[Gilbert is a little enamored with the MLF's infamous logo.
On the intermittent occasions when he's actually forced to attend a class, it finds its way into the margins of whatever assignment he's supposed to be working on - usually in place of the work itself. He delicately loops the double helix around itself, before adding underneath, in sharp but pretty lettering, the "Liberate!" Or, in his case, "Libérer!"
It's a reminder of the first place he'd seen it, graffiti'd repeatedly across Paris. Auguste had called the artists responsible then "fools" and "vandals," but he couldn't help but like it. It had felt good, knowing that the rest of the world was forced to stare them in the face for a moment like that. And it feels good now, as a reminder that not all mutants are wilting and in love with humans, like the ones he's been forced into school with here.
So, when he ducks out of last period today and finds himself bored in one of the dormitory lounges, he has that symbol dancing through his head and a red pen ready at hand in his book-bag. Someone, poor soul, has left their class-notes set out in the room, tucked away in a binder, too.
Gilbert draws it over into his lap, sprawls back against the couch's cushions, and begins to deface someone else's schoolwork doodle. Algebra isn't nearly important as mutant liberation, now, is it?]
[Video]
How does one get out into the city from here?
[Gilbert has his (school-loaned) laptop set out on his desk. He's propping his arms across it, one folded over the other, head leaned forward against them as he mugs for the camera a bit with a sweet, charming smile. He is not mentioning that, what with the whole "uncontrolled, socially dysfunctional, near-Omega-level empath" thing, he is emphatically not allowed out into the city. He is not mentioning that he doesn't necessarily plan on coming back tonight or tomorrow or until it suits him, really. He doesn't particularly care that teachers might see this.
He tilts his head to one side and answers his own question:]
A cab, non? We're too far for there to be buses coming past. But I don't have fare...
If someone could lend me enough - or drive me - I would be very grateful. I'd be sure to pay you back. Somehow.
Gilbert Cocteau | Kaze to Ki no Uta | Grade 9
[Gilbert is a little enamored with the MLF's infamous logo.
On the intermittent occasions when he's actually forced to attend a class, it finds its way into the margins of whatever assignment he's supposed to be working on - usually in place of the work itself. He delicately loops the double helix around itself, before adding underneath, in sharp but pretty lettering, the "Liberate!" Or, in his case, "Libérer!"
It's a reminder of the first place he'd seen it, graffiti'd repeatedly across Paris. Auguste had called the artists responsible then "fools" and "vandals," but he couldn't help but like it. It had felt good, knowing that the rest of the world was forced to stare them in the face for a moment like that. And it feels good now, as a reminder that not all mutants are wilting and in love with humans, like the ones he's been forced into school with here.
So, when he ducks out of last period today and finds himself bored in one of the dormitory lounges, he has that symbol dancing through his head and a red pen ready at hand in his book-bag. Someone, poor soul, has left their class-notes set out in the room, tucked away in a binder, too.
Gilbert draws it over into his lap, sprawls back against the couch's cushions, and begins to
deface someone else's schoolworkdoodle. Algebra isn't nearly important as mutant liberation, now, is it?][Video]
How does one get out into the city from here?
[Gilbert has his (school-loaned) laptop set out on his desk. He's propping his arms across it, one folded over the other, head leaned forward against them as he mugs for the camera a bit with a sweet, charming smile. He is not mentioning that, what with the whole "uncontrolled, socially dysfunctional, near-Omega-level empath" thing, he is emphatically not allowed out into the city. He is not mentioning that he doesn't necessarily plan on coming back tonight or tomorrow or until it suits him, really. He doesn't particularly care that teachers might see this.
He tilts his head to one side and answers his own question:]
A cab, non? We're too far for there to be buses coming past. But I don't have fare...
If someone could lend me enough - or drive me - I would be very grateful. I'd be sure to pay you back. Somehow.