Demons (Damirae)

Chapter Fifty-Nine

(IT RETURNS!)

...

Judging by the grimace tugging Raven's violet-petal lips, she could sense it too. If Damian knew anything about that demoness, it was that she was currently caught between wishing to rip out a few hearts or thanking Azar that she hadn't worn that ridiculously small skirt. Though, granted, demons often thrived off of the sexual drive of others, sweaty teenage twat wasn't Raven's cup of tea.

Trying it to make too bad of an impression with the History teacher -bless her, she seemed nice- Raven went first, all but drawling, "My name's Rachel. You don't need to know anything more about me."

So much for trying.

As a few students whistled lowly -the 'badboys', who had nothing on the batboys...just saying- as the teacher, said, "Oh come on! There must be something interesting about you Raven, what are you interested in? What are your hobbies?"

Tossing her hair over her shoulder and ignoring the humoured aura coming from her fellow Titan, Raven sighed, "I like music. I like books. Most importantly, I like being left alone."

See, the thing about this here lady (whom had introduced herself to the two new students in her history class as Miss Allanson) was that she was a very happy, positive sort of person. Not the 'sunshine, daisies and mellow yellow' kind of person; the 'pick yourselves up when times get a little rough, but make sure you have someone to pick you up when time get so rough that you can't'. Something about this lady clicked within Raven's mind: this woman was of pure soul and clean intention. People of that nature were few and far between.

Regardless of how she wished to be anywhere else than dealing with a class of entitled teenagers (though that was fairly hypocritical considering whom she stood besides) Raven forged a mental pact with herself. She would work hard in Miss Allanson's lessons, a person so good should not have to deal with Raven's lack of compromise.

"Oh, well! I'm sure that can be worked on, not everyone in here is terrible,", the history teacher raised an eyebrow at one of the boys swinging on his chair at the back of the class, "I'll emphasise again, not everyone is terrible...but some...", she chuckled, continuing, "Anyway!- young man, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Leaning on her desk, arms folded over her yellow cardigan, Miss Allanson awaited Damian's response, an eyebrow raised and a warm smile brightening her face, "Come on then, you don't have to say much."

Raven had almost forgotten how cold and sarcastic a person could sound- like all the glee had been sucked out of them with a happiness vacuum. Then the Al-Ghul spoke and her memory was right as rain.

"Damian Wayne.", The whole class came to sharper attention than before at that declaration. "Stay out of my way and hope I will stay out of yours. There isn't anything more to say."

With that, he strode down a row of students, located a vacant seat near as few people as possible, and sat with feline grace.

Doing the same, Raven took the chair behind Damian, retrieving a pencil case from her bag.

Lesson one, begun.

Only four more to go.

***

Much to the chagrin of Damian, history class hadn't made him want to do a Sylvia Plath. The topic Miss Allanson was teaching was about World War Two, but looking at the experiences of German soldiers in comparison to the allied forces. Nothing he hadn't learnt by the age of four, but it provided interesting conversation and debate as well as useful revision.

Casually strolling through the congested motorway of students, Damian smirked as he recalled the look of surprise on the teacher's face as he brought in the example of the Ghost Division as opposed to the average Nazi soldier. Having one's knowledge of a subject being showcased was rather gratifying- at least, for Damian it was.
Being the stupid people that they were, some of the imbeciles slouched in the back row had seen fit to chuck scrunched up paper balls at him: and Damian being the gratification-seeking attention hog that he was, the green eyed boy had seen fit to deflect every one of the paper projectiles via wielding his pencil like Nightwing's escrima sticks.