Orysius Solian sang a strange little song to himself as he walked down the corridor, clicking his boots against the linoleum floor. He searched for the door of his newly acquired student, rolling the notes on his tongue.

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?” His sword hung freely on his side, swaying back and forth pendulously as Solian looked around casually, running a hand through his blonde spikes.

“Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme . . .” His shades perched on his nose
almost merrily as his cerulean eyes roved behind them.

“Mention me to one who is the-ere . . .” The trench coat rocked gently to his pace, knocking stiffly against his knees.

“Sheee once waas a true love of miiiine.” Then the Norwegian wood of her portal sprang into his sight. With a sharp turn on his heel, he stopped in front of it and rapped his knuckles against the door of his prospective student.

Penina woke up in the middle of a peculiar dream about attempting to do a tango with a pile of applesauce. She muttered to herself, “I had almost figured out where its arms were.” She stumbled over to the dresser that appeared during the night and grabbed a blank green t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Pen pulled them on drowsily as Orysius whistled his song outside her door patiently. Finally she padded over to the door and confronted him bluntly,

“What do you want?”

Smiling, he continued, “Well, good morning!! You were one of Tokumaru’s students, correct?”

She stared at him blankly with the dully impotent rage of one recently awakened against their wishes, her gleaming metal hands limp at her sides. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders carelessly as Pen responded, “He did promise to teach me: however, this has not yet materialized in any fashion, so I could not really call him my teacher.”

“Well, due to circumstances beyond the angel’s control, he is no longer teaching here at the Dome. However, he trained me before he left: so I am to teach you in his stead!” He spread his hands at his sides in a melodramatic manner, as though he were waiting for applause from an unseen audience.

“Who are you?”

Bowing deeply, he responded, “Orysius Solian, at your service! And what might your name be, my lovely protégé?” He took one of her hands in his own to place his lips upon it, then recoiled visibly from the metallic prosthetic and snatched back his hand.

“I am Penina Hargreaves, and I see you have encountered my defining feature.” She clenched her hand into a fist and withdrew it slowly. “A pleasure, I am sure.”

A bit thrown off his game, Orysius stumbled for words. Penina stared at him unsympathetically. “W-what ore are they made from?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“My arms are Metal.” She stretched them both out, exposing to his view the boundary between skin and chrome.

Once more, he took up an arm, studying it closely. “I’ll be buggered . . .”

“What do you see?” Pen perked up somewhat, recognizing that he had something to tell her.

“This is an element that I have not encountered before. And of uncommon purity to boot!” Solian gripped her fingers with considerable strain, fascinated at how unyielding they were. “How did you come by these?”

She smiled for the first time this morning. “I think the answer to that question can wait for a while. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

OoC: Well, I hope it is all right that I left it hanging like that. Sorry it took so long! :embrsd: ((I miss the old smilies. v.v ))

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I blame my incoherence on stress and prescribed drugs. Nayru Award: Of mantequilla and they of the deceptive peanut its dog in Pleasuring is probably the cover.
The Malarchy: My Post-TP Fanfic Amphitheatre character:Penina Hargreaves