Welcome to Gaia! ::

Despite all the guys here at Aurora High, this is a very huge room. Everyone has their own bed, and their own room. Decorate it as you wish. Note, this dorm is for every school.

You should probably know that classes are going on....

He yawned again; no point in getting ready, really. Even if he was 'taking' Joslyn to the dance, he doubted she expected him to dress up too much. Sure, he'd wear his nicest shirt and pants... But that included all of a not-yet-torn black shirt and worn jeans. He supposed he could go and buy something better to wear... But he didn't figure it was going to be a super-formal thing. After all, it was just a school dance.

Matasoga had spent very little time in his room thus far. He hadn't picked up anything that he intended to use just for decoration and he had only the things that he'd brought with him.
As he walked to his room, he was stricken by how quiet the dorms were. Perhaps everyone else was off finding a date. Perhaps he'd invite the girl he cared for, to make the dance slightly less dreadful. Would they allow her to attend, even as a non-student? He'd look into that, later.
He went over to and flopped on his bed. There was a letter from his lieutenant, which he opened with a claw and drew from the envelope. He was expecting a status report, a letter perhaps filled with sweet nothings (even though that wasn't much like her), or most likely just a letter wishing him luck, offering encouragement or telling him that she missed him. It brought a smile to his face that quickly faded as he read.
For the first time since the incident with the damned vampire, he wept, quietly. The hate that he felt was more immense than any in his life. Thoughts of murder or arranging rub-outs second-hand occurred to him, immediately but he dismissed them before he'd even figured out exactly how to get away with it.
No... He'd let her have this other man. Maybe this was for the best. He was here to learn how to use magic to solve his problems. Killing this other man wouldn't solve his lieutenant's weakness of character. There was only one way to solve this for good.
He would throw himself into his studies. Without his love to distract him (or his humanity to limit him) there were no more limits to what he could accomplish. Oh, magic would solve his problem. She would become an adoring little puppet to him and as for the other one... He would become whatever would devastate her most.
He was soon all out of tears. It was a matter of seconds. Sadness was unproductive. He wouldn't mope and he could brood while he studied. He had identified the problem, figured out the solution, then came implementation of the solution.
He wiped his face paint off, deciding that he'd look more the part that he was given when he came to this school. A necromancer was what was expected of him, so a Necromancer he would become.
He drew out his mirror and used his greasepaint to make a skull-like visage over his own, finely scaled, draconic face. "This," he thought to himself, "Is your new face. This is what Matasoga means now. He controls the dead, he is among the dead, and the dead do not suffer heartache, for in death there is no pain."
He closed his greasepaint container and stood. He spit into a tissue and threw it away, ridding himself of the taste of tears once and for all. It was time for him to make a trip to the library. He had some powerful enchantments to learn.

Matasoga gave Trace, whom he only then noticed, a brief, curt nod, on his way out. It occurred to him a moment later that he could, in all likelihood, not in any way perceive the gesture of acknowledgment, but it was no matter. He had some very important business to attend to, and the sooner the better.
He unclenched his fist for the first time, only then noticing his tightly they had been balled. He opened his hand and saw that all three of his claws had deeply penetrated the flesh of his palm. He laughed, loudly and bitterly, shocked by the sound because it sounded so unlike his own, but there was no one else but him in the hall that he walked down.
He supposed that Trace had smelled the blood. Without thinking about it, be brought the hand to the left side of his forehead and ran it down to the right side of his chin, smearing the blood down his face. He licked his lips, both to free his mouth of the blood and at the ecstasy that thoughts of what he would do with his power, once he achieved it.
He would rewrite it. All of it. He'd start small. Erase the man, everything that made him who he was. And her... Would he put things back where they were? No. They had stood on an even ground. He looked her directly in the eye. Sometimes his admiration for her even placed her above him... Outrageous. Never again. She would be firmly under his boot and she would never again leave. She would hurt herself as she had hurt him. He'd have her put herself to bed only after she'd beaten herself bloodly on a regular basis, with a riding crop that he provided. Not because she was forced to, but because she desired punishment for what she had done to him.
He was sure that nothing could ever fix this and put things back as they were, but why should he desire that? One could only trust oneself and those who unquestioningly obey and those were only the mindless undead and the completely enthralled.
Now was the time to open the books and let the games begin and what he couldn't learn here, he would learn elsewhere. If the dean here didn't have time for him then maybe Maliborne himself would, and he'd probably know all of the domination, death, and reanimation spells that he could ever want...
Matasoga's smile broadened, a hissing laugh escaping his lips. Life was finally looking up.

It was after the dance. The kids had been taken, except Trace and a few others... But he was in his room, getting everything he could use to get them back. His wand was tucked into his jacket pocket, and a sword was strapped to his waist; duct tape, because you could never go on a mission without it, was thrown in a back pack, along with a bunch of other assorted trinkets and trifles; rope, and lots of it, spare cloth rags, a spellbook, a flashlight or two, some spare batteries, a match kit, and a few knives. A few other things for some extra security, and that was it. He tossed the back over his back and stormed out; one more stop before the Courtyard, and then they'd leave... They'd storm the castle, or whatever it was, and they'd get their friends back.