<div class="floatright">(https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BYzZhODBkNjMtN2FmYS00MzI3LWIwMGItYTUxMTI4NTViOTg4XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMjQwMDg0Ng@@._V1_UY317_CR20,0,214,317_AL_.jpg) </div><strong>NAME:</strong>Troy McNair<br/><strong>TIME/DATE:</strong>October 27th 2017- late afternoon<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Men's Dorm Rooms - Room 220<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Libby<br/><strong>MISC INFORMATION:</strong>seething<br/><br/>Slamming a door had never felt so good! He would inspect the hinges for damage later.<br/><br/>Troy tugged and held his beard like he did when he was frustrated beyond belief. He wanted to change fully right there and run and run until he couldn't not move his paws any further. And he would... soon. Breathing heavy but with purpose he took a few minutes to calm down. The claws that ached to press forth from his finger tips and tear into everything and anything in sight slowly backed down. It would take hours of meditation and kata practice to help him find his center again.<em>Jerk.</em>He laughed out loud. So she thinks that letting him cop a feel meant she was entitled to payment? What was he owed for her own pettings of him?<br/><br/>At that thought his face soured and frowned. What awful experiences had she had in the past to teach her that? Something horribly possessive and angry gripped him. It wasn't pity, at least not for her. It was pity on anyone who ever made her feel that way again. Troy had never felt the need to destroy someone, especially some "phantom abuser" that may or may not exist, so much. His eyes shirted towards the cedar chest at the end of his bed. Normally his acquisitions would be in a climate controlled warehouse or loaned to a museum - but he had just picked up his winnings before heading to the ferry to the academy. The larger paintings and pieces were being shipped back home. But the books - were here.<br/><br/>He sat with legs crossed on the rug covered floor and opened the chest. He moved the few blankets protecting his stash and began to go over the tomes, old books, and sets of parchment. They were all in various languages he couldn't read but the translated auction index mentioned voodoo and zombies. What was this girl caught up in? She had screamed<strong>"the key to working out who I AM."</strong>This was her heritage?<br/><br/>He sat back, leaning against his arms. Oh, he was going to look like<em>such</em>a sucker. But there was a painful wound not yet healed inside of him - deep cuts from when he was pushed out into the world to fend, fight, and figure out exactly who he was supposed to be. And she was his... maybe. She was at least someone he was supposed to cross paths with.<br/><br/>He quickly changed into some very baggy work out clothes (they wouldn't be for long) and grabbed one of his insulated draw-string workout bags. He quickly scribbled a message and set that, along with one of the books from his chest and headed out of his room. He made his way towards the gardens by way of the female dorms corridor. Troy hesitated when he walked up to room 202. (Had she meant to tell him her room number before?) He balled his large first to knock but stopped short at touching wooden door. With a sigh he simply hung the draw string strap on her door knob and kept on walking.<br/><br/><div align="center">[To the Draighionn Academy Gardens (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=277416.0)]</div>