J.J. Proudstar | FRENZY (mypath) wrote in academy_x, @ 2010-01-18 15:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | storm, warpath |
Who: Warpath and Storm
What: James is livid with a grade.
When: Sometime during the day.
Where: Storm's Office
Warpath was not happy. In fact, anyone that did not get out of his way quick enough would be dozed over as he stomped through the corridors, hunting down Storm. Deep lines were formed between his brow from containing his anger. He nearly trampled through a smaller group of freshman, ignoring their minute shrieks and hushed glares. He was on a mission, as evident by the tightness of the muscles that were exposed from the lack of clothing he chose to wore, despite the cooler temperatures outside. An old t-shirt and a pair of shorts was all the boy fancied; heck, he wouldn't have even bothered with a shirt if he hadn't already been scolded by faculty that it was inappropriate to walk around constantly without one. Bare feet padded almost silently against the worn carpet, determined to not stray from the path they were on. His hair remained long and flowing, tangling with the wind as it blew by him. What had caused him to stampede through the hallways like an unforgiving bull? A grade. He got a bad grade and needed to discuss why he had received it.
With a quick sniff of the air every so often, it wasn't hard to track where Storm was, and in a few minutes time, he would be standing in front of her office, a curled fist pounding against her door with no regard for what she was doing behind it. "Storm! I need to speak with you, Storm," he said loudly, firmly, though not shouting just yet. In his other hand, he held the crumbled essay, the whites of his knuckles exposed from sight a tight grip around it. Without waiting for her to answer, the door was all but ripped opened and in came the angry native. "You said my idea was good. You said the effort would be A-worthy. But look! That blue beast is a fool!" The essay was slammed onto the table, a big red 'C' drawn on the top of with with a calculated percentage. "This is unacceptable."
He stepped back from the desk, his arms folding tightly across his chest, only making them look more seasoned for battle as he puffed his chest out in dominance. A small jerk of his head would shift fallen locks of hair off of his face so she could better see just how defiant to the grade he received he was. This whole thing should have been addressed with Hank himself, as it was an literature essay, but Storm had been the one to help him in the first place, she had failed him, at least, in his mind, on some minor scale.