Let it All Fly (Monroe)

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Ah, Monroe. Roey, even.

They'd both been around Hammel for years. Both art-types. They'd run into each other every now and again and... Yeah. He was an okay guy. They weren't really friends, but she didn't hate or dislike him. And while she couldn't be sure, she at least thought he didn't hate her.

She'd stationed a spot of black and another of white above her paper on the desk. In the middle the two melded together to make the perfect shades of grey required, as aided by her acutely toned ability. The tip of the little skewer between her fingers dipped into the shade, and she drew brushed lines against the paper. Every so often, she glanced up from her table across from him.

He was sketching, right? He always seemed to like to do that in class. And during club time.

"Working on something special?" Lucy asked, her accent hugging her words as she opted to break the silence.

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

Monroe was sucked into his sketchbook, charcoal pencil pressed to the paper. Drawing was one of the things that helped him forget he was so tired and so he often found himself in the art studio regardless if he had class or not or if it was an art club day. He wasn't very good at interacting with everybody in the art club, as he mostly kept to himself, but he spoke up every now and then when he felt it necessary.

He looked up when Lucy spoke, a voice cutting into his thoughts. "Not really," he replied, adjusting his beanie on his head and shifting his charcoal pencil to the other hand-- all in the while somehow smearing some charcoal on his left cheek. Really, he was just doing a charcoal drawing of a dreamscape. Often he found that people's dreams stuck in his head and the best way to get them out, was to put them on paper. This one featured some guy in a trench coat in a dark valley-- some sort of nightmare someone had been having.

In truth, he'd been jealous of Lucy's ability since he first met her. An art related ability? Of course him and Sebastian always talked about how humans shouldn't have powers in general--but he couldn't help but think that something simple like that would be fun, especially for his liking of art. "I don't recommend bringing it to life though--it's a bit creepy."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Ah, that was a shame. Lucy glanced down to the slow swirling paint in front of her; maybe it wasn't. When she glanced up at him again, she had to grin. How'd he get the sprinkle of charcoal on his cheek? She stifled a laugh to herself. It was so tempting to add a line of paint to his other cheek. Like warpaint or something. But she didn't want to risk ruining his drawing, even if he didn't find it important.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Plus it's charcoal. I don't even think it'd work." She replied. It was the reason why she opted for paint and pencils instead of pencils. Ink, baby. The lion on her arm allowed his main's curls to flutter slowly across her arm. "I almost feel bad. I was going to lob a bit of paint your way. Maybe add to the little mark on your cheek there." She explained, pressing her index finger into the black and drawing a line on her own cheek to mirror the charcoal on his.

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

"Your power doesn't work on charcoal? Disappointing. It's my favorite medium," Monroe told her. He'd painted a few times of course. He liked the way water colors bled together, but drawing was something that had come natural to him--more than anything else and his mother had sent him some nice charcoal pencils that he couldn't not use! His mom was all about helping him keep sane, she was a psychologist after all. He shook his head at the thought of her, before looking back up at Lucy from his drawing.

"What?" He gave her a strange look, not even realizing he'd smeared charcoal on his face. If he did, he wouldn't care and he was too out of it to notice anyway, given how he was always tired. "What mark?" He raised a hand to his face, only to lower it as to not smear any more on his face. He watched her dip in hand into the black paint and smear a line on her own cheek. "There, now we match," he said, matter-of-factly.

He liked being around artists. They were so easy going.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

"It's one of those styles I can't use my powers with. So yeah, it's pretty weird to switch and not be able to cheat to fix my own lines." Lucy admitted, running her fingers idly through her hair. Her eyes looked up at her fringe and caught sight of the small amount of paint that caught itself in her dark strands. A simple flick with her finger and it was out again, splattering onto the table.

The strange look he gave her was actually kind of funny. It was a challenge not to laugh when he finally seemed to realise what she was talking about. But he was just so clueless. Or maybe he was just out of it. If that were the case, a different person might have ended up feeling sorry for him. "Out of the goodness of my heart, man." She replied, offering an amused grin to match her words. Dropping her attention back to her artwork.

Sure, the conversation - short as it would - could have ended there. "Don't pass out on the table, Roey." She chided, keeping her eyes on the paper; "Cause I definitely can't carry you to your bed."

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

"It's nice to know that as a fellow artist and Hammel student stuck here in this hell-hole that you would lower yourself to my level by smearing paint across your face. Hats off to you, Lucy," he said, literally taking off his beanie which just ruffled his hair and revealed how messy it was.

He looked down at his sketchbook again, filling in the trenchcoat of the man with dark shading of his charcoal pencil. Roey. He wasn't sure that anybody had ever used a nickname like that with him, but he was just glad she wasn't calling him Thomas or Tom, or the worst-- Tommy. He cringed internally at the thought.

"Are you saying I'm fat or that you're weak?" he asked, still shading. Although he might just fall asleep.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

"I like to think of myself as a giver, yeah." Lucy replied with a feigned smug look on her face. It didn't really suit her, and moments later she broke out into a laugh. "But hey, it's nice to know someone else thinks it's a shit-hole. Try being stuck here for three years." Her nose twitched at the thought. Another year pending her inability to graduate. "And for what it's worth, I feel a little lonely without paint on my face. Getting in touch with the art, and all that." Shit. It was all shit anyway.

She raised her eyebrows at the question, her lips curling into an amused smirk. "Maybe both. Who knows." The Australian offered a shrug with her words, looking at the paint in front of her and raising a significant white blob to her eye level. "You look a little heavy." She replied, pointing in his direction. In the same motion, she sent the small sphere of paint right towards him, hoping to get a splatter of white lost in his gloriously untamed hair.

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

"I think a lot of people think this place is a shit-hole. I don't talk to many people, but those I do talk to, don't exactly rave about how fantastic Hammel is and how much it's changed their lives." Sure, Monroe had been here since he was fifteen, since his first dreamwalk and he'd learned some control, but that didn't mean that he liked this place. He'd been robbed of his life--the life he was supposed to have.

He shrugged at her statement about art. "You're not getting into your art enough if you're not wearing it," he said, which he did believe was true. You couldn't be careful with art, at least not in his opinion.

"You're digging yourself into a hole in which you may never get out of, Serrano," he said accusingly, pointing his charcoal pencil at her. "Calling me fat is inaccurate. Not because I'm toned, but because I'm a lanky tall guy with no athletic skills."

Then he realized that she'd raised a quite abundance of white paint into the air. "Serrano, put the paint down." No fair that she had a power equivalent to the act of going paintballing. When she didn't and sent it flying towards him, he didn't have a lot of time to react and the glob of paint got into the hair that framed his face, splattering across his cheek as well. He glared in her direction, leaning back in his chair to grab a tube of paint from the supplies table behind him. "I might not have your power, but I can still throw paint."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

"I dunno about the rest of you, but it dragged me across a bloody ocean." Lucy pointed out, a bitter taste to her words. She really did hate the fact. "Y'know there's no school in Australia? Or the Oceanic region, for that matter? They send most of us to Kocher. Now why the actual fuck would we go there?" Nevermind where it was, it was the fact that English was her only language. And even then, it wasn't her greatest skill.

"Do people say you smell like charcoal?" Lucy asked, glancing down at her nails idly. There were insignificant chips of various colours underneath them. There almost always was.

Lucy offered an incredibly sarcastic pout with her bottom lip, though it did little to hide the grin at the corner of her mouth; "Aww, baby don't be like that. You know I like you lanky and lazy." Seriously, she mightn't like him at all if he weren't so himself. And it helped that he was wonderful to look at.

She cringed, shaking her head slowly at the request to put it down. Oh no, she couldn't possibly do that. She threw her head back in a laugh at the connection. "Just trying to get you all deep in my art. Your wild, unruly hair does things for me, Roey." She breathed through her laughter. That was until she stopped long enough to notice he was gathering supplies. Lucy swiped her hand along the table, gathering up the black and white she'd been fiddling with. "Can you? Alright, go on. I'll even give you a free shot to keep things even."

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

"It dragged me across the country, but I guess that's not as bad in comparison," Monroe said with a shrug towards Lucy. He hated the fact that he'd been taken away from his life, to start a different one.

"And...sometimes. Although I guess I don't hang around enough people to be told that." Which was true, in his defense and Sebastian never really commented on how he smelled.

He smiled lopsidedly over at her, as she went on about how she liked him lanky and lazy. "Good, because it's probably not going to change." That's the way he'd always been. "I swear I'm one of those people who somehow isn't fat regardless of how unhealthy I actually am."

Just trying to get you all deep in my art. He shook his head at the comment and the things it could mean. She was glad she at least liked his hair enough to tease him about it. "People with great hair need to stick together," he said, meaning hers. He didn't normally approve of people using nicknames without his permission. It was really more of a pet name that made him sound like a little kid, but he honestly didn't expect anything less from Lucy and her antics. So he just accepted it.

He reached behind him to feel around for a paint brush, still keeping her eyes on her. "You know, this isn't really fair considering how sleep deprived I am. I think you need to pull a few all nighters and then this would be a fair battle." But nonetheless, he lobbed some red paint--one of the colors he'd happened to grab-- on the paintbrush and sent it flying across the room.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

"You don't know how glad I am to hear that." Lucy said simply. If he changed - jokingly or not - she mightn't like him as much. Not that that was a reason for fending off the inevitable point of change. They were just friends, right?

When it came to the things she said, Lucy rarely settled on a word out of place. She knew the meanings, the innuendos and all that; of course she did, she was Australian. But his reaction was simple, and she'd give him points for that. "Oh, the temptation to run my paint-covered hands through it." Lucy replied, grinning at the thought of slicking his hair back with such a substance. It'd be fun. She'd have to do it next time he fell asleep.

"That's what losers say when they know they're losers." Lucy pointed out, unable to feel bad for him and his handicaps. The red paint splattered off the brush and she closed her eyes, letting it paint spots from her nose down her chin as the brush itself hit her collarbone. It hurt a little - object that it was - but not enough to be a deterrent. Her finger dipped into the blob of red and drew a matching line on her other cheek. Now they were off-coloured war stripes.

She coated her hands in black, leaving her station and charging towards him. "Too tired to run?" She asked, because if she caught him her hands were going right through his gorgeous locks of hair.

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

"No, that's what sleep deprived people say when they're sleep deprived," Monroe corrected her with a lopsided grin before he lobbed the entire paintbrush over at her, watching the red paint splatter on her face. He threw up his arms in the air as some sort of victory gesture. This war was really unfair, considering Lucy's power, but it was all in good fun anyway.

He watched as she painted red on her other cheek, not your typical war-paint, but Lucy wasn't typical and neither was he, so it worked. Then he saw her dip her hands in black paint and stand up. He got to his feet, warily watching her as she came towards him. So he quickly grabbed a random tube of paint--this time purple-- from the table and took off running, leaving his hat and sketchbook abandoned at the table.

He ran around one of the tables and held out the tube of paint as a threat. "Watch it, Serrano. Sleep deprived people get mad easily," he challenged.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy scoffed at his response; always the expect wordsmith. Look at him, switching her phrases like an absolute pro. She just laughed at the way he paraded around with such victory. Yeah, yeah. A cheap shot. That she gave him!

"You move fast for a guy that's sleep deprived." Lucy said aloud. She knew that was bullshit! Well, she figured as much. She'd be in an unfortunate position if he suddenly toppled over onto the floor. As she rounded the counter he used to be sitting at, her hands scooped up his hate and she pulled it onto her own head. Oh yeah, now she had his hat. And would he really want to ruin his own hat?

She stopped in her tracks when he held the paint in her direction, like it was the threat of a gun or a knife. Her darkened hand secured a tube for herself - green. Bright, neony green. "Whadaya say we do this old school, Monroe? Turn, pace and draw?"

[Thomas "Monroe" Montgomery]

"It's called adrenaline, Serrano," Monroe said with a smirk, getting into a stance on the other side of the table. He was ready to bolt at any sudden movement Lucy made. For now he just stared at her, feigning a gasp when she picked up his hat. "Drop the hat!" Although it was really mostly jokingly. I mean, he was more worried about his combat boots getting paint on them than his hat. His hat could actually use some random color. Why the hell not?

Now it was some sort of stalemate as the two of them stood, paint tubes in hand. "I say bring it on, Serrano."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy retorted with a scoff. Oh right, adrenaline! She stared back at him, raising her eyebrows and allowing a single hand to tuck some of her hair underneath his hat. "Nah. I think I'll hold onto it. Collateral damage and all that." Besides, maybe she'd be lucky and he wouldn't shoot paint at his own hat. Or maybe that was a plot!

Ah, so now he was agreeing with her. Good, good! A shoot out it was! Hell, she'd even give him a fair chance and try- to the best of her ability - not to use her powers to help her out. Turning her back to him; "To three, then draw."

"Ooone." Her voice dragged as she took her first step.

Another step. "Twooo." She tried her best not to grin so much, but this was going to be awesome.

"Threee." A final step, and she waited to build the tension for as long as she could before she spoke again; "Draw!"

She turned over a shoulder, aimed high and squeezed as much out of the tube as she could, hoping gravity would be her friend in this fight.