Who: `Nitsa Roggenmuhme (Lady Midday) and Open [Younger NPC's or Gods/Teachers/Etc] Where: Greenwich Village Middle School When: Wednesday, late morning. Ratings: Minor violence. But, Midday's involved, so who knows?
The smells were intense and intoxicating: the scent of innocence mingled with curious and sweetly dangerous, blooming personalities and flings that at the moment would seem like the most important thing in the world, but truly, fifteen years down the road and no one would remember one another or their name. Soandso had a crush on Soandso. Lunch period was shortened to thirty five minutes. The food stands only sold what smelled and looked like regurgitated cockroaches.
Ah, middle school. Rife with energy. 'Nitsa sunk into the desk she found herself in upon entering the class room, found her eyes transfixed on the clock on the wall, and was kicking herself inwardly for even thinking this was a good idea. Not only had her dim-witted teacher mispronounced her German last name, but the children surrounding her decided "Nitsa" was worth every penny of Insult Land. Until, of course, the bell rang, and children who thought themselves adults merely because they were on the tail end of puberty ran rampant onto the fields, into a fervor of energy that could be spent and consumed like 'Nitsa had rarely seen before.
Drifting in the little field outside, she found herself poring over an offer made by a certain Marc Jones, when,
"Hey, Nit-Wit!" One boy with an infestation of acne claiming half of his disgustingly cherubic face cackled at her, thinking his play and butcher on the sound of her name was actually clever. "Where you from? Are you one of those aliens my dad talks about?! NEEEETZHAAAA--" She punched him in the gut without a word. She could have strangled him, but felt that would a dead give-away of her identity. Strange logic. Turns out, mortal adults do not appreciate little girls hitting little boys nearly as much as she enjoyed it.