The arrival -open

[bix]

Enter Bix
Sorceress Extraordinaire

Fluttering in the breeze,
black lace shakes.
Getting closer to a freeze,
with every passing day.

The sun warms the way,
and I am alone.
A bright fall day,
disgusting.

*crunch crunch .. crunch crunch...*

Large boots crunch upon the gravel of the path. Shittily made concrete, poored by the minorities in the world, set with wood, reinforced with rebar. Steel toes in the boots, black, leather, reaching up to almost her skinny knees. Stockings then, striped, filtered up her legs disappearing underneath a black skirt. Almost blending in with their black and white stripes. The skirt, short, plaid, though it's hard to tell. Blue on black. Long sleeves. Black color. Silver chain around the waist, two feathered tassels hanging down from the belt.

Gloved hands. One holding an expresso, held in a cardboard cup. Steaming slightly in the cool fall day. The other, protecting her skin with the black lace umbrella that she held aloft. It was the west coast, nothing was ever all that cold, but it was despite the heat turning to fall. And the morning would be chill until the sun rose more and warmed the earth. Global warming, the seasons changing, shifting to something new. more natural disasters, the oceans rise, mankind's effect was startling, if you believed the hype.

Simple bag. Torn almost to shreds. Once made of fine material, probably something close to suede or psuedo suede, but now was nothing more than a ratty bag held together by safety pins, ribbons, and patches. Yet, it was hers. Pentograms, occult diagrams, all decorated the once undecorated fabric.

Around her, the people, the mindless sheep roamed the field speaking and mewing at the rest of the flock. Broken up into meaningless cliques. What would they be when the school time ended, when they moved on from this establishment of education and was forced into something a great deal more realisitic. Would they still be together. No. Statistics showed that this was not the way the world worked.

Screaming. A fight had broken out, the left side of the yard in an array of screams, cheers, and someone calling for help. Stop. No more walking for the small skinny girl as her blue eyes swayed from the door of destination, to the fight that was taking up the yard. Collecting a large surpluss of onlookers. More cheering than screaming. Most wanted to see the fight victorious in it's bloodshed. Neither seemed to care who walked away or limped so long as someone did. Disgusting, the human nature that had been brought to this place, and yet at the same time, Bix knew that Bix was no better, she thrilled in the blood as well but from the blank expression on her face, you wouldn't know.

Steps continued again, as she worked towards the school. The large building. 259, a new school, her first day, such a pittiful place to attend. Full of violence and the miscretants that had plagued the world. When they all grauduated what would they become? Was violence against violent sheep really all that beneificial. No. It was not, and yet they seemed to think this was what would work. To teach them by beating them, and making it right. Senseless and meaningless plans that sounded good in theory and yet when carried out meant nothing.

Murderers, Rapists, all of them would become those that increased the population of the prisons.

Sip. The coffee was still too hot, but no pain or expression of the burnt tongue crossed her features. In front of the door, she paused, Bix's eyes turning again, surveying the fight once more. Easily in the way of progressing into and out of the school.

[Scene]

Violence in every population was in a matter of sense and perception. That was also the case with strength and power. Both were items of a persons own personaly feelings regarding the actions of an individual. Scene was neither Powerful nor Strong, because the public didnt veiw him that way yet. Despite this, the Mask wearing Ringleader still made running the place, which he didnt do, look easy. He sat on the front steps, eyes following the curves of the female who was watching a fight off to the side. In truth, Scene had been watching the fight as well. It was between a radical follower of Amtrums and a member of Movement. He was distracted, however, by the rather interesting looking girl who was looking on, as though she were above them all. He found that comical.

Standing, he began whistling, a merry little tune that carried on the breeze. He skipped down the steps, as was his custom, walking once he came into veiw of the girl. He would walk right up to her, standing three feet away.

"Why hello my dear. My name is Scene. I'll be your welcoming commitee."

[bix]

Scream?
Not Quite

The old ways. The bloodshed upon the earthen ground. The cracks upon once perfect concrete. The world. Was never what it once was. And Bix could tell. Neither was this school. Nor the inhabitants. That walked and fought on the grounds. Her blue eyes watched. Coffee warm in her hand. Heating the digits. As she watched the fight. It was sad. That one must. Resort to such methods. Fighting in a crass way. Blood apparently was not good until spilled. Rubbed into the dirt. Creating a blood bath. A dust color to the environment. Elements of water. Would wash it away. As though the fight had never been. But all would know. Those that witnessed. Those that experienced. For every moment in time. Was stuck in someone's memory. Lost as it may be to all. Someone remembered. Someone cared. And someone would carry upon them. The legacy of that moment.

Bix was hyper aware. Of her surroundings. Of the sounds. The bones crunching. Feet shifting. The grass clumping. The scent of dirt in her nose. The scent of metalic blood upon the air. She could taste it. Filling her mouth with the scent. Violence was interesting. She could crave this kind of life. To see the blood of others spilled upon the byways of this campus. She could bathe in the blood of ally and enemy. Play the school. One side against the other. She was intelligent. More so than many thought. Her dress. Her outlook. Her speech. It all bred other thoughts. None of them. Intelligent. Another sip. The metalic taste. Washed away. By the cafinated and hot beverage. Searing her tongue. Only slightly this time. Another ounce of pain. Another nerve caught in a wave of electricity. The brain firing its synapes. Making her remember. Making her feel the tingle. The way that her tongue would be rough. Right after the drink went down. Funny. That your throat never burned. It was curious. How your stomach never burned. Only your tongue. And yet the human body was covered. In nerves. A mass of nerves. Everywhere. All communicating to one another. And yet... only the tongue burned.

A thought for another time. A subject. For further research.

*grind, slap, crunch*

The grinding of shoes. Someone. Heading in her direction. Sapphire orbs shifted. The azure color striking. And yet fierce. Bix was a woman of determination. One that knew. What she wanted, when she wanted it. And even how to get it. If she did not. She would find out. She was sap. Every resource dry until she achieved the answer. Her eyes alighted. On the masked figure. Interesting. A mask. It seemed she. Was not the only one. That indeed hid in plain sight. Oh sure. It might seem as though. She stood out. In the mass of preps, jocks, and other like minded individuals. But to be honest. Most threw her. Into the goth category. When she was far from. That mindset. Oh she was a witch. Holey and completely. But that did not mean. that she was going to wear black lipstick. Or paint her fingernails, that same. Atrocious color. Black on clothing was one thing. But Bix would not marr. Her perfect body with such.

Speech. Came flowing. From the mouth center. Of the masked one. Male. Though she had known that by the walk. The loping gate. The way his jeans were fitting. Where they sat upon his body. The lack of a bust. Many things. Had told her his sex before. She had even heard him speak. However this, was all she needed. To confirm. Welcoming committee, it seemed. She must have stood out. Not that she didn't want to. Afterall, most would remember. Seeing someone. Dressed like she was. She was strange. And not everyone. Had her sense of fashion.

"Required not, is a committe. So small, your member base is. Bix, called I am. Wish I, that you use it, I do."

Bix was calm. Her voice simple. Almost quiet. A lack of many emotions. It was as though. She was unphased by the world around her. Unphased by the masked boy. By the fighting. By the burnt tongue. Or even the new school. She was curious. Curious about it all. But even that. Did not show. In her guarded blank eyes. In her unemotive face. In her unexpressive voice.

"If, however, welcoming committee you are. What pray tell, is the agenda?"

[Scene]

"Your speech, hot, it is."

Scene's attention was peaked. Weird girl. Made him want to kiss her to shut her up. Maybe he would. Meh, kissing would only lead to fighting, and fighting would lead to him back in the hospital. He looked down at his watch, then at everyone around him. A grin splayed across his face. "To be honest, my agenda is to show you my school, take you out for dinner and then invite you to join Movement, perhaps having a little sex in between, at your discression, of course." Was he serious? There really was no way to tell. He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a cup of hot chocolate. "Its a little chilly, want some cocoa?" Scene was a masterful illusionist and magician, though some would call what he could do real magic.

This girl seemed rather interesting and, regardless of what others thought, he didnt label her as anything. Hell, he was labeled as a psychopathic homosexual. He was only half of that. Homosexuals only intrigued him, he didnt want to join theyre club. Maybe get one of them to rape an enemy...that would be funny. He chuckled a little.

He'd masterbate to that.

[bix]

Hot?
Interesting Reactions

Bix stood there. Watching him. The one in the mask. Breeze blew. Past the both. Moving her hair. Shifting his clothing. But she continued. To focus her attention. No where. Instead. They were everywhere. Shifting. Watching. Observing it all. The scent of blood. Growing stronger. She could feel. The tension in the atmosphere. It was strong. She looked back at him. When he spoke. Calling her choice of speech. Hot. A single black brow. Quirked. On her pale face. Showing a slight bit of interest. Upon that statement. Hot. She wasn't quite sure. How that came to be. She was not sure.. because she had never. Met anyone. That seemed endeared. To her way of speech. Muchless. Finding it attractive in anyway.

He went on. To tell her. That he wanted. To show her the school. An interesting propsect. She did wish. To have a map. Of the byways of the campus. The stained walls. The chipped tiles. The bent and dinted lockers. Everything. That made the day. Perfect. She wanted. To know the school. In and out. She did not. Want to be surprised. He went on. To tell her, he wished for dinner. A bit of wine. Some find food. Probably not quite. What he was interested in. Her eyes watched him. Curious, and yet her face, giving not a thing away. He went on. And while she was growing. More interested. In the moment. He told her he wanted to invite her. To join the movmentment. Whatever that was. She assumed, It was a gang. Perhaps some sort of uprising. Depending on what it was. She would be beneficial. To such an organization. She was exceptional. At intelligence. And she was good. At gaining information. With interrogation.

Sex was mentioned. Bix let it slide. Of her slender shoulders. Sex or not. Was up to the both parties. And currently. The ONLY way he ws touching this body. Was if he washed his hands. And removed the mask. Otherwise. NO hanky panky for Bozo. He reached. In his front pocket. And pulled out. Some hot chocolate. Fresh with steam. No lid. The steam rising. On the somewhat. Chilled morning. For the west coast. Bix's eyes. Shifted slightly. Looking at the. Top of the lid of her own coffee. Fresh hot chocolate. Or hot coffee. Mmmm. Her thumb on the hand that held the cup. Shifted. And popped. The lid from the cup. Looking at the black fluid. She grinned. As she twisted. At the waist. And tossed it. On the nearest student.

"MOTHER FUCKER!" the boy screamed. Looking at Bix. With horror and anger. Bix winked. And then turned. Tossing the cup to the ground. Taking up. The hot chocolate in her hand.

"Commence tour." Bix said calmly. As though she had done nothing. And took a sip. Of his offered hot chocolate. She was thirsty. And it was free. She was interested. And when Bix was interested. She had to know. Everything that she could.

[Scene]

Scene didnt bother looking over at the screaming student- hell, he barely even acknowledged him. He held out his arm, bent at the elbow, hoping for the girl to take it like he was an usher at a grand wedding. He would walk along with her, backhanding the student who decided to charge after he recovered, sending blood from his mouth as he fell off to the side. Scene held open his hand like a woman in the price is right, introduing each section with dinesse. They went through the main building, the south wing, the west wing, the east wing, the half destroyed courtyard (where a fight was taking place). Then he led her to a completely black halway, where nobody was, in a small building outside the back of the science center.

"This is where i chillax."

He skipped forward, humming, into the totally forbidding looking hallway, the floors polished, obviously rarely walked on. As students walked by they cast a careful eye on it. A hand would come out of the darkness, the glint of Scenes eyes all that was visible in the apparent abyss. Where the light caught on the walls, there was nothing but scribbles, and what appeared to be blood.

Would she enter?

[bix]

The Tour
Phantom Hallway

His elbow. Extended towards her. The crease of his fabric. Creating shadows. Were moments ago. None had existed. Her eyes. Flickered up. To his mask. And then. With a single. Forward step. A simple slid of her boot. Upon the ground. Her hand reached. Taking his elbow. Like a lady. In the courts of old. In the books. That Bix had once read. For English class. he. Escorting her. Through the grounds. But before. They could. Even make it inside. The boy. That she had burned severely. Had come at her. Screaming. Wanting revenge. For the blistering. And crimison skin. Too bad it was. Not blood. For that. Would have been. Much more interesting. That mere burns. Perhaps later. Perhaps another day instead. Still, the boy. One that called himself. Scene. Slapped Coffee. As Bix now. Had dubbed him, Within her mind. Coffee flew. Back away from them. And crumbled to the ground.

Enjoyment.

They walked. Bix and the masked. Man keeping. A leisurely pace. Neither were in a hurry. Afterall. What waited them. But class. And class was boring. At least Scene. Was something. Interesting. The mask. Was a bit lame. But she would not. Admit that openly. Not yet. She did not know. how well he would. Take that. And there was no reason. To burn that bridge. So early yet. In the game. All over the campus. They walked. Miles. In the boots they wore. Her arm. And his. Clasped comfortably. Her eyes. Taking in. The state of the school. Everything was. Tragically normal. Every tile, ever splatter. The lockers. The walls. The writing. The damage. The chipped paint. All so very. Normal. How boring. It was Bix. That had hoped. For something. A bit more thrilling. A bit more special. But no. Just another school. Another boring set of hallways. With monotone teachers. And more fights.

A sigh. Escaped her lips. Disappointment. Flooded through her body. However, her face. Remained impassive. She was not. Very open. With her emotions. Oh she felt them. But repressed them. And would rather. Keep them off her face. She found. Through experience. It was much more. Fun to keep. People guessing. What was going on. Inside her mind. Rather than. Letting them know. So easily. Bix was not. An open book. Like so many others. But he took her then. To a hallway. Very unlike the others. So brightly lit. With their hallogen bulbs. Humming softly. Overhead. Providing shity light. This. No this hallway. Was right up her alley. What she wanted. What she expected. The dark abyss. The fact that you could not see. A bit of the hallogen. Fell onto the wall. Dark they were. Blood upon them. Oh how she adored it. Immediatly it became hers. He told her. This was where. He came to 'chillax.' Such a crude barbaric term. She would certainly. Have to break him. Of such of the moment. Speech methods.

With a skip. He was enveloped. Bix stood there. For a moment. Not with fear. But with admiration. Taking in. The amazing environment. She could feel the spirituality. She could sense. The blood. A tingle in her fingers. Hallowed ground. Where she could cast. Her spells. Sacrifice in peace. Use her own blood. To draw her diagrams. Upon the walls. Oh yes. she would remember. This sanctuary. All too well. His hand. Exited the darkness. Held open to her. And his eyes. Seemed to glow. Just beyond sight. She grinned. Her first real. Emotion. Since they had. Met in the courtyard. Her pale soft hand. Took his. Bix took exceptional. Care of her body. her skin. Was like silk or satin. Smoothe and soft. The kind that most. Given the opportunity. Could not get enough of.

"Thank you, for the invite."

With a step. She entered the darkness. letting it envelope. The both of them. Letting it carress. Her being. Her soul. Wondering now. What other wonders. She would see.

[Scene]

Scene's fingers took the young girls soft hand in his, pulling her into the blackness that he had created for himself. Nobody knew it as his hideaway because nobody cared to try and find him there. Everyone wondered where he went all the time? It was here. Here his insanity manifested. On the outside he put up his fronts, here he let himself go, taking what he wanted and doing what he wanted with it. There was a specific reason nobody ever came in here...because those who did, never came out. This girl was an exception.He brought her in there- a fundamental difference in regards to the others. Following them, a curious student who had been leaning against the wall, a freshman, walked after them....As soon as he stepped across the black line, Scene spun around.

He rushed forward, a cry coming from the child as a sharpened ruler stuck into his gut. Scene grabbed a cable hanging from the ceiling, one he could see by the soft sparks it emitted, and wrapped it around his throat grabbing the other cable and pulling hard, the struggling student lifting off the ground as Scene tied the cable around a doorknob, effectively hanging the boy not ten feet into the area, blood running from the hole in the students gut. draining onto the floor as the boys leg jerked. He wasn't trying to impress anyone- it simply who he was. He walked back over to the female as though nothing had happened and retook her hand softly, heading for a classroom and opening the door. Three students stood, all of them blindfolded.

His three remaining Movement members, not on patrol. They're ears were stuffed with wax, they're noses with cotton. They couldn't hear a thing. Couldn't see a think. Couldn't smell a thing. Along the walls were two torches and at the back, several candles, the only light he had. Pictures where everywhere, and there were hand marks on the floor, as though someone had been dragged. There was a body in the corner, hung in exactly the same fashion.

If Bix could see in the dark, she will have noticed that all throughout the hallway, children hung there.

The madness of The Ringleader.

The body in the corner happened to be a woman, and she was holding her own boobs, completely bare. Scene chuckled when he looked at her. The windows were completely boarded up and he turned to her, clapping, the desk behind them which was empty when they entered suddenly full of food.

"Dinner, as i promised."

He walked over, sitting behind the desk in a throne-like chair, completely different from any others.

"If the light is bothering you, there are lights in here that work. I can turn them on, if you wish."

As he said it, he snapped, his thumb on fire as he lit two candles on the table with it. The body, hanging, swung gently from side to side, the hands holding her boobs only because there was obviously two pens through the back of the girls hands.

Thats right, Scene was a murderer. Did he care? Not one bit.

This was the far darker Scene, the Scene nobody saw. Everyone thought him a lunatic- a crazy fool with grand ideas.

None of them had any idea what he was capable of doing.

What he was doing.

What he would do.

[bix]

Blood and Desire
Heavy Mixture

His hand. Clasped her own. and pulled her softly. Leading her. Into the dark unknown. Her eyes. Adjusted quickly. Bix was used to working. And living. In minimal lighting. Afterall. She was not afraid. Of the unknown. Of the shadows. Nor the beasts that lurked. Around them. She was unafraid. Of stepping into this. Hallway with him. Oh no. She was more. Overjoyed. Eager. To find out. What secrets. Lay hidden. In the obsidian walls. The darkness was almost tangible. Her eyes shifted. Seeing many things. The blood on the wall. It spoke to her. Spoke to her of innocence. Of guilt. Of fear and pain. She was excited. Tingling in her small body. Her eyes. Darting to everything. That she could see. As the sparks. Rained down. From a loose cable. Probably. what was keeping. The hallway dark. Without electricity. Supplies to some. Of the lights.

His hand. Left hers. And he turned. Before she even noticed. Heard. Or felt. The presence. Of the other. The follower. But as she turned. She watched. With morbid. Curiosity. As the sharp end. Of a broken ruler. Was thrust. Into his stomach. Killing him. Or well. making sure he would die. At any rate. Unless. He got attention. But she doubted. That was gong to happen. If you went. As far. As to stab someone. With a simple ruler. You were not. About to release them. To find help. Apparently now. She was a witness. And accessory. To murder. The knowledge. Rolled around. Inside her cranium. Rolling across. Her tongue silently. As she thought it. Over. How interesting. First day. And already. Something interesting. Perhaps. If she stuck with this one. Life here. Would not be. So tragically dull.

Quickly. As Bix watched on. Scene grabbed. Their flickering. Source of light. And wrapped it. Around the neck. Of the trespasser. A silent message. To her and others. Not to come in. Unless invited. It was quite clear. Though she hoped. She would. Be invited. Frequently. Already. She could find herself. At home. And in love. With a place. Such as this. He came back to her. The other. Strangling. And bleeding to death. In the hallway. Not ten feet from help of peers. Help he would never recieve. Scene's hand. Took her own. And bix grinned. Feeling the blood. From his own hand. Transfer to hers.

"A moment."

She whispered. For this place. Seemed not the moment. For normal speech. But for secrets. And whispers. Squeezing his hand. Before dropping it. She moved. Opening her bag. At her side. Barely held together. By safety pins. And pulled out. Of all things. A test tube. With a rubber cork. She moved. To the boy. Quietly. And yet with determination. And bent over. Just slightly. Uncorking the tube. She placed it. Just under the flow. Of blood. That slid from the ruler. And into her tube. Collecting the innocent fear. That the blood. Had been tainted with. making it all the stronger. Half way. She pulled the tube away. And corked it. Placing it back. In her bag. AS though. It was the most. Normal of things. To do. Turning. She extended her hand. For him to take. So that they could. Continue on as planned.

They entered a room. It too was dark. But the candle light. At the back. Was more than enough. For Bix to see by. She was often. Working in candlelight. Preferring it. To artificial lighting. When ever she had. The opportunity. Three people. All in blindfolds. Stood at their entrance. Bix noticed. They were not. Hurt. At least not yet. And their senses. Were blocked. meaning. They had felt. The influx of airflow. When the door opened. Alerting them. That someone had come in. Bix wondered. If he was to torture them. And she was to watch. And perhaps join in. But it would only. Be known. When he let it. But he. Seemed to ignore the others. And even the woman. Hanging from the ceiling. Bix looked over at the room. And then. Shifted her attention. To the man. She was with. As though she saw this thing. Every day.

With a clap. The table behind them. Filled with food. That looked delicious. Bix grinned. She was growing. MOre and more interested. In this man. That called himself scene. He walked around the table. Letting go. Of her hand. And sat down. In a chair. Much like a throne. Bix moved to the seat. Opposite him, and placing her bag. Over the back rest. She sank herself down. This was not quite. The dinner she had thought of. She had figured. Some sort of date perhaps. But sitting here. Looking at the morbid room. The scent of blood. The fresh candle wax. Nothing could. Have been more perfect. For the witch.

"Indeed." she said appreciatively.

He mentioned the lighting. Eliciting a small. But soft chuckle from. The blue haired beauty. Who's skin. Glistened in the fire light. She was pale. And in the fire light. It really made. Her skin. Seem to shimmer. With an inner beauty.

"Fine, the lighting is. Used to candles, I am quite."

Bix took a sip. Of the drink provided. And let the smoothe. Liquid roll. Over her tongue. She looked over at Scene. The mask there. Was quite. Interesting. She was curious. What it hid. And perhaps one day. She would be able to see that. But for now. She knew. It too soon to. Make such a request.

"Atmosphere is heavenly." ah the irony. "Wish, I do, to visit, if you perhaps, would allow me."