw saliva from the glands, while he watched the door, as if expecting the man to come back through. ‘Trouble’ was definitely someone to avoid, he decided. It wasn’t necessarily because he was afraid of the man, though he’d have to be crazy not to feel a slight caress from terror’s icy fingers when the psycho was around, but worse still was the possibility that he might make Gunnar remember things he’d rather not.

When the door remained closed a few seconds after the man had exited, Gunnar breathed a sigh and reached out a hand, to place it on Riley’s shoulder. “Best not to be shooting your mouth off ‘round him if you know what’s good for ya,” advised the ex-ranch hand, a weariness having settled in his voice. Given the nature of young men, Gunnar doubted that Riley would listen.

Riley didn't say a word as the strange dark man signed his name in blood and flaunting himself across the scene. There were a few things he just didn't mess with, and that was a pushed into a corner. Although the cat wasn't sporting two blades the side of his head, he didn't push the issue as he waited for the man to leave. Common sense finally kicked in as he kept his trap shut and let the man leave. Whatever Riley stumbled upon, it was a rabid dog that loved to snap back at anything that walked. At least Riley showed some constraint, although it was a train of thought. Whether or not the man had a sense of moral complacency, he would have to wait and see. Staring at the damage before him, Riley would merely scoot a potted plant over the hole that was made into the wood after removing the blood drawn work. Scooping the paper into the envelope, he threw away the clipboard and toss everything into the stack. Regardless of what the man did, he signed his shit. That's all that he asked.

“Best not to be shooting your mouth off ‘round him if you know what’s good for ya,”

Feeling the hand touch his shoulder, Riley would tense... but only for a moment. He relaxed as he left go of the trigger of the shotgun. "I have met some pretty fucked up people in this world, and this guy takes the cake, Gunnar." Sighing deeply, he merely shook his head as he patted the gun in his holster. "Regardless, doesn't mean he gets free roam in this school. Gonna have to keep a close eye on him. Doesn't mean I ain't backing down either." There was one thing he learned, if any, was to pick his fights well. Although it may seem that the crazed dark man was a dumb choice, Riley thought it was interesting. "Thanks for cleaning up the mess Gunnar, you can go do whatever the hell ya want. I need time to think." Very compliant and passive, Riley was still shaken up by the stare down. Regardless of how cold hearted Riley may be, he was still human. Still had emotions. Still had the fear of death.

Still, it didn't stop him from standing up to that crazed sunnavah bitch, thats for damn sure.

Leaning back in the chair, he started to play on the computer nearby. Just surfing the files to see if there was anything interesting, like hidden porn or valuable files. Overall it was just an outward distraction to play with his mind. Keep it thinking without looking distracted.

ADMIN NOTE: THREAD ENDING. PLEASE EXIT THE THREAD WITH YOUR NEXT POSTS. THANK YOU

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Gunnar could feel Riley’s muscles tighten beneath his hand and the ex-rancher gave a gentle squeeze to reassure the young man. “Simmer down,” he muttered before Riley spoke up. The older man nodded to the comments. “No, but it doesn’t mean you go gettin’ him riled up. A guy like that, you want to keep him calm. You and I might be armed, and that girl with the axe, but what about everyone else? Just 'cause he doesn’t come after you, doesn’t mean he won’t vent himself through violence--plenty of other, seemingly defenseless, people for that.” Gunnar relaxed his grip and gave Riley a pat on the shoulder. “We’ll just keep an eye on ‘im, no causing any trouble, ya hear?” With that, Gunnar lifted his hand and went back to the closet. A few minutes later, he had put everything he’d taken out of the closet back into it in some semblance of order.

“Well, I’ll catch you later, son,” said the ex-ranch hand as he shut the closet door and turned to Riley again. “Don’t go hurtin’ yourself thinkin’ too hard,” offered the older man with a half-smile as he walked out of the room.