2p!Talia: Look for the Woman

The Misc. Club

Talia Academy, one of the most dangerous academic facilities in all of Talia City. The staff and administration are all sworn to secrecy and a non-disclosure agreement. Their main objective is either to teach the next generations of mafia bosses, crime lords, and "legitimate" businessmen and women the basic requirements necessary to graduate, tend to any wounds sustained on campus without question, and help balance out the more unstable students.

Despite that, the students have free reign over the entire school. For years, Talia Academy was used as the stomping ground for many gangs and a hotspot for drug dealers, prostitutes, and gang meetups. However, a few years ago the Government decided to step in after a student sold bad drugs to the son of a well-known political figure. The school was completely changed: New dress code with uniforms, security guards, metal detectors, and a new policy that banned any and all illegal substances from Campus . . . but like all rules, there are ways to get around them.

"Good morning, you dysfunctional and worthless human abominations." The teacher hissed.

The first day of school was as expected, boring and a waste of time. Even if the government changed the school, the staff knew their place and only a handful of them weren't afraid of what their students' parents would do to them . . .

"I'll be your homeroom teacher, Ms. Jasper." The woman said.

Ms. Jasper was one of them. She was known as one of the most strict and unfiltered teachers in the city. She's was a large woman with long bleached hair and tanned skin that was spotted with bleached patches. She typically wore tank tops covered by her sweaters or the red jacket that she wore often. I wondered if she was hiding more blotches under her sleeves, but someone decided to be blunt and ask.

"What happened to your face?" A girl asked.

"Shut up, Bea." A boy whispered.

"No, it's fine." Ms. Jasper calmly said, "I have vitiligo . . . its a disease that makes these blotches on my skin."

"Is it just on your face?" Another boy asked.

"Nope." Ms. Jasper said, removing her sweater, "I've got it on my face, my arms, and it's also why my hair is this color."

"Seriously?" A boy asked, "I thought you just dyed it."

"Be pretty weird to dye my hair white, don't you think?" She asked.

Ms. Jasper wasn't a bad teacher, but she had zero tolerance for anyone that tried to disrespect her. Not to mention, she was a stickler about the rules. I typically tried to get some sleep during her class since it was World History, but whenever she caught me . . . she addressed me specifically.

"Can somebody wake Francis' sorry ass up!" Ms. Jasper sighed.

A spanish boy leaned back in his chair, tapping a blonde boy on the head. The students watched as he blinked open his dark lavender eyes and wiped the drool from his chin.

"Bonnefoy, you got narcolepsy or something?" Ms. Jasper asked.

"No ma'am." Francis yawned, "Just didn't get much sleep the other day."

"This is the fourth day in a row that you've said that, Bonnefoy." Ms. Jasper said, "I'll need you to stay after class."

"Yes ma'am." Francis sighed.

Just then, there came a knock at the door. Ms. Jasper opened the door, letting in three students from the hallway: a tall boy with tanned skin and light brown hair and emerald eyes, a scar adorning his right cheek. A short boy with platinum blonde hair and dark red eyes, he wore two piercings a dumbell on his right eyebrow and one in his left dimple. Lastly, there was a girl with short dark hair and matching eyes. She had a strange look on her face, she was cheerfully smiling . . . but those dark eyes told more.

"Sorry for the sudden interruption." The girl smiled.

"No problem." Ms. Jasper said, "I need to make some copies anyway . . . they're all yours."

Once she was gone, the young woman took a deep breath before looking at her audience. Then, she reached in her bag and handed what looked like a pistol to her blonde friend. The brunette took a folder out and began passing around flyers. Francis watched in intrigue as the girl took a seat on Ms. Jasper's desk.

"Alright shitheads, I'll make this quick." The young woman said, "I'm Rayleigh Galvez, and these are my associates: Helios Andan and Voss Zwingli."

"Hey!"A Spanish boy snickered, "Aren't you Romero's little sister?"

"You mean Romeo, the flirt?" A redhead asked, "Eww, she's got aids."

"Nah, Romero." The Spanish boy corrected, "That fucker that sells weed in the parking lot."

"Wasn't he the fucker that almost OD'd on Angel Dust last year?" A Prussian boy laughed, "He was twitching on the floor like a god damned nut!"

Everyone in the room went quiet as the girl walked towards the back and put a gun to the boy's silver-haired head. That deranged look in her eyes, her smile never fading as she pulled back the hammer.

"Yes, I am." Rayleigh smiled, "So I'll thank you not to mock my family . . . at least not in my presence."

"There's no way that's fucking loaded." Francis mumbled.

"Care to wager on that?" Rayleigh asked, glancing back at him.

The Prussian boy relaxed in his seat as Rayleigh had a staring contest with the French boy. She never stopped smiling, her hooded eyes staring through Francis' soul. She handed him the gun and let him open the chamber . . . it was fully loaded with six shots.

"How the hell?" Francis began.

"Now that I have your full attention." Rayleigh smiled, snatching her gun back, "We're the Misc. Club."

"Misc Club?" A Hungarian girl questioned.

"Minors Illegally Supplying Contraband." Rayleigh explained, "We're essentially a black market service located in the Photography Club on the 2nd floor."

"Black market?" A Russian boy grumbled, "Who needs that?"

"Each and every one of you." Rayleigh said, "Since we're the only ones who can smuggle this onto campus."

Rayleigh held up a small bag filled with a green substance, shocking a number of students. As she tucked the bag away, many of the class began whispering to one another. Francis opened the bag and was hit with a potent and familiar smell.

"Weed buds." Francis said, "Freshly cured Sour Diesel buds."

"Holy shit, are you for real?" The Spanish boy gasped, "There's no fucking way that shits legit."

"It's genuine, alright." A Russian boy confirmed, "The healthy color, the scents, the texture . . . it all checks out."

"You expect any less?" Voss asked, "We take pride in our work."

"The flyers Helios handed out provides all the information you need to know." Rayleigh said, "How to contact us, where to find us, and what we provide. Misc is, indeed, more than just an acronym."

"Enforcers? Mediators? Notary? Sweepers?" A Belgian girl read, "This is impressive, but sounds a bit far-fetched."

"We're three people with unique sets of skills . . . and we excel in what we do." Rayleigh smiled, "For a price."

"This is suspect as hell." The boy said.

"You don't want our help? Fine." Voss growled, "Just remember that when you're ass is in a pinch."

"Voss, please relax." Helios said.

"Our doors are always open to our clients, and our lines are as well." Rayleigh said, "So feel free to contact us if you do find yourself in need of our services."

When Ms. Jasper returned the three students thanked her for allowing them to speak. I stared down at the flyer in my hands, my heart still pounding from holding that loaded gun in my hand. That Rayleigh girl was strange . . . she was different . . . Would she have actually shot and killed Klaus had I not spoken up? What was the deal with this Misc Club? That girl was a force to be reckoned with . . . she was fucking dangerous.

And I think that's what I liked about her.