𝕊𝕆𝕃𝕀𝕍𝔸𝔾𝔸ℕ𝕋║[ᴅ. ᴡᴀʏɴᴇ]

🪻ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴀꜱᴍᴀɢᴏʀɪᴄ🪻

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪꜱ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ✨ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ✨ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɪɴ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ (ɴᴏᴛ-ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰᴜɴꜱɪᴇꜱ). ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ✨ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ✨ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪꜱ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.

Damian tsk'ed irritably as his fourth attempt at sketching the sharp bend of a snout on the canis lupus failed to meet his expectations. After seeing the wild canine imprinted on Vincent's family signet during their impromptu trip to Italy following his kidnapping, he was inspired to make a gift for his beloved to commemorate the announcement of their courtship. He was satisfied with the accompanying chrysanthemums fluttering in the wind, but the centerpiece was giving him trouble. The colors for the wolf were already selected: bitter chocolate fur, piercing amber eyes, and a sharp nose to give off the impression of a fanged, wry grin.

Across the room, Vin sighed and ran a bandaged hand through his hair. It was a miracle that he even vaguely understood half of the test and completed the meaningless stack of papers within the appointed time. He could feel his eyelids begging to close as he recalled last night's endless errands. The boy silently thanked God that Oswald had decided to stab his non-dominant hand; it wasn't like he could tell the criminal in the midst of battle that he had a history test tomorrow and couldn't work without his leftie.

"Ten more minutes, class." Mr. Spencer called out from his desk. A choir of groans and heads slamming onto desks rang throughout the room.

"I don't think that will be necessary." A dynamic voice came from the intercom. Everyone blinked in surprise as someone actually answered their silent pleas to be saved from standardized testing. Vin jerked into a straight-spined sitting position, eyes roving around the room until his gaze landed on the room-wide windows lined along the far wall. He got up from his seat, ignoring Mr. Spencer's protest, and slowly crept towards the glass, looking outside.

"Motherfucker..." His face was blank, but one could hear the gaping shock in his tone.

"Mr. Bertinelli, what are you- oh, I am not paid enough for this." Mr. Spencer marched up behind him but stopped short as he looked through the window at the academy's enclosed courtyard.

The main theme was green and purple– someone call the Joker, he wants his aesthetic back– with question marks strewn everywhere. It was a whole ass stage that was somehow constructed within the one hour when lunch had ended and they had been in class. How the hell had no one noticed this?

"I do not need this." Vin sighed, his shoulders slumping. He already had to clean up Penguin's comatose body and the man's caches of stolen goods last night– would he ever get a break from this city's criminal underground?

"If all students from ages twelve to fifteen, please gather in front of the grandiose and quite obvious stage. Yes, this is not a fire drill, but something much more mind-bending! Well- for me, that is. Not for you simpletons." A hearty and somewhat unhinged bout of laughter crackled through the speaker. "Ahem. You have five minutes or blah-blah-blah; I have bombs and will detonate your school." A small screech was heard as the intercom switched off. On cue, a giant question mark-shaped bomb lit up atop the stage and began counting down.

"Well damn, cuh, didn't the GCPD just finish clearing out the explosives from the last bomb threat, yuh?" Jeppy G. rhymed through his beatboxing.

"Yeah, like, it was that ugly pig guy who wanted to make puppets out of us." Jacqueline Dacquoise whined and began filing her nails, uncaring of the nail dust that befell her sheet of paper that would decide if she passed History for the first semester or not.