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'Dwinn gave a low, airy gasp, jabbing at her hand with his pen. It may interest those like Fear, that 'Dwinn took a liking to writing in dark red ink: the color of freshly-spilled blood. "How dare you mock me! Get away from me, and go back to that savage chap over yonder! I haven't gotten any anguish from either of you, and I want your pain for my story. I swear, the nerve of some things..." Obviously insulted by her proximity and disregard for his possessions, he backed up with a hop, his eyes gazing into her, rather than through her now. "You've ruined my moment. I hope you have something to say about it, you incompetent little fool. better yet, you should just say nothing at all: I doubt anything coming from your mouth would interest me. Gah, this is a waste of time... I'll never get inspiration from beings like this. Maybe I'll go provoke that murderous thing over yonder. Perhaps if I make it scream, I'll have more to work with." The longer 'Dwinn spoke, the less it seemed he was speaking to Eir, and moreso just thinking out loud, in his usual dark, velvety voice. Were there any charisma to a large, obsidian raven, his voice would be a haunting comparison.

His ignorance of Fear's capacity for torture was masked by his apathy to his ability. He didn't want to know more about these creatures, and he certainly didn't want to make friends. He merely wanted interactions: something so indescribably wicked, that the words would only come to him upon seeing it. That... that was the masterful emotion fit to serve in his novel. And even if he had to rip the vocal cords from their very throats, he would get the visions he sought. Of course... given that he was forbidden to commit blatant murder amongst the dorm corridors, he restrained his lust for inspiration, and his immoral, uncaring opinions of life.

The very fact that she had touched him made 'Dwinn want to rip her heart out in front of all... probably to Fear's delight. "You mindless twit, unhand me this instant! Touch me or my pen again, and I'll run you through with it!" This wretched... thing was wearing thin 'Dwinn's already very icy nerves. To keep himself from ripping the girl in twain, he grabbed her own wrist and shoved her back, putting the pen in a sealed pocket. She wouldn't be getting that from him and living to tell the tale. "Filthy little monster, why don't you go molest some poor, unfortunate soul, instead of harrassing someone who'd rather put a bullet through your brain. You'd best appreciate my lack of firearms, you spry little nuisance, and stay away from me!" He growled in a low rumble, glasses shimmering as his face lowered. Having had enough of this useless charade, he spun in place, and proceeded to make his exit, taking his shiny, bloody pen with him.

To think, a useless little imp like her would stain his potential inspiration with the curiosity of his pen! He'd written with that pen for years, and noone had ever just come up and try to take it from him. The very thought made him want to turn back around and shank the twerp, but he felt himself better than that. If he were to retrieve data from things like her in the future, he would have to be more inconspicuous. He couldn't afford for every scatter-brained nothing to grasp at the fourth wall of glass he stood behind. Why couldn't story pages know their place, and just stay in his book...

This time, it was 'Dwinn's turn to get in her face, a mere inch or so from being nose-to-nose. "A 'jerk' is what people call me when they don't see the extent of the hatred I have for every last one of you imbecilic creatures. A jerk doesn't even adequately describe the glasses on my nose, let alone the top layer of my dismay. And you!" He stepped back, bright blue eyes sinking into her psyche. "If either of us is simply a jerk, its you. You get in my face, and try to steal the only possession I have of any personal value, without so much as a word or an excuse. most people would've been standing dead before getting that close to me, so you should just be damn thankful that I'm more interested in my book than your sorry life." For emphasis, he held up his little black paperback book, scrawled and smeared with his lifesblood ink. He of course held it up, to keep her grubby little hands from getting greedy again.

"Just who do you think you are, that makes you believe I will tolerate such disrespect? If you're not the headmistress herself, you had better pray." While he did make a point that she invaded his space first, he was obviously ignoring all the biting, threatening remarks he'd made to her already. Seeing as it was commonplace for him to spit caustic fire at those he didn't want to handle, it wasn't something he felt the need to think about.

'Dwinn... simply sighed, and rubbed the aching space above where his glasses sat. Why he'd even gotten worked up enough to yell at her in the first place was beyond him. Usually, he would've simply ignored her, once he'd gotten her out of his way. It puzzled him, befuddled him even, as to why he paid her any heed. Readjusting his glasses, he looked forward, preparing to move on again. "You're pretty, too. Pret-ty stupid. I'm done wasting my time with you. Begone." He once again attempted to move past her, hoping she wouldn't follow him this time. He'd played around too long as it was.

Her stare was beginning to bother him, though. The way she gazed into his icy blue eyes was unsettling. He was supposed to do the staring, not the other way around. What was so interesting about a writer that she'd want to stare? He'd never given a damn about his appearance, hence why his hair was so messy and veiling. He didn't even bother to keep his glasses free of the mop on his head. his choice of clothing was... moreso efficient, than it was a fashion statement, as he had no knowledge (or interest) of what was considered an appealing outfit. "Do they change color"...what on earth was that little wretch talking about, anyway. He never recalled wearing any mood-trinkets, so he was a little confused about that, as well. All the girl seemed to do was confuse him, and deny him inspiration: neither of which he was willing to tolerate without consolation.

'Dwinn was really losing his patience with this creature. What part of "Begone" did she not comprehend? He glowered in her direction, silently seething with loathing. "Because obviously saying nothing at all doesn't work on the likes of you, now does it? I've tried on two separate instances to leave you to whatever company you keep in this depressing lot, but you don't seem to want me to leave. What is it you want, my masochistic nuisance? Do you think you're going to change my mind, change my ways, possibly shift my opinion of you into some positive light? I think not. The only problem I have with you, is the fact that your stubbornness surpasses your ignorance. If you would simply leave me be, I would already be gone from here, and I'd no longer have to listen to your self-righteous blathering any longer. I don't need something as useless as you to justify my existence, but a creature such as you... you simply bring yourself into the spotlight by prolonging this double-edged discussion, feeding your need for attention, regardless of what side of the spectrum its on. Does being yelled at make YOU feel important?" It had been a long time since 'Dwinn had really gotten to let loose on someone, and even though this was the tip of the iceberg, it wasn't a bad feeling for him. His hatred echoed through the halls, proverbially rattling the doors in the corridor.

But, he was done. He had to find a way to silence this infernal pest for good. Noticing the lunatic in the back hadn't quite left yet, he pointed him out with great fervor. "You there! Yes, the crazy sadist. Come here and eat this blasted chatterbox, before I smear her face across the walls. Even the sound of her piercing screams of death would be more savory to my ears, than the incessant noise she spews out now." Wooow. offering a child to a possibly cannibalistic psychopath. That was pretty dark, even for Dwinn.