<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/4b/02/42/4b024225317d660c10c1354e6c9c80be.jpg)</div><strong>Where:</strong>Intro to Arcane Theory<br/><strong>Who:</strong>Nyx, Lima (m); open<br/><hr/><br/>Well, damn. What she'd intended as a joke, a gentle flirt, and a (very) minor expression of 'hey, why didn't YOU ask me to the dance?' had freaked the puffball out. Great. Now Tara felt like shit. Ell-on-forehead time.<br/><br/>At least Nyx shrugged off the kiss comment pretty rapidly, and countered with a joke about the 'were. Deciding, just for once, to keep her big mouth shut, she  just listened for the rest of class. Her brain had always worked oddly; she tended to zone out, not really pay attention; miss fine details but absorb enough broad strokes to get by, without really working at it. So she'd been a solid B to B- student, and the lament of her teachers: all the things she could have done if she'd 'only applied herself.'<br/><br/>Whatever, dude. She'd rather look at pretty people like Nyx, or admire the one dude's freaking AWESOME hair than be a totes grind. Still, her brain was ticking over, trying to put the square pegs of thinning veils into the round hole of of rational belief, and make it squirt out zombies. Like one of those automatic pasta makers...<br/><br/>Then Nyx asked something interesting, about how Normies could deny their own senses when it came to Outcasts, especially when they could become Outcasts themselves...<br/><br/>"So, like, if they can Wang Jung away their own mojo an' the evidence of their own eyes an' junk- can one of us, like, maybe do a vision quest or whatever, and turn into one of<em> them?</em>" The question had boiled up out of nowhere, mixed in her attentive subconscious. And with it came another one:<em>Could I be me again?</em>And then another:<em> Do I want to be?</em><br/><br/><strong>Botany:</strong><br/>Tagging: Randy (m); open<br/><br/>"Well, this is a better way of pushing up daisies than what I almost got," she murmured to no one in particular, then wondered what it would have been like to wake up buried, like a daffodil bulb, instead of  just in her coffin. TOTES NOPE!  Just the image made her gasp, which, since she didn't need to breathe except to speak, was a bit of a surprise.  Even though she lnot have been buried 'alive' in the literal sense, the idea of confinement, dakrness...doubleplusungood.<br/><br/>So instead she just looked at the class' teacher, who was totus hunkus. She didn't remember why she'd signed up for a gardening class, or even having done it, but now she was glad she had. It alternated days with her Psych class which, honestly, she found a lot more interesting, but eye candy was a thing to be respected.<br/><br/>The cool potting mix felt good on her hands, though, llike some distant memory.