welcome
Welcome delinquents to PHS #552. A few reminders, no rough housing, no running in the hallways, no cheating, and no talking back to your teachers. Beyond that, enjoy yourselves. After all these are the years you’ll look back on, and remember, you mother fuckers peaked too early.
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credits
Public Highschool #552 was rebooted by Xereon and Aether. Content is copyrighted to PHS #552 unless otherwise stated. The skin is created by Wolf of Gangnam Style. The board and thread remodel is by Kagney and has been heavily edited. Banner Image Credit. Chatbox Credit
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NEW RP DISCORD SERVER. CONTACT "Shugo Yuy#5730" ON DISCORD FOR INFO. |
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COME IN COME ALL AND WATCH THE SPECTACULAR STUDENTS FROM PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL 552 AS THEY PIT AGAINST EACH OTHER IN BAREKNUCKLE BEATDOWN! Watch as students go toe to toe on this little tournament with an unbelievable budget allocation! See them bite each other in arena made of LEGOS! Make each other bleed in an artificial JUNGLE!, even go as far as making them break bones under an artificial STORM! Really, HOW BIG IS THE BUDGET ON THIS SHIT! SO PLACE OUR BETS AND GO WATCH BAREKNUCKLE BEATDOWN NOW!
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A brand new group is on the making, The Apostles, a Pillar-like group led by none other than our brand new headmaster, Gregoire Girard. A student body that would lead students and enforce the law on this little school of ours. Little is still known about this student body, but who knows? It might just be what the school needs.
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A lunch box is seen last Friday, around 12:37:08pm with an encouraging note packed inside. This appalling display that utterly lacked manliness has left many students stunned and outrage, as some decided, after a long while, to speak out against it.
Full Story Here.
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user is offline ●
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Never say anything that doesn't improve on silence.
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No Group
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Post by Gino Reisi on Apr 9, 2016 21:08:49 GMT -5
"it's your 2nd amendment, how can you not let me hold a gun?" Gino's current mood:
"Why do I have to go to a delinquent school.
I'm not even a delinquent. I'm a mafioso.
There's a difference." + 452 words + was this okay? + who knows lol | Gino is going to be going on an island made for delinquents soon enough, but before that, he figures he may as well enjoy the weather of normality that he'll most likely never have for himself. Although it is true Gino has never quite cared to be normal, he has to admit he's wondered what it was like to not grow up the way he did. How differently would he have turned out if so? (The answer is drastically, because it is both nature and nurture and if Gino grew up with a pleasant childhood than half of how his behavior would be of complete contrast as current.) There are people all around him, and although Gino isn't one to be fond of crowds, he doesn't quite mind this. San Francisco is a fairly populated city, so he didn't expect any less, anyways. The people here are all busy to get on with their day, everyone with a destination ready in their minds as they hurry themselves along. Only a few shoot looks at him, and that's already a lot better than what it was like in Italy, so that's a plus.
He has no wish to stand out anyways, at least not at this moment.
So Gino continues on his stroll, languid and leisurely until he catches sight of a girl crossing the street and a car speeding towards her. The speed at which both are going means that there will be a collision unless one of them speed up or slow down, and since Gino is doubtful of that happening, he quickens his stride towards the female. His hand reaches out quickly but slow enough for her to see it coming, grasping her wrist firmly before taking a few steps back so they're both safely on the cement of the street. He sees the car zoom by only seconds afterwards, locking eyes with the driver as he slowly reaches down to the pocket where he keeps his gun-
Wait, he doesn't have a gun right now, because the police took it from him earlier. Right.
Dammit.
His lips curve down at the absence of a weapon at his body, and Gino silently laments over the comforting weight of metal in his pockets before he raises his brown eyes to meet violet ones belonging to the female he just pulled to safety. "You're welcome." He tells her bluntly, letting go of her hand to prepare to walk away now. He looks down at her face once more before he goes though- And what he sees makes him stop in his tracks.
"Wait- Ira?"
He thought she had black eyes deep and cruel like the darkness of Hell or something though, huh. | © seadra of gs |
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user is offline ●
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Let's sleep through the end of this world.
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❝ Iconoclast ❞
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Lightning Gang
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Post by Ira Defaire on Apr 16, 2016 7:03:56 GMT -5
FIFTY WORDS FOR MURDER ❝ Elegant and grace were petty words cast aside by Ira, in the category 'redundant', precisely because others' impression of you could only matter so much. Ira stopped working to wheedle and pleasure, and once she did, she wasted no time in stating her mind, and allowing her vernacular to evolve into a significantly more vulgar one.
It took a person of considerable power to summon Ira, and when she received a call from that person in particular, well. Her first instinct was gleeful denial, and her response was a cautious agreement. The 'Outside' was daunting, and when she left her house, she left without her sunglasses--something she only realized after the sun beat into her eyes
Grimacing to herself, she approached the streets without observing the road. Really, a car could only do her so much damage at this point in time; vehicles were now a distraction, not an actual risk to her well-being. As she continued walking, a loud 'HONK' resonated in her ear, and she turned - a little too late - to see a car charging at her like a wild mare. The driver's eyes were wild and frantic, but Ira had no intention of attempting to save herself--being in an 'accident' was a perfectly legitimate excuse to fail to show up on her meeting.
However, before she could blast the car with a vernacular that was adorned with expletives, something yanked her back from the speeding vehicle. Ira was left staring at the vehicle with a pseudo-relief feeling, or rapidly after; annoyance.
Turning around to face her savior, a dark blue denim jacket greeted her eyes, and in it, a black shirt peaking out. If anyone had enough valor to plunge into Ira's mind, they could observe a series of dark thoughts, from 'what if I really died in a car accident' to 'maybe I should've pushed him in front of the car'. There were slightly softer thoughts as well, ranging from 'what the fuck', to 'who the fuck'.
Ira would eventually received the answer to the latter part of her questions. However at that time, the words 'you're welcome' injected an icy feeling within her; freezing her doubts, her anger, and every single emotion she could possibly feel in the past three year. The icy feeling progressed to freeze her body in a state of suspended animation, and she stood on her spot, with wide eyes. Her mind flashed, like a red warning sign, and every single muscle in her body responded by tensing up.
Breathe.
The air was hot and humid, and her lungs contracted before retracting as she stood there. Oxygen escaped in tiny puffs from her mouth, but despite the movement of her lungs, every other part of her body stayed in a dark lock-down; refusing to either fight or flight. She tasted a small tinge of anger on her tongue--but it was different. It was too different, and despite her fascination with everything and anything odd, this was too odd for her. A deep feeling of regret injected itself into her, before a wave of shock rolled by.
Feel.
Doubts wrenched Ira from reality. The brief flash of anger, the passing of shock, glued together into collective being by doubt resided in her brain, as everything sharpened before her sight. How long had it been since she heard that voice, laced with mild sarcasm? Did she, then, wanted to look up, and confirm every last bit of the questions overwhelming her brain? It was too complex of a situation to extricate herself from.
Think.
Thinking was out of the question. Every rational thought she had was rapidly punctured by longing and fury. Every calculative action she could made was contradicted by her feelings, and every emotion she felt further contradicted among themselves. Confirmation was in order, but ignorance is bliss, and fools remained the happiest of them all. Did she want to face the truth, and risk it shattering the deceitful happiness she had cultivate for herself?
Gino. That name was a forbidden fruit, something that she had wrapped and spun in layers of denial, and after many, many years, she was already accepting the fact that she would never encounter him again. It was him that made the conscious decision to leave, and it was him that actually left, so it was in her hands to decide if she wanted to feign ignorance and pretended that he'd never existed. That name struck up an inferno of rage and bitterness in her, one that was staying hidden away in the contours of her mind for a very, very long time. It was blasphemy. It was the unthinkable. It was pain, in it's rawest form.
That made the decision for her.
Looking up with a false smile, her smile only faltered for a split second when she saw his face, for the first time in years. That caused a deep welt of confusion in her already bitter mind, but her violet eyes were ebullient as she answered with a cadence slightly more high pitched than her usual low voice.
"Do I know you?" AND I'M EVERY ONE OF THEM. |
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user is offline ●
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Never say anything that doesn't improve on silence.
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No Group
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Post by Gino Reisi on Apr 17, 2016 0:52:45 GMT -5
Haven't you people ever heard of,
"Do I know you?"
Gino doesn't know why that stings as much as it does, but it does. It's pain and guilt that courses through him like an adrenaline rush he doesn't want, making his lips curve into a frown, his eyes flutter shut for a few seconds so the rush of feelings pass and his mood returns to equilibrium. He still feels a mix of unhappiness, of something conflicting, because that's how Ira always did make him feel.
Confused at how her mind worked, conflicted at how much fun the chaos they caused together was, a conundrum of emotions that Gino has come to associate with the first friend he's ever made. Ira Defaire was once a little girl he gave a red scarf to, and he wonders idly if he still has it, if she considered their time together something precious like he did, why she's feigning ignorance of knowing him to begin with. (Because that smile is fake enough to be the product of plastic surgery or something, he swears.)
He knows he left though, without so much as a goodbye, so he can also admit he deserves this. The Italian Asian had thought about how it might go if the two ever met again, and half of them were of Ira punching his lights out, of her cursing him out like a sailor before kicking him in the most painful place a man can be kicked and leaving him for the dead. It was never a pleasant thing to imagine, but Gino is nothing if not a realist, and Ira would most definitely hurt him if they managed to lay eyes on one another again.
And so she did, but with words instead of fists, and Gino doesn't like that. Hell, he doesn't even understand why it hurts, and he would ask someone, but there's really no one to ask about it. Maybe he should ask Ira if she knows why, but he feels like maybe she wouldn't know either, or maybe her lips will curve into a sneer as she tells him something sarcastic that leaves him with no choice to sass her back.
"Yeah, you do." He replies instead, tone ever so calm even though his mind is anything but. "We both know you do, unless you lost your memory, but I honestly doubt that."
He doesn't smile, but his lips do curve up into a ghost of one, the twist of his mouth in a way not relating to anything happy but instead something bitter and amused. Their months together are flashing through his mind, the only memorable thing of his preteen years, and it's... nostalgic, to say the least. Gino can admit without shame that he's quite liked those days, has always been a tinge sad when he would remember they were gone now.
(He was actually asleep when they left, his mother dragging him away by the hand to a car and then a plane, and when Gino woke up- It was too late for goodbyes. Just like when he returned to that village again a month after, only it was too late for any apologies.)
He looks down at Ira, and before while they were relatively similar heights, now he towers over her. He doesn't say anything else for a moment, instead tilts his head and studies her. Her hair is the color of ravens, her eyes are mesmerizing purple he doesn't doubt is due to contacts, and he find that's she grown quite attractive in the time they spent apart. "Ira." He says her name tentatively, as if it's strange on his tongue, an old language he hasn't spoken in a long time, "I understand if you're mad at me for leaving without so much as a farewell, but you're kind of an asshole too for leaving to Iceland to study just when I finally got to come back to apologize for it."
CLOSING THE GODDAMN DOOR?
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