Post by Daimon Darren on Jul 26, 2018 15:48:46 GMT -4
A blonde delinquent was starting at a bottle of water that had clearly been opened and refilled at a tap in an effort to save money like the cheap bastard he was.
Normally, this wouldn’t be such a shocking or even remotely worth being described scene. But, you see, UA was not a normal school. It was a school in which, sometimes, the tap water was spiked with extremely potent drugs, and when such a thing happened, the students talked about it on chat. That fucking teacher’s pet Rin was going around taking care of everyone again in the infirmary. He grumbled at his phone, sitting on the bottom bed of a bunk that only had himself in it. The guy who was supposed to move with him had quit or something, so he was alone again.
Daimon Darren didn’t like most people on account that. He thought hero school was different, but 80% of the people in that chat still annoyed him. He considered himself pretty lucky. In his old school, he hated 90% of them, and at least his class was pretty cool. At present, he thought they were idiots for praising that Rin like that and that these guys couldn’t see a fucking facade if it hit them in the face.
Despite the amount of foreigners, everyone had reacted exactly like he expected them to, going with the whole “ooooh drugs are bad” thing. Half of them probably thought of em like a Saturday morning cartoon public service announcement episode, he decided.
Darren had seen drugs, and fancied himself as knowledgeable on the subject. When he was thirteen, he inhaled enough secondhand smoke from cigarettes that weren’t quite exactly cigarettes to get high for the first time in his life. He was hanging out with his father at the backstage of a funk rock concert. Luckily -- or unluckily, depending on how much of a hippie you were -- his other unhealthy habit of fighting and the fact that he lived in Japan kept him well away from drugs.
Up until someone introduced some Saturday morning cartoons level of drug in the school’s water supply. On account of being a bona fide psychopath, Darren had quite the ability to think like a criminal, and on account of his background, he knew enough about drugs to come to the conclusion that something dodgy was underfoot. You could make a killing with drugs of that quality. This is the kind that doesn’t come cheap. And yet, someone had been dropping enough of it to poison the entire water supply of UA, to the point that you could take a shower that got you high. Unfortunately, the school staff had quickly closed the showers upon finding out.
There was obviously money behind it, and with money came intent. Darren thought about this, or at least was pretending that he was while staring at the bottle. Trying to sell it was too dangerous, even though it would net him quite the sum. If he got caught, he would get in trouble, and more importantly, wasn’t even sure he could smuggle it out in the first place
But he had soon abandoned that train of thought as well, and now the last surviving cells of Darren’s severely understaffed prefrontal cortex -- the part of the brain responsible for, among other things, impulse control, which develops later in life and is stunted in psychopaths -- were fighting a desperate battle. They soon lost.
In a resolute gest, he who fancied himself the problem child of UA grabbed the one liter bottle, unscrewed the cap in three swift motions, and downed the whole thing in one sitting.
At first, there was nothing. And then, everything. And then, everything and nothing all at once. Everything was and nothing was. Or something. Darren thought this was an important thought and typed it on his phone, in the school chat. His vision then focused on the screen, and thanks the the qued or whatever the fuck that thing in the water was called, his vision focused incredibly. He stared at a button in the form of an O so much that he could see the pixels. His phone’s screen had very good resolution, too.
Then, it hit the rest of his brain. He felled on his bed and went trough 3000 years of philosophical thought by himself in the space of twenty-two minutes. His final drug-fueled conclusion was that everyone should get high and hold hands and there would be peace on earth. Some clichés about drugs were true.
He posted a meme. Someone dissed it. It did not sit well with him at all.
By now, and through no will of his own, he was finding himself running in the corridors of the dorms. At least, that’s how it seemed to him. In truth, he was blasting around with his quirk without realizing it, his amazing instinctive control of it barely saving him from crashing into everything. Again, so he thought. When he reached the hall, he jumped on the backrest of a sofa and made it tumble on its back. He remembered an old meme and his drugged-out mind decided that it was real, and that they were chasing him. It was a terrifying deep dream, Lovecraftian horror sort of meme to a drugged out mind, especially if it thought it was real. He helpfully informed his schoolmates of the threat, but not before making fun of his friend:
He made his cunning escape by running in the stairways, against all school regulations. He hurt his leg when he kicked a chair that he thought was a scrobombulator, so now he was running normally. Well, relatively normally. Drugged out people run inexplicably in extremely bizarre, anatomy defying ways. The stairs, of course, did not look normal at all to him. He ended up on what was, by his estimation, the 3.48th floor, in reality the 3rd floor. He opened the door to a broom closet and quickly closed it.
What he saw terrified High Darren, and therefore he blasted himself out of a window with his quirk and landed without breaking a bone by some miracle. The miracle had received quite the helping hand from Darren’s enjoyment of things that involved a lot of hurting himself. He landed in front of a rock. He decided to bring it home.
Normally, this wouldn’t be such a shocking or even remotely worth being described scene. But, you see, UA was not a normal school. It was a school in which, sometimes, the tap water was spiked with extremely potent drugs, and when such a thing happened, the students talked about it on chat. That fucking teacher’s pet Rin was going around taking care of everyone again in the infirmary. He grumbled at his phone, sitting on the bottom bed of a bunk that only had himself in it. The guy who was supposed to move with him had quit or something, so he was alone again.
Daimon Darren didn’t like most people on account that. He thought hero school was different, but 80% of the people in that chat still annoyed him. He considered himself pretty lucky. In his old school, he hated 90% of them, and at least his class was pretty cool. At present, he thought they were idiots for praising that Rin like that and that these guys couldn’t see a fucking facade if it hit them in the face.
Despite the amount of foreigners, everyone had reacted exactly like he expected them to, going with the whole “ooooh drugs are bad” thing. Half of them probably thought of em like a Saturday morning cartoon public service announcement episode, he decided.
Darren had seen drugs, and fancied himself as knowledgeable on the subject. When he was thirteen, he inhaled enough secondhand smoke from cigarettes that weren’t quite exactly cigarettes to get high for the first time in his life. He was hanging out with his father at the backstage of a funk rock concert. Luckily -- or unluckily, depending on how much of a hippie you were -- his other unhealthy habit of fighting and the fact that he lived in Japan kept him well away from drugs.
Up until someone introduced some Saturday morning cartoons level of drug in the school’s water supply. On account of being a bona fide psychopath, Darren had quite the ability to think like a criminal, and on account of his background, he knew enough about drugs to come to the conclusion that something dodgy was underfoot. You could make a killing with drugs of that quality. This is the kind that doesn’t come cheap. And yet, someone had been dropping enough of it to poison the entire water supply of UA, to the point that you could take a shower that got you high. Unfortunately, the school staff had quickly closed the showers upon finding out.
There was obviously money behind it, and with money came intent. Darren thought about this, or at least was pretending that he was while staring at the bottle. Trying to sell it was too dangerous, even though it would net him quite the sum. If he got caught, he would get in trouble, and more importantly, wasn’t even sure he could smuggle it out in the first place
But he had soon abandoned that train of thought as well, and now the last surviving cells of Darren’s severely understaffed prefrontal cortex -- the part of the brain responsible for, among other things, impulse control, which develops later in life and is stunted in psychopaths -- were fighting a desperate battle. They soon lost.
In a resolute gest, he who fancied himself the problem child of UA grabbed the one liter bottle, unscrewed the cap in three swift motions, and downed the whole thing in one sitting.
At first, there was nothing. And then, everything. And then, everything and nothing all at once. Everything was and nothing was. Or something. Darren thought this was an important thought and typed it on his phone, in the school chat. His vision then focused on the screen, and thanks the the qued or whatever the fuck that thing in the water was called, his vision focused incredibly. He stared at a button in the form of an O so much that he could see the pixels. His phone’s screen had very good resolution, too.
Then, it hit the rest of his brain. He felled on his bed and went trough 3000 years of philosophical thought by himself in the space of twenty-two minutes. His final drug-fueled conclusion was that everyone should get high and hold hands and there would be peace on earth. Some clichés about drugs were true.
He posted a meme. Someone dissed it. It did not sit well with him at all.
By now, and through no will of his own, he was finding himself running in the corridors of the dorms. At least, that’s how it seemed to him. In truth, he was blasting around with his quirk without realizing it, his amazing instinctive control of it barely saving him from crashing into everything. Again, so he thought. When he reached the hall, he jumped on the backrest of a sofa and made it tumble on its back. He remembered an old meme and his drugged-out mind decided that it was real, and that they were chasing him. It was a terrifying deep dream, Lovecraftian horror sort of meme to a drugged out mind, especially if it thought it was real. He helpfully informed his schoolmates of the threat, but not before making fun of his friend:
He made his cunning escape by running in the stairways, against all school regulations. He hurt his leg when he kicked a chair that he thought was a scrobombulator, so now he was running normally. Well, relatively normally. Drugged out people run inexplicably in extremely bizarre, anatomy defying ways. The stairs, of course, did not look normal at all to him. He ended up on what was, by his estimation, the 3.48th floor, in reality the 3rd floor. He opened the door to a broom closet and quickly closed it.
What he saw terrified High Darren, and therefore he blasted himself out of a window with his quirk and landed without breaking a bone by some miracle. The miracle had received quite the helping hand from Darren’s enjoyment of things that involved a lot of hurting himself. He landed in front of a rock. He decided to bring it home.
[This is an experimental thread. I want as many students as possible to post in turns with me posting in between. By that I mean: I post, student1 posts, I post, student2 posts, I post, student3 posts, etc etc. You basically only get one post, maybe one or two more if you have a good idea but the idea is to rotate people. I promise to make my answers as wild as possible]
