<div class="floatleft">(http://i1087.photobucket.com/albums/j480/Erion2451/tumblr_nttau77jYR1thwo3oo1_400_zpsplmzljip.gif)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Mal<br/><strong>Location:</strong>On the bleachers near the baseball diamond<br/><strong>Time:</strong>After lunch, beginning of 5th period.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><hr/>Mal, daughter of Maleficent, Mistress of Evil, sat alone upon the metal bleachers which overlooked the school's baseball field.  Her feet were propped upon the bench in front of her.  Her legs, bent at the knees, created a makeshift table which she currently used to hold her notepad, something she was seldom without.  Inside the standard, spiral bound, green covered booklet, were some of her most prized possessions; abstract doodles, realistic drawings, notes and scribbles, thoughts and musings.  Lost in thought, and absent of her surroundings, most notably the tiny little magical bell, which had wrung minutes ago, Mal focused upon the pencil she used to lightly shade the trees bordering the pristine field which she'd drawn during the time they were given to eat.  Upon the bench beside her, was the mostly forgotten cafeteria tray of food; a deli sandwich with a single bite from it, an untouched apple, and plain potato chips discarded from a bag which now lay upon the grass, under the bleachers.<br/><br/>It was obvious she didn't belong there, upon the bleachers when her history class was scheduled to begin.  She hated history, though.  The fact that things well beyond her control, events which had come and gone, had so much impact upon the present.  Her mother, good or evil, had still been a person, yet every book she'd ever read painted Maleficent as a monster, without much proof.  Sure, there were endless eyewitnesses to what had happened during Princess Aurora's christening, and Prince Phillip's word was beyond reproach, but to claim her a tyrant and to place all that had gone wrong at her feet, with no hearing, no jury or judge.  It was unjust.<br/><br/>She had no memory of her mother, just what the books told and the people said.  The orphanage had been a decent place to grow up.  The governess had treated Mal fairly; no better, and no worse than any of the other children.  Though, she watched as the other children slowly found people willing to adopt them, and saw the dread and horror when they discovered who she was.  Still, the stigma associated with her bloodline didn't really hit home until she began to attend this school.  Few students and teachers here could look at her without seeing her mother, and assumed the worst.  Those few who acted in kindness and fairness were swiftly shown the error of their way by their fellow peers.  A part of her understood why her mother had wanted to be accepted and included, and why she had grown so angry.<br/><br/>Mal's pencil moved from the trees to the outfield, and she glanced up to recapture the scene in her mind's eye.  She hadn't noticed that a class had taken the field, and was currently warming up.  With the realization that she was soon to be in trouble, she searched the area for the instructor, but currently saw none.<br/><br/>It was too late to go to class.  She'd be in trouble regardless.  Perhaps, then, with a little luck, she could extend her momentary freedom.  With that thought, she closed her spiral-bound notebook, shoved the pencil through the wire binding, grabbed her tray of food, and made her way towards the nearest, and quickest, escape route.<br/><br/>Maybe she could hide in the football stadium, until the next bell rang and declared the end of the current class period.