Ɖ α м Ɩ σ и
sʇɹɐǝɥ ɟo ƃuıʞ

A sharp ray of light pierced through the lace shades, viciously setting siege to the closed lids of a sleeping figure. His brow furrowed, and he uttered a soft groan. Turning about in his bed, he finally persuaded himself to arise from his slumber. Sitting up, he was dressed in little more than his boxers, his hair a comical mess of silvery white fluff going off in all directions. It was like a little anarchy party for fibers. Shaking himself a little, he stood up (although it was more like stumbled awkwardly) and made his way to his window, pulling the dapes away and unlatching it, allowing the cool morning air to waft into his gaping bedchamber. He allowed himself a deep breath, the crispness refreshing him greatly, bringing out a clearness in his eyes. Briefly he reflected on the day's tasks ahead of him, which were...unfortunately few. His class had been temporary cancelled for a break, so studies were out of the equation, although practice was always fundamental. This did however leave a massive gap in his day. He had had no real plans, and would just have to 'wing it,' so to speak. Make something out of it if he could. Nibbling on his bottom lip, he spaced out for just a moment or two, before turning to dress himself. His garb was casua, nothing eye catching, but its make was such that suggested it was very fine clothing. Brush? Nah...he ran his fingers through the locks, shook it out, and ran his fingers through again. This and other little toying techniques gave him an appearance that was little better than what he originall woke up with, but would do for now. Boots (as always), a satchel that was NOT a man-purse (anyone who dared suggest otherwise would answer to him in full), and he stepped into the daylight.

The season was of spring, or somewhere close enough. The earth was fresh and eager to start anew. He stretched his arms high above himself, loosening his kinks and muscles. A quick survey told him much of the inner city, the wealthy section, had decided it was also eager to start, as many were bustling around, chattering happily with noses turned high to the heavens that seemed lower and easier to reach in that portion of the city. A passerby said something (or so he picked up) about a Black that was caught snooping around the previous night. Damion's lip curled up with slight disgust, and he shook his head. "Bloody animals," he grumbled in a tone that would make one think he was speaking about some sort of leper mongrel. And, with no real direction or place in mind, the young man made his first few steps down the street and into the growing throng of people.

Ƨ Є ℓ ι и Є
ǝɟıן ʎɯ ɟo ʎɹoʇS

A thin woman, save for her abdomiopelvic region, stood leaning nonchalantly against a curious looking motorcycle-like vehicle. It lacked wheels, which suggested it instead used some sort of hovering maneuver. Her hair was long and black, and her skin was fairly fair with a small beauty mark on her cheek. She wore gloves to specifically cover her wrists that marked her class. Others didn't need to know..it wasn't really their business. Still, she did follow the rules of wearing her heart; a small black bandana hung around her neck, little red hearts printed on there.

There was a bit of a vexed ex
pression on her face, reflected in the soft crimson hues of her eyes. Truth be told, she was waiting for someone. Someone who was now an hour late. Someone who she had no hope of getting any sort of message from. Apparantly a Gold really didn't have any sort of interest in a lowly pregnant Red. They were to meet up in the park in the morning. He was going to take her to see his house, because apparantly he had fallen madly in love with her. As if. Shaking her head, hair falling all over her face, she groaned inwardly. "Wonderful," she muttered, and when she went to mount her cycle of sorts, to her dismay it was out of fuel. Of course it was. Now she had the pleasure of walking. She hadn't planned on being dumped in such a way, and didn't think ahead of buying more fuel, or charging her vehicle. This had certainly worked out well. Glancing around, she knew she was in Gold territory, somewhere that wasn't altogether safe for her. He had told her to meet him here, on his home turf, because it was easier to get to his home this way. She was beginning to see that this was little more than some sort of ploy.

Another groan, and she moved away from the cycle. No one would steal it, it wasn't really worth the effort or risk of being caught. It had a tracking device in it anyway, so whoever took it would be automatically guilty. She began to walk, not quite sure what to do now, when a man walked by her and checked her in the side. She gasped, and stumbled to her knees. The man walked on. Her hands instantly went to her swollen womb. It didn't seem to be disturbed. Shooting a hateful glare, she breathed a sigh, looking about for something to help her up.

(OCC: Could I change it so Yukaria's heart is on her stomach right above her bellybutton? Also I forgot to add that only her real family in the white class called her Yukaria...All the people that she now knows only know her as Yuka.)

Yukaria

Ɖ α м Ɩ σ и
sʇɹɐǝɥ ɟo ƃuıʞ

The fair-skinned cheeks of the young man puffed out as he breathed in, and back out again. Damion had become...well, for lack of a better word, he was bored. Very bored. Small orbs of magical energy matter...stuff were created, and rhythmically started to swirl and bounce around his visage. This small action of magic came to him as little more than child's play. Indeed, he could likely do these sorts of things while in a doze, and more than once he'd awoken to find that he had gotten excited in a dream and accidentally set his drapes aflame, or vases were garbed in ice, or the very walls were cracked, or his carpet had come alive. All easily rectified, but bothersome if not comical. The point was though, that Damion's capacity for magic was outstanding to say the least. These simple tricks would be quite a task for lesser users. The colors would change hue, and the shapes changed from spheres to cubes to double-helixes.

While he busied himself with trivial amusements, he allowed himself to be taken away from what was happening to him otherwise. A man on a horse with quite a gaunt face was trotting by, splashing a bit of filthy street-water from recent rains onto his trousers. Damion scowled furiously at his, cursing loudly and extending an arm towards the horse. Glowing fingertips was the only sign of any sort of change, and in the next moment the horse had been turned into a fat pig. The spell was temporary, but enough to get a satisfying reaction. He laughed aloud, turning quickly away and allowing the small orbs to dissolve into the air. His attention was suddenly grabbed by a somewhat familiar face. Well, it was better to talk to someone than be alone.
"Hey, Aano," he hailed, walking over at his own leisurely pace.

Aano