The Arrival (Me and Vagrant)

The old Greyhound trundled to a stop at a stop on the outskirts of the city. Randir stepped off, followed by Mel. The trip from New York had taken a grueling two weeks. Now they were here. Whether or not that was good new, he couldn't say.
He looked up at the towers and spikes of the Academy a few miles away, and a sharp chill went down his spine. He thought he could almost feel the city taunting him. You are not welcome here.
Turning to face his companion, he asked "So, now what?"

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    The City always felt cold this early in the morning. Deserts got surprisingly cold at night, and, since the Morning Sun had yet to rise, Mel could see his breath form in front of him. More than that though the kinds of people that were out in the mornings were sullen, to themselves, and looked suspiciously at everyone as if they were trying to hide away secrets. Mel stopped caring about these things when he became the abomination that he is today, but he remembers vividly what they felt like. "We Head to the academy, and hopefully no one will give us too much of a hard time. Once we get there, preferably, things will be made clearer to you, but I'm not too sure that will be the case." If it meant anything, Mel was pretty sure that the boy wouldn't receive too hard of a time, but you never know in Death City. "Follow me." Mel would say as he started towards the tower expecting the witch to follow behind him.

(sorry this is soooooooooooooo late. lifes been hectic lately)

He fell in line behind Mel, winding through the streets. His eyes wandered the streets, moving from face to face, half expecting to see a blade coming at him. The first rays of daylight peered over the horizon, but darkness still ruled, compacted by the chill in the air. It all served to create a menacing atmosphere, and he could almost hear the city silently screaming at him- You do not belong. Leave this place and never return. get out Get Out GET OUT.
Far too quickly, the were at the base of the steps leading up to the Academy. Who knew how many silently stalked in the fading darkness. As the final ascent was made, the resolve he had built in himself was revealed to be not but a facade, and began to break away, bit by bit. Soon, he stood and front of the great door leading into the menacing building. He waited for Mel to open it, and carefully stepped inside.

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    Mel gave brief descriptions of the places they passed by on their way to the DWMA in an attempt to make Randir feel more at ease. He steered them away from anything dangerous that he could smell probably causing them to spend many more minutes walking than was probably necessary, and finally, after what seemed like hours to Mel, the duo had climbed through the academy and arrived at Death's door. After a quick knock, Mel began to get a little nervous. What if he'd made the wrong choice? What if Death had a zero tolerance policy for witches? What if even though he was pretty sure he had smelled witches in the academy before he was wrong about everything? Mel kept his composure for the most part only being betrayed by a few beads of sweat that formed on his brow as he waited to be invited inside. Can I protect this witch. Mel's thoughts were filled with doubt.

. #doublepost
Mel quietly placed a hand on the witch's shoulders, and inhaled deeply to steel himself. "Hey," Mel attempted to get is attention and distract him from his worries. "You remember what I said don't you. Even if we have to overcome Death itself, I will make sure that you won't ever have to run away anymore. So perk up. He's a bit weird, but he's a real sweet heart." Mel looked at the young witch, and for the first time since he met the witch, he gave him a large toothy grin.

For the first time, Randir put two and two together to figure out who awaited on the other side of the door. For some strange reason, the words "sweet heart" didn't put his mind at ease. At all. He had known this moment was coming, but now that it was here, his resolve disintegrated. His breath, calm before, became rapid and uneven. His eyes began darting about the hallway as if trying to spy invisible assailants. His heartbeat quickened and slowed, and he felt something... different, barely noticeable, that came with his fear. Here he was, at Death's door. What waited on the other side: Heaven or Hell?

(OoC: I wonder if we should have done the thread in the Death Room section)

(oc: meh. were fine. keep going with the thread. if the admins want to move it they can.)

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    Mel firmly placed a hand on Randir's shoulder, and said to the shaken witch while putting on a false bravado, "Hey, I get that this situation is scary, but I've got your back. If you get scared of some academy students in my presence I may get a little hurt." Mel was also scared that he may have made a poor choice, but any inkling of self-doubt or fear was kept concealed.