The Second Remix Of Erim Yazar
I sit in the cafeteria and fume. /Jealousy, this is the name of feeling you are currently experiencing./ Don’t be ridiculous. I am not jealous. What would I be jealous of, exactly? /That he is making eyes at Nevena, and she doesn’t seem to be rebuffing him?/
Kai respective Chiyo decides to sit to the left and right of me at that particular moment. I spare a moment to stare at Chiyo’s hair, which is neither long nor straight now, but short and spiky. Kai it seems, have followed his girlfriend approach and cut his long brown hair, but opting now for closer to shoulder length. A wise choice, considering the cold.
“I take it that you’re less than fond of our new classmate”, Chiyo says with that dry humor of hers, humor I have only recently learned to decipher as just humor. To the outside world Chiyo Sawamura is forbidding and statesque, but once you get to know her, she has a certain sense of humor, I have realized. “I am less than fond of the way that this Erim watches the girls of the class”, I say, covering all the bases to ensure that they won’t just pick up my concern over Nevena.
“Ignaz”, Kai says, uttering the name of his father like a curse, expletive and a oath, all at the same time. Me and Chiyo suddenly sit very still, making no move to frighten Kai from the subject. “The way this ‘Erim’ stares at the girls in our class, it reminds of my father”, he continues, with an edge to his voice. “And there is his… nature to consider”, Chiyo adds.
I tilt my head at Chiyo. “Smell him”, she orders. I roll my eyes, yet I do as she says. Erim Yazar smells like leather, sweat, like hair-wax and….musky, a scent that is human-based, yet more, like humanity expressed differently… the scent makes me think of rolling plains and forbidding mountains and… a rythmic beat for some reason. Holy crap– I have been to busy fuming to realize that he is an supernatural. Had he been anything like Helena Gravsten, he could have killed me, killed the entire class in moments. /An orc, he is an orc./ Whaaat? I thought those were just myths created by Tolkien? /Oh they’re real enough./
“An orc”, I mutter. Kai and Chiyo nods. In the background I notice that Erim stares at me as I say the word ‘orc’. Hmm, maybe he has supernatural hearing? / The orcs that Greyscale has encountered where either magic-users or simply equipped with greater than baseline-human senses./ How much better senses? /Good enough to have heard you it appears./
“… time”, Kai says.
“What did I miss”, I ask, turning to Kai. ” The break is over”, he repeats. Ah, electives.
On my down to the Athenaeum, I pass our student-councilor, who ironically, is the reason why I am going down to the Athenaeum in the first place. Jan Hass have changed; his goatee is longer and oiled, he is… he is wearing a suit. Really?
I grab the heavy doors to the Athenaeum and leverage them open, pausing as I hear someone coming up behind me, twice this day. I taste the air to confirm the scent. “Hey Shirin”, I say. She nods, excited. “Do you know what we’re going to be doing today?” “No”, I respond, before adding,”but I have a feeling that you do…”
Rather than answer, she skips down into the darkness and theatre itself. I follow, but not before I close the door. The students of the drama-class sit in a circle on the stage in those damnable chairs, waiting for Isocrates to speak.
Realizing that I am the last one to enter, I sit down. Isocrates waste no time; on today’s occasion he wears fishnets and a green leather jacket, but its his words that hold the attention of the class. “For this semester, we will do a play. Now decide as I go and make Irish coffee”, he proclaims, leaving us on the stage.
For a while we just sit there. Did a teacher just tell us to come up with a play while saying that he was going to put liquor in his coffee? “Aida”, someone calls out. “No, not that Italian crap”, someone calls back. “Beauty and the Beast?” Soon the girls of the group clamor for it, while a good chunk of boys refuse. “Brigadoon”, someone mentions. I, and several others grab our phones and check it out. “Too wishy-washy” a guy says, ” aren’t Scottish plays bad luck”, another ask.
I decide to add my cents to the discussion. “No Scottish plays, can we decide on that atleast”, I plead. “No Scottish plays”, someone repeats. Soon we have got a chant going, “No Scottish plays”, going.
“What about Evita?” Eiddwen Mordecai’s question silence the others. Some look it up while others, me included, try to figure Eiddwen’s angle. “I will of course be playing Evita”, she continues,” and Rune can be Juan Peron, he has the right skintone?” Wait, say what now? I look up a picture of Juan Peron, and I have got absolutely nothing in common with him. I am saved from having to explain this as Shirin and the other girls shout Eiddwen down, deriding her for wanting to claim the spotlight all for herself.
“A play with many roles”, Samuel Mariksson call out. The nymph’s idea supported, and we start to try to find plays with many roles. “Peter Pan?” “Too dark”, someone calls back. “What about the Disney-version?” “Too childish”, the very same voice answers.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream, except with more fights?” There is a moment as the drama-class digests this. “Hear, hear”, Samuel says. “Alright”, Isocrates says, stumbling into the Athenaeum again, “have you decided?”
Everyone in the group stares at Eiddwen. “Personally I’d like to do Evita”, the class boes at her,” but the consensus seems to be a Midsummer Night’s Dream…”