Crazy Bitch |o|p|e|n|

[Blake Riina Kildal]

So peace and quiet where what she was looking for at the moment and the secondary provided it. It was dark, a comfortable temperature, and not many students chose to be here. The library felt old, but it wasn't, it was the same age as the building. Perhaps it was just lighting and the emptiness.

Shrugging to herself, she let her headphones dangle around her neck, still playing music, as she paced the library, trailing fingers over the books. Blake was exploring the place, getting a sense of hidey holes and places she could fit. Being small had it's benefits, such as now, as she climbed up one of the ladders, sitting near the top and singing along softly to the music, leaning against the bookcase.

The shelving stopped near the door, and she had an excellent view of everyone coming and going by the door that had been left propped open, sort of to see who would bother to come in and who passed by. Most of the teachers left her alone unless she was getting involved in a fight, in which case she was always quick to say that the other started it. She many not start most fights physically, but she damn well meant to finish them, permanently.

Sighing to herself, she ran a hand through her hair. Yeah, maybe she should get help for that attitude of hers, but at the moment, she was okay, or so she thought. She smiled a bit, when her song came on, singing along to it.

Break me down, you got a lovely face
We're going to your place
And now you got to freak me out
Scream so loud, getting fuckin' laid
You want me to stay, but I got to make my way

She hummed along to the rest of the words, occasionally singing snatches of it, sliding down the ladder before deciding she was going to stand on it and push herself around the library, much to her entertainment. After all, you gotta have fun with what's around you, don't you?

[Nadar Hassallen]

A somber spell of frozen Alaskan air had been enough to keep the man steadied for another day. In fact, the Iranian man spent most of his early mornings pacing around outside, happy to simply be free to wander in snow, an oddity that never seemed to cross his path in his younger days. Days at the rehabilitation center, or so he preferred to think of it, rather than simply a detention facility, were always a lot calmer than he could relate from when he was in his teens. The nights were an equal factor into the equation, and even though he was not used to the icy terrain of the ex-Canadian territory, he was too used to walking about with bare feet that, even in the cold, he could not force himself into a pair of warm, toe-fitted shoes. Such things were overly constricting to him, and made him feel at a disadvantage, especially when he knew that his footsteps were often softer without the tip-tap of a man's boot heel to clack on the ground.

Somehow, in spite of his usual antics and feats of repetitive activity, Nadar was not outside pacing the sparkling white ground of a dead plate of land, nor was he barefoot. In fact, the young, in some terms, man was wearing a pair of slick socks. But, oh, the socks were a simple change in the grand scheme of Nadar's ever-wandering mind, calculating endeavors of which others would never even dream of. Truth told, he was after something more in-depth and heart-wrenching than just another normal day of pacing outside, sitting in corners, or even sipping at glasses of water that came from magical devices that he had learned to call "faucets". On such a beautiful day, he was after a fine stretch of quieted flooring, smooth and slick, that he could keep all to himself. It was to be a place where he could simply have fun and take time to relax in an enterprise that he had been doing ever since he was a small boy in the town of Abadon.

Before Nadar could even comprehend committing such an incredible act of such pleasurably guilty behavior, he had to find the right place to commit his crime; a place where there would be no students, no teachers, and as a stretch to his seriousness of remaining undiscovered, no faculty in any way, shape, or form. To his mind, only one place could be so empty, and even though, as a personal preference, he would be one of the few to hide himself away in such a quiet environment, he half expected that not many students would set foot in the library unless absolutely necessary.. And if he was incorrect, than the man could easily resolve the issue by refusing to go through with his mental task or simply fleeing himself to another area to expel his craziness.

After all, any sort of linoleum floor would be suitable for slipping around in his socks.

After gliding down a long corridor to reach his destination, avoiding eye-contact or conversation with any soul that passed him by, Nadar finally reached his objective location, and upon entering, grew tense with a high sense of anticipated release. Within moments, however, he could feel the presence of others about him, although unable to see them, and even though he knew that the premises for the library were of a decent scale, the man was wary to explore the possibility of slippery socks on a linoleum-tiled floor. Such anxiety ended in a slight pout of the lips and droop of the brow, then entitling Nadar to do what most would in a library and find himself a book to read.

The choice of literature was a quick find, especially taking into account that the book was one that Nadar had read several times prior, despite the protest of such reading in his previous abode over-sea. Plain Speaking, an oral biography on Harry S. Truman, the thirty-third president of the United States, was, oddly enough, one of Nadar's favorite pieces. This was not just because of the foul language used in the transcript, an attractive quality to most others that Nadar had gotten reviews from, but mainly accounted to Nadar's fascination with how a free government could actually be governed in hopes that its people would still consider it "free". When Truman had been thrown into presidency, a state in which the troubled man stated that he felt like the moon, the stars, and all the planets had fallen upon him, he came through in difficult times to lead a nation, even though he had never actually been voted into that position after the sudden death of Roosevelt before him. Years later, many still blamed him for all of the problems that occurred during his stay in the White House, but Nadar was not one to see only flaws in a leader's actions. He truly thought Truman to be a wise and straight-forward man who, being charged with taking harsh actions in horrible situations, stood his ground to do what he thought right.

As Nadar curled up into his own particular position, knees pulled to the chest, in a thin crevice between two bookshelves and a wall's corner, his dark eyes skimmed over several pages per minutes, looking over the words and phrases that he had not already started to burn into memory. Toes wiggling under his socks, he suddenly froze at hearing the sound of singing, catching him off of his guard as he glanced for an idea of who was so close that he could hear the subtle breath of humming vocal chords.

"Your song of choice.. Does have an interesting subject.." he mumbled, wondering to himself if his sullen voice could be heard at any sort of distance. On a normal day, he would not have been one to indulge conversation, at least, not one to initiate it... But today was different. He felt chipper, if only with his own definition of the word, being a bit less over-indulged with the extremes that came with a true definition.

[Blake Riina Kildal]

So maybe she’d seen him come in, after all she was perched up pretty high. And maybe her song was really something that should only be played when sex was actually taking place. And maybe she shouldn’t be singing it with Nadar around. God only knows the man took offense easily at most things. And all that didn’t stop her from singing along to the rest of it, even though the subject matter was not at all appropriate.

Of course, with her speeding around the library on the ladder and him speaking up out of nowhere, she almost feel off the ladder. As it were, she grabbed onto a book case to stop herself and jerked to a halt, grinning a bit. “You don’t know the half of it, lovely,” she said, grinning a bit, surprised that he actually spoke first and made a complete sentence, not just a one-word answer.

She wheeled herself very carefully back over to peer over Nadar’s shoulder, well more like the top of his head, but looked at the book, unable to make heads or tails of it from her distant and lofty perch. “Whatcha reading?" she asked, curious and turning the volume down on her headphones before an even more offensive song came on. The girl had a very eclectic taste in music; classical one moment then head-banging offensive rock the next. Or rap. Or Disney, or hell, some sort of soundtrack.

She was curious as to why he was up here, mostly because no one ever came into the secondary library unless….unless they were plotting something out of the ordinary! Blake grinned, happy with this revelation because it meant that Nadar was doing something different. Sitting up, she propped her chin in her hand and studied him, trying to discern if something was different about him. He just…felt different and the tiny girl couldn’t put a finger on it at all.

She bit her lip, watching him carefully, with a peaceful patience that she often used when swimming with her precious sharks; if you moved too fast too soon, they’d turn on you. It was a pleasant blank face, a slight smile to up tilt her lips, blue eyes pleasantly calm, but the whole thing screamed that she’d move quickly to save herself. It was nice to look at from a distance or behind bars. This wasn’t to say she was going to turn on Nadar, no, she learned that lesson early on and her shoulder throbbed with the dull memory of it.

It was her way of watching people, to judge them if they could be trusted or not, and so far, she trusted no one. However, her curiosity was aroused and that in and of itself was an innocent thing, her whole frame seemed to vibrate with it as she watched him. “Naddy….why are you wearing socks?” she asked, blinking curiously down at him, a child-like quality to her question and tone, screaming innocence, as if she’d never done a single thing wrong.

[Nadar Hassallen]

Truman had always been at a head-on battle with domestic affairs, and it probably did not help that he was so soft spoken, that one could not help but ponder how he had become the second to a walking publicity stunt such as Franklin D. Roosevelt. Even so, Nadar had harbored an on-going respect for the president, seeing as he was the only president to ever see combat in World War 1. As a fellow soldier (Truman specialized in being an artillery officer, although different from Nadar's position, it was still honorable) and a quiet political figure, Nadar could understand why he had made some choices that half of the world seemed to hold distaste toward. In the eyes of a man who had been in the fighter's position of situations in which war could mean more than just death of the body, but death of the pride, an honorable man like Harry S. Truman could not have been placed in higher regards. The beginning of the Fair Deal was one aspect of the man's dedication to the better of his lands, but even more so than that, his participation in the Manhattan Project linked to his decision of using nuclear weapons against Japan. Nadar did not believe in the usage of nuclear weaponry in war, so why did he approve such a terrible action? Theodore Roosevelt once said, "Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far". That was exactly what Truman did. The man spoke very little, in fact, his "uplifting" speeches were little more than dull publicity attempts, but it was through his actions that he could yell without the world judging his words. No, the world would judge his actions and realize that he did not speak on any sort of bluff, and when Nadar reflected of Truman's actions as president, he could hear the man saying, "This is my country, and I will do all in my power to protect the men, women, and children of the United States of America." He did not look out over the seas and wonder what would be best for the world; Truman looked over his lands and pondered what would be best for the lives of the people he was endowed to protect--

"I see.." he replied, taking another few seconds to hold eye-contact with the pages of his book before lowering it and glancing upward, eyes darting over the girl's face before settling back down, this time steadied on the linoleum sheets of tile on the ground below him. The man's temptation had surely passed, but he could not help but be curious as to why the other was so curious, a redundancy that he often found himself in, and mildly hypocritical, based solely on his own curiosities, for he often questioned others even though he was not the biggest speaker. He did, however, always have a lot to say, thoughts to portray in words. From the tiles, he peered up toward the girl once again. If he was there for unorthodox reasoning, why had she chosen such a place to perch? The answer was simpler than he at first had guessed, and upon realization, he could not help but nod softly to himself.

If her standing on a ladder had not been enough, then her listening to music was just as good of a sign. Like Nadar, she was searching for a place with few civilians there, and just as correct as Nadar had been, so had she. The two of them were alone; in fact, there did not even seem to be a librarian present. At least, Nadar had yet to spy one. "Hmm?" he began, a slight tilt of the head the result of his own pondering mixed with a different thought, "Plain Speaking." His answer was a simple one, not feeling the need to go into detail of his reading, even though he did, indeed, have much to say of his ideals on the book.. But those thoughts were not at all necessary for conversation. Truthfully, it was not often that Nadar felt he had much to say that would be interesting for speaking with others. He simply believed that if he did what he needed and showed his hard work and caring in other ways, people would undoubtedly grow to the point and see him for who he was. Unfortunately, that would not be the case at all places or in all situations.. This was not something to bother him, though, and as he looked back to his hands, glad to see them still occupied in holding the book he had been reading, he could only close his eyes a moment, an act that he usually did when he had a large thought for himself.

At the next question, however, his eyelids parted and his dark irises expanded quickly at the sudden light. For a moment, he continued his look to his filled hands, then to the floor, then back up, all of which were looks that happened in the state of seconds for each. Just as quickly as he looked up, he began to flick his eyes over Blake's face, trying to discern her emotion toward her own question. "We are in Alaska.." he replied, face steadied in a mildly stern, yet utterly incomprehensible light, "It is... Cold here." He did not have such a yearning or need to tell the truth of his reasoning. Quite the opposite, in truth, he did not wish for others, especially students, to see his longing for normal actions. To his own psych, it was almost as if he longed to relive a childhood memory, a way to go back to when things were mildly normal for him, back before all things had gotten a chance to shatter. Sliding on a smooth surface in socks was like an over-the-top metaphor for being a child again. The idea of others noticing that was not at all flattering.

[Blake Riina Kildal]

The tiny Hawaiian girl blinked a few times, tilting her head before nodding. “Oh…”, she said, stretching out the word and letting it trail off before tilting her head back to stare up at the ceiling. She was idly tapping her foot as he spoke, growing used to his pauses and how little he spoke before she shifted a bit, and causing the ladder to creak with her movements, tilting to one side before she righted herself. The ladder itself was wobbly to begin with, but Blake didn’t really care that much about those things, accepting whatever happened because of her actions.

She blinked a few times, pulling herself out of her quiet state, forcing back into the chatter and upbeat persona she could project instantly, despite however forced, and most people bought it. Nadar seemed like no exception. “’Plain Speaking’? What’s it about?” she asked, curious as to what he was reading, moreso to see if he could be drawn into a conversation, rather than the short answers.

Biting her bottom lip, she pushed off the bookcase, letting the ladder wobble slightly before it righted itself and clicked along the bookcases, putting her in front of Nadar rather than behind him. She brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, watching him with curiosity still, her tiny frame hidden in a sweatshirt that was three times too big for her. She looked a bit off, mostly probably because she hadn’t slept very well lately and because she’d skipped a few meals lately. Shaking off her thoughts with a slight shake, tossing her hair back off behind her shoulders, she shrugged at his last statement.

“Guess so….then again, most places are cold when you’re from the islands,” she said, a half-smile tilting her lips up before she shrugged again, watching him curiously. “Y’know, you should try speaking more often. Unless, of course, you just don’t really care what we all have to say or whatnot. Or you just really don’t care,” she said, biting her lip for a moment before continuing. “But then again, I dunno why you’d be here if you didn’t care…”

[Nadar Hassallen]

Unlike Nadar, many Americans seemed to hold strong contempt against Harry Truman, a situation in which any person could hold strong distaste, of course. To this, though, Truman seemed, during his life, just as he was, and held no discontent for the being and mannerisms of his country. It was true, just as the title of Plain Speaking suggested, Harry Truman was an incredibly soft-spoken man, but in that day, he was not exactly the type of man that Americans wished to be running their country. As most of the man's preparations for his Fair Deal were being put into action, most were simply shot down by the rest of the government, making every push that he was attempting get refused by the country. Nadar had always believed that, if given the chance to let his abilities and ideas pass, Truman would have been looked on in a much higher regard, unlike how is was in that day. Of course, Nadar had not been alive in the 1940's to the 1950's, but upon coming to America, a mere two years prior to the day, he had done a substantial amount of studying on the United States Government, having already a faint idea from what he had been told as a small child (his parents had an odd obsession with the United States of America) and what he had discovered during his days in the military. The words and ideals from his friends in the military, however, were not quite as kind as those of his parents, but Nadar understood exactly why. Despite the thoughts of his fellow soldiers, though, Nadar had always felt he had many similarities between Truman and himself. Both were very soft-spoken, but when given the opportunity, could prove capable of great things. At least, Nadar knew that he was capable of doing better things.. Better than his acts in the military.

By that time, he had closed the book and rested it at his side, eyes wandering in their usual manner, looking between his hands and everything else in a matter of seconds. Although Nadar did not expect something or someone to jump out of the bookshelves and attack him, his nerves were on a constant edge. It was exactly why he always had tension in him. The fact was something that he had trouble changing, and, chances were, he would never change from that. Besides, he was happy to be able to know of everything that was happening around him; it put his mind at ease, if only for a short time. From his looking, though, a sharp creak took his attention, and with that sound, he turned to look at Blake, moreso eyeing the ladder on which she stood than the girl herself..

At her question of his reading, however, he seemed to snap out of his thoughts, head tilting up in a quick manner to view the girl's face. "It is... The oral biography of Harry Truman... Written by Merle Miller," he said softly, pupils running over each feature of her face, having trouble keeping his eyes steadied, a habit that he had not broken from since he was a young teenager, "Ah... I would suggest it to any person.. It is a very good read." He could not help but lift a brow at the girl's sudden change of speaking. Nadar was not so foolish to think that any person, if forced to come to such a place, would be happy to be here, nor did he believe that any person, being at this facility in the first place, leaded any sort of comforting life. Blake was no exception to his beliefs, but he did not put himself in the position to question her disposition, not wanting to cause any sort of conflict. Instead, he kept his usual composure, keeping quiet to the matter and staying as such unless questioned or asked to do otherwise.

As Blake moved from her spot, Nadar jumped slightly, not so much from her new found closeness, but more of the sudden movement and sound of said movement. With his shoulder tensing back into their usual tension, he reached out an arm to gently hold onto the ladder, fearing that it might fall, based on its wobbled nature and creaking movements. Despite Blake's uncaring toward the ladder's jerking, it grew to make the older man quite nervous, worrying over the safety of the younger girl on such unfit equipment. Certainly, he was aware that, if put there to do as she was doing, it should have been fit, but as were many things and people at the facility, not every article in was in faction with its supposed capabilities.

Eyes widening slightly, though not enough to really be noticed, Nadar frowned, uncertain how to really reply to such a statement. No; the man was not at all good with conversation with others. It truth, he did not often converse at all, but he had tried... Upon trying, he felt himself at an abnormality, unsure what words would be appropriate and what would put him at a disadvantage. Therefore, it seemed the only realistic way to keep himself from such embarrassment or unsatisfactory mockery, most of which he had simply imagined. Opening his mouth to speak, he closed his lips once again, wishing thinking a moment longer before giving his own opinion on the girl's thoughts. He took in a soft breath, through his nose, and parted his lips to speak again, this time incredibly hushes, probably showing his discomfort toward the subject in speaking. "I am.. Not one to speak often," he muttered, the words obvious to him and probably to others as well, "It does make me..." Nadar had to pause from speaking, feeling that he was talking too much of himself, something that he never did enjoy doing. "Is there something that you wish to speak of..?"