how I wish you could {{Dovabelle}} see the potential

It was the first day of the week that was designated to the settling in of the students at Aegnor. There wouldn't be classes for another seven days, and Sorne had already become bored with unpacking his things into his new dormitory room. That wasn't to say that he was finished unpacking, just that he had decided that he didn't want to do it any more for the time being. Besides, there was a veritable myriad of things to do now that he was back in school. The first of which was to hunt down Dyrk and throw a nice sized fireball at the back of his head. Dyrk was his best friend, after all, and he couldn't think of a more appropriate way of saying hello, though he honestly hadn't thought very long or very hard on the subject. He also hadn't been able locate Dyrk in their dormitory, so he'd had the clever idea of searching for his friend in the Fingon dormitory. This was actually an incredibly logical decision, seeing as if you could find Dulais you could almost certainly find Dyrk in the near vicinity. Sorne just didn't get the whole 'protective big brother' thing. It wasn't like Dulais would ever even know how to find trouble, anyways. She was far too boring to need looking after.

Sorne threw open the door into the Fingon common room and readied himself to attack. Sadly there was no Dyrk to be seen, just an empty and cold common room. He took a moment to rove his eyes around the room, though it hadn't even been a year since he'd called it his own common room. The water theme, even if it was only half of the whole, had always grated against him, leading to countless tirades from atop various pieces of furniture. He had to admit, though, it was certainly looking better than the stuffy earth-toned room he was going to be lounging about in for the rest of the year. At least this room had some fire in it to keep it lively. Not to mention quite a bitching fireplace. Sorne walked slowly over to the hearth, rubbing a hand down his cheek and the side of his neck. The stubble was there, but it was at a pretty low level. He might have to shave sometime in the near future. He waved a hand in front of him, tracing a thin line of fire in the air. Ugh, how weak. He seemed to be a little too content at the moment, this whole getting to start a new year thing was apparently getting to him. It just wouldn't do. He looked around the room and let his discontent over the decorations hit him with its full force. A scowl surfaced on his face and he threw his hand out towards the dry log on the hearth.

That was more like it. A frightening jet of fire had shot from his outstretched fingers and had now set the log burning. He took a couple of steps back and collapsed onto the commons couch, enjoying the cloying heat that was baking from the fireplace. So what if it was still technically summer? A fire was good any time.

Dovabelle pulled her almost-empty suitcase closer to her. Opening another drawer in the little dresser at the foot of her bed, she began to neatly fold clothing and put it away. Her organizational skills were flawless, but she wanted to get everything unpacked so that she could feel at him as soon as possible. As the drawer reached its limits, she ended up opening the drawer beneath the previous one to stick the last of her clothing in there. Once the second suitcase was empty of all hints of clothing, there was only one drawer at the top left unused. Of course, she put all her toiletries in that one and any personal articles, like magazines or her journal. Pouring the last items in her suitcases onto her bed, she stuffed the large, unwieldy tools under her bed, where, later in the year, other things might end up. Then she set about carefully set up the metal figurines she had made in the last seven years of her schooling. All of the pieces had been made at Aegnor for one reason or another. Although she typically gave them away to friends, some of them she kept. Last, but certainly not least, she untied one of her three bags of solid metal orbs and pocketed four of the large, heavy objects. Tying up the bags again, she stuffed those under her bed too.

The reason she brought bags of metal orbs to school with her was so that she always had metal on hand to manipulate. That was she didn't go around messing with priceless objects at the school, which would keep her out of detention. This would also keep her away from the land of boredom. Straightening with a sigh, she dusted off her cargo pants, gazing around the otherwise-empty room. It looked like everyone else had already arrived and unpacked, their stuff littering their beds and dressers. So, that just meant they were all out and about, enjoying the first day back to school without actually having to worry about schooling itself. The commons had been devoid of life forms too, so when Dovabelle heard someone moving around out there, her heart skipped a beat with excitement. Who could that be?

Stepping out of the girls' dorm, she closed the door and then turned to see who was in the commons. The first thing her bright gray eyes fell upon was the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. Hmmm...How odd, must be one of the only fire student in Fingon. But then she realized that the back of the head she could see was definitely not female. "Escaping your commons in favor of ours?" Gentle amusement threaded through her voice; Dovabelle figured it was better to be kind than rude to someone she didn't know.

The small female circled around the couch, pulling one of her orbs out of a pocket. She tossed it into the fire, and crouched in front of it, waiting for the metal to heat up. "So...why do you prefer Fingon commons, Mr...?" And that was when, with a warm smile, Dovabelle glanced over her shoulder to see who she was addressing and found herself looking upon one Sorne Flint. A scowl immediately replaced the smile and she reached into the fire, snatching her orb out of its heart. "I thought you'd had your fill of this common room already, old man." She blew on the orb, causing it's surface to literally ripple. The metal shivered as though in excitement for the change it was about to undertake.

Sorne leaned back on the couch, straightening the sleeves of his white collared shirt then folding his arms behind his head. Everything was more comfortable when fire was nearby. He stretched his leather loafer-clad feet out in front of him and blew a small fountain of fire up from his mouth. There was no burning sensation along with this singular gift, just an overwhelming warmth in his mouth. It really was an incredibly fun thing to do. Most people seemed to think that he was just a rowdy show off, but he wasn't. He was a rowdy show off that thoroughly enjoyed everything he did to show off. At least he didn't kid himself about it. He unfolded his arms and began tossing a small ball of fire from hand to hand.

He heard a scuffling from the girl's dormitory and wondered who it could be in there. It only sounded like a single person, so it wasn't Dulais and Dyrk. There were still quite a few possibilities, so he waited patiently. Well, he waited impatiently; throwing that fireball from hand to hand. The scuffle turned into steps and the steps began to approach him, but still he lazily tossed his fire. Whoever it was, Sorne wanted to be sure that they would see him. After all, who would want to miss such a clever trick as this? His expression was completely disinterested, only his eyes moved, following the fire's progress between his palms.

A voice rang out in the otherwise empty room, but the only indication that Sorne recognized it as the one belonging to his ever-present enemy (one Dovabelle Morningstar) was the slight raise of one eyebrow. However her continued conversation with him induced the shadow of a smirk on his lips. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought she was flirting with him. Was this how she treated every unknown intruder? He continued to toss the fire, relishing in her assumption. This was all too funny. She finally turned to face him and he met her questioning stare with his sardonic one. He tossed his fire between his hands a couple more times, then tossed it in the air and caught it in his mouth. Now if that didn't impress her, he didn't know what would. Well, considering it was Dovabelle, probably nothing. "Oh, never. Especially with your charming face gracing it little dove." Such a warm phrase in such cold tones. There really was nothing better. "Please ask me about my summer. I have such wonderful things to tell you about. Would you believe I finally bested that Norden boy at dueling?" He stretched his arms out in front of him and folded them behind his neck again. "Now where did my little dove fly to over break?"

The sight that greeted her when she'd glanced over her shoulder was nauseating. Sorne in all his oh-so-radiant beauty tossing a stupid little fireball back and forth. The metal orb in Dovabelle's hand rippled again, threatening to burst into another shape. She glanced at her orb, and almost missed Sorne's little show; his attempt to impress her would have made her smile and applaud him...if he'd been someone else. Since it was Sorne, she rolled her eyes, feigning complete and utter boredom. As though she'd seen such a trick a million times...Well, she hadn't, but who was she to let him parade on her pride? His little comment did not inspire another smile, no she'd locked that cabinet away. Instead she stuck her orb back into the fire he had started, boldly keeping her hand in place in the heart of the heat. It hurt a bit, but it wasn't like she would ever, in a million years, admit something like that to Sorne Flint. He'd scoff at her or something.

"I do not care about your summer. It was probably boring and simple, just like you. My poor simple-minded friend, unable to think of anything better to with his time than beat up other people." Dovabelle shook her head at him and then turned back to the fire, studying the progress it had made in heating up her metal orb; oh, how her hand hurt to stay in that horribly hot heart, her skin wasn't made to withstand flame after all; but there was no way in hell she would show any sign of weakness in front of him. If he'd been anyone else, she wouldn't have stuck her damn hand in the fireplace in the first place. So, that meant it was all Sorne's fault to begin with. Stupid old man.

His question hung in the air, heavy and demanding an answer. Dovabelle almost shuddered as memories of her own horrid summer vacation hit her. "I was intelligent enough to remain above pummeling other creatures into the ground. I went to California." And had a horrible experience, she remembered. Between being bored out of her mind and pelted with American males, her stay had not been enjoyable...at all. Why did CEOs of other companies always think that, since she was Ursula's daughter, they could throw their sons her way? Like she wanted anything to do with them! Stupid sex-addicted, hormone-ridden teens. She'd been grounded for a week due to their stunt and her need to protect herself. That, of course, was when she realized that the metal orb was nice and hot; oh and her hand really hurt. With a sigh, she pulled her hand out of the fire again and turned to face Sorne. The metal orb was red-hot, not that she needed it to be so to work with it. She ignored her throbbing hand and unclenched her fingers, watching as the orb spread and began changing its shape.

Sorne had completely intended to keep his cool during this conversation, but he honestly should have known better. Any conversation with this cold copper statue of a girl inevitable ended with him in a huff. He was used to being out of control with his temper, but he was also used to not giving a damn about it. Dovabelle's disdain for his temper had an inexplicable effect on him; it made him want to keep his cool. The problem with this was the fact that Sorne could never seem to hold onto his temper for more than a few minutes around her. The whole situation both revolted and intrigued Sorne at the same time.

The shadow of a scowl passed across Sorne's face as she dismissed what he considered to be a surpassing impressive victory. The way she just shrugged him off like he was some stupid Lamalas vying for her attention...it was infuriating! Couldn't she get it through her thick skull that he was far beyond amazing and that she should be throwing praises at him instead of throwing criticism. Apparently she wasn't clever enough to notice his superiority. Though that thing she was doing with her hand in the fire was pretty clever. Extremely impressive at the very least. He raised an eyebrow disdainfully, trying to ignore the fact that a blistering furnace that he himself had lit was doing absolutely nothing to her hand. Hell, she hadn't even shifted her face from that irksome bored expression. She was rubbing him the wrong way with all of her might, but he resolved to stay calm. At least calm-ish.

He easily made his face match hers and yawned openly. "If I am simple-minded, little dove, then you are the village idiot, not being able to tell the difference between an arranged duel and a common fight. At least I spent my time doing something productive to my education, instead of wasting my time with humans. How are those genocidal mongrel, by the way?" He pulled his hands out from behind his head and set them in his lap as he leaned forward in a gesture of mock interest. He couldn't really care less about her stupid vacation. To tell the truth his summer had been uneventful besides the epic duel, but he wouldn't acknowledge any superiority on Dovabelle's part, even if it turned out she been spelunking in a volcano or something.

She laughed. Yes, Dovabelle Morningstar laughed at Sorne Flint. Village idiot. How very cute of him to try and make her out to be less intelligent than himself. "Was that the best you could do, old man? Honestly, an arranged duel and a common fight? That's more or less the same thing. In both instances you are trying to overpower your opponent and thus win. Am I wrong? No, I know I'm not. So, if the goal for both situations is the same, then what makes them different? Absolutely nothing except the so-called 'beauty' of an arranged duel. It's all barbaric." She glanced at the orb in her hand, it had flattened and smoothed in a second layer of skin, but she knew it was not done.

The metal began peeling itself off of her hand and lengthening. It thickened and made a point, although short. Slowly, it began to show its true form. That of a dagger. Dulled as of yet, but as the thought entered Dovabelle's mind, the edges thinned and forced themselves in razor sharp edges. The hilt molded itself to fit the young woman's hand perfectly. When it was finished, it had formed the neck and head of a dragon. During this time, she had been mulling an answer to Sorne's question. Finally, she looked up at him, gray eyes piercing and filled with fire.

"Those mongrel, as you so aptly call them, need to keep their men on leashes. I may be small, Sorne Flint, but don't you ever think you can push me down and violate me." She wasn't really angry with him, but with the memories of males from the past summer. Her hand shifted on the body of the dagger and wrapped itself around the blade. "I don't duel, yes. But I do not flinch from pain either. I did not enjoy a common fight...rather I showed a bunch of little boys that they'd rather not mess with me." A cruel smile took hold of her lips and blood seeped from her fist. She released the dagger and let it fall to the floor. "Damn, now I've injured myself. Silly males and their foolish ways." Out of another pocket, she pulled a handkerchief and began dabbing lazily at her hand. She did not apologize for her outburst, nor did she look ashamed. Dovabelle was merely a little irritated she'd shown Sorne any weakness; to protect herself from any biting comments he might make, she pulled on her bored mask once more.