Post by LUKA NIKOLAJ VRHOVNEK on Nov 20, 2011 0:17:00 GMT -5
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WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE ?
Power Control. A class which produced sheer loathing from Luka Vrhovnek out of boredom alone. He sat on the floor of the huge, bunker-like gymnasium with the other students, mindfully trying not to dirty his clothes. Luka blatantly rejected the course's suggestion of gymwear, caring for classic black trousers and a loose white button-up instead. His only acknowledgement of the dress code was his long blonde hair, which he had pulled up into a messy low pony-tail that washed down his back. Frayed pieces of hair framed his face, and his ice blue eyes glittered in contrast to a smokey black liner. He was different than the rest, a long, tall boy grown out of his body - lanky legs and bony arms, pale as snow with a feminine waistline. He was a Neverland of genetics, and seemed more mutant-like than human. It seemed just natural that he would have some type of power, no normal human could resemble him. He was some sort of alien, and avoided accordingly.
Luka settled back, propping up his lean torso by his arms. His eyes glazed over as student by student stood up and introduced themselves, some shy, some friendly, all immemorable. Then the teacher would go on in his pathetically enthusiastic way, spouting out wisdoms and worthless encouragements as the student tried to pull out his or her power. Luka was getting a headache from wincing so much. Every poor soul stood up there and grunted, groaned, or screamed until they were red in the face trying to get some reaction from their powers. Some were successful, slinging wild bits of lightning into the ceiling, and some were wild failures, producing nothing but a soft fart met by a barrage of laughter. Luka didn't laugh. He sighed and turned his head towards the exit, wondering what sort of excuse he could use to get the hell out of dodge. He could easily excuse himself to the rest room and never come back. But there was still an hour left in the class. The only thing worse than the teacher suspecting his skipping, was that of his class mates suspecting he had some sort of digestive problem. Best just to suffer through it.
If only his ass wasn't so damn sore. Luka switched positions, moving uncomfortably to another awkward position on the floor when the next name was called. "Stetson Gilliam? You're next, mate!" Luka looked idly around for the teacher's next victim. A girl next to him started giggling. And then this "Stetson" character was spotted, sans cowboy hat much to Luka's comical displeasure. Luka watched closely, soaking it all in. Ah. This was that "Tony" kid that some of the girls had been talking about. With that cute, boy-next-door face, devastatingly oblivious charm, and sweet disposition, Luka practically wanted to vomit. This was the kind of kid Luka had always wished he could've been born as, but was not even close. A sore resentment surged through his blood, setting his wrists stiff. From his position on the floor, Luka watched the kid with an aggressive stare, hawking every movement.
