Post by Gupta Muhammad Hassan on Aug 12, 2012 22:52:58 GMT -5
gupta muhammad hassan.
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nickname: Hassan. He refuses to go by his first name.
age: looks around 20 or 21 physically, but don't let that fool you - he's over 2,000 years old.
grade: junior
important people: Ancient Egypt - his mother, now deceased.
Byzantium - his friend and enemy, now deceased
Germania - An elder of his, now deceased
Ancient Greece - An elder, now deceased
Rome - Elder and enemy, now deceased
Persia - Elder, now deceased
Syria - Friend and ally
Britain - Former colonial power, still alive
member group: hetalian
why are they at the school: Hassan came to the school not so much as a scout, but out of some manner of political asylum, with a recent revolution having taken place. He left due to the dangers of remaining stuck between the revolutionaries he supported and the government that considered him a threat. He's currently biding his time to return to his homelands. Scouting has only recently come to play in his mind, though for the moment he reports to no figures in his homeland; instead, he stockpiles information.
ability: Time Manipulation/Warping Hassan can can slow down a rather large radius around him, to a crawl - or a complete freeze - while he moves in real time within it, and the world outside this radius around him does as well. He can also act out the power in reverse, speeding the area while he moves normally. If he concentrates on it very hard, he can also act this out on a range, though he can't hold "the bubble" as he dubs it, for as long as he can if he's in it.
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- - - - - - A mental assessment of Gupta Muhammad Hassan by Dr. Mangosteen[/b]
First Impressions
Gupta - Hassan, as he prefers to be called, is Egypt. He is not very well known, and seems more concerned with staring us down than speaking with us. He seems silent to the point of aloofness at this present time, and has a nasty habit of slowing time to a crawl (or freezing it all together) when I enter his cell. He then takes the moment while the door is frozen open to wander out again, at normal speed. He says if I stop trying to keep him captive, he'll be more pleasant. I'll have to take his word for it, since he never seems to leave, just irritate me. He is certainly patient, that is for certain, and seems content to sit and stare at a wall if he must.
Six hours in
I have explained to Hassan that he must cooperate to be admitted to New World Academy. He has warmed up some, but I still sense tension. He carries with him a fair sized stick and I do worry about how he plans on using it, as it's not a walking stick by any means. He says it's his weapon, that his mother gave him. He certainly is caught up with Ancient Egypt, that is for sure. He also told me he's fairly ambivalent towards most nations at the moment, barring a telling few, not to name names. He also feels that most nations have nothing on him. He says he will fight to have his blood, if not him, last forever. "Rome, England nor America, no colonial force will hold me forever." He told me. He also told me that because of the Arab Spring, and his own government being a bit murky, he reports to no one, but is waiting for what the future holds.
Confusions - Six point five hours
Hassan has confided in me he is by no means a settled country. Despite being well over 2,000 years of age, he bares the appearance of a teen, and he admits he's gone between his mother's religion, various forms of Christianity, and currently, Islam. He says he's been so strongly Muslim since around 640, he's at times hates Jews and Christians and all of that, though he's become more moderate and controlled as far as religious fanaticism goes, and while he's not very welcoming at times, he is, on a whole of things, tolerant. Certainly more tolerant than any other Arab country, I am certain. He worries about his country and is very deeply affected by that, in his own way. He knows he is on the brink of going great or going home, and while he says (and historically I know) he's been there many a time before, he cannot help but wonder. He feels out of place among European countries and out of place among the Arab and African as well, as he fits no category quite right - but Hassan tells me that while he feels a misfit, he constantly looks back on his past, on what he did, and what his mother did, and he says "I know I can be great. And so I shall be great. Egypt - my mother - was the first true country to be. And so, while the sun burns the earth and all is destroyed, it will stand until the end." He feels deeply rooted to tradition, using it not as a basis to get lost in, however, but as a base to build from. From the temples, he finds mosques. From the pyramids he draws inspiration, and from his experiences he draws himself on. I admire his resolve, and uncanny grasp of mortality for a Hetalian, though not his indifference to others that he often seems to slip into. I suppose, though, if given a cause, he will fight. The Arab Spring is the most recent example, but Rome, Persia, Byzantium and Britain...he survived domination by them all, and often thrived afterwards. He is indifferent until given a reason not to be.
Day Two: Goddamned stick!
Hassan likes using a stick for a weapon. He always has it with him, and I feel it is one of a large amount of them. I don't even know where he gets them from, and I wish he could stop pausing time to hit me with it. I suspect he will do this to students just to bother him, which is another thing I've noticed. He can be incredibly difficult and stubborn, even in the face of larger powers than himself. He even taunts, and when he gets going he can be aggressive and intimidating. He's not stupid by any means - he's an amazing strategist, but goddamn that stick!
Day Two: Final Assessment
Hassan's motives to me remain clear. For now, he says he wants to come to the Academy to sort himself out, not spy persay. He says he probably will, but he currently doesn't report to his boss, or any boss. I can't say I exactly blame him, nor, do I feel, he's ever really had the concept of "boss" clearly established. For him, his 'boss' is a human being who happens to be in control of the country, and this is a strong factor his his fate, but one he doesn't always associate with. Some of this feeling is doubtlessly by being raised by the Ancient countries, but it is in part influenced by recent revolution. Speaking of which, and his love of sticks, while he is difficult, he also understands the importance of diplomacy and freedom to choose. All said and done, this young man certainly has more up his sleeve than he likes to let on.
- - - - Homage to The Past
- - - - - - A History Gupta Muhammad Hassan
The Early Years: 300 BCE - August 12, 30 BCE
"I don't know who you are, or how you got here" A woman held the four year old boy in her arms. He was naked, alone, but not crying. Instead, he clung to her thumb. "But you are to be Gupta Hassan."
This is Egypt's earliest memory, of a woman in fine linen robes, scooping him out of the desert sand. And so, he was born, an adopted son of a woman of impossible power. One of the first Hetalians, if not the very first, to walk the word as a true, honest, defined country. Ancient Egypt. This was his mother. But she was waning, and in her age, she took in a young boy who came from nowhere. Perhaps she knew, from his....becoming, that he was her incarnation of sorts.
Hassan, for his part, had no idea. The boy knew his mother, like him, was seemingly immune to the plights of humanity. He knew his mother was Egypt herself, but what was he? Thirty human years passed, but Hassan was only five years old when Ancient Greece came to the door. You see, Ancient Egypt herself answered to none of her bosses, she simply looked on and walked with her people, foreseeing, guiding where she could, and aiding her legacy without saying that which what she was. This is the motto that Hassan generally adopts around humans. He typically displays his power first, not his Hetalian status. Digression aside, Ancient Greece came in. The two women fought, as Hassan hid in a woven basket. He heard the shouts, that his mother was nothing more than a province, that the Pharaoh, something he revered, was a Greek!
"Oh my son," Ancient Egypt had told him that day. "To think, I knew her as a child. To think I was grown up as I saw her come from the land beyond the sea, like you came from the sand."
"But I won't grow up and hurt you, mama." Hassan had promised.
"I know, my dear...." But what she hadn't said was that she'd never see him live to grow up. She knew that at that instant. But she didn't tell Hassan. Instead, he played in her splendour and riches. Province of sorts or not Ancient Egypt had plenty of history and plenty of power. The young boy would pause time atop the pyramids, that were ancient even then, or in the streets of Alexandria then speed it around him, lost in it all. His mother taught him from that day on, very seriously. She taught him many languages, mathematics, and writing hieroglyphics as well as Ancient Greek which he uses to this day (though not in emails or anything, since it's not all that useful). But something else was curious. Whenever Ancient Greece, or his mother's lover, The Roman Empire, came over, or any country for that matter, Hassan was told to run and hide. He couldn't make contact with them, even as his mother became a frail old woman, living off the fact the Ptolemy's called themselves Pharaoh's alone.
This was when he had something of a growth spurt. He was tiny, weak, and spindly, but appeared about 10 at around 20 BCE. He would remain a ten-year-old for quite some time, but it worried him. He only grew older as his mother, who he basically worshipped, got weaker. He was Egypt struggling to maintain the Ancient ways (that was what mother called them) and as that happened, the young boy grew. It scared him. A lot.
Then came the most important date in his life.
August 12th, 30 BCE.
The day Cleopatra, final Pharaoh of Egypt, died.
He had been asleep, in a room next to his mothers in a fine, governor's palace - but he woke suddenly, gripped by a sudden cold wind on his face. He got up, and ran down the hall. Something was different now, he knew it in his heart. "Mother!? Mother! Mama Egypt!" He screamed as he run down the hall into her grand study.
There, he saw a pile of sand, and a papyrus scroll. The cold wind returned, throwing the sand a his face. He closed his eyes, and the sand blew past him. His mother was nowhere to be seen, but ink and quill were fallen on the floor. He walked to the papyrus scroll, and it read:
Gupta,
You are Egypt. I am the old Egypt. You read this as I feel my fate, as I slowly turn again to sand. Cleopatra is going to die, and as he heart stops, I turn to sand. You, Gupta, YOU ARE EGYPT. Take my power, take my legacy, and keep the lands alive. Guide the people, aid them. You are their leader, but you are also their slave. You are them. They are you blood. The old ways are gone.
I have hidden you from the others before so they they will not kill you. Now, though, you must stand. But you stand not alone. I am with you, in the Nile, the desert sands, the monuments, the temples...wherever your people take you, I shall still be there. It is time for your legacy. Live it my son, my heir. Live it. Be strong, be free, and let no one control you forever, but do not be foolish. We are mortal in our own way. One day, you too, may fall. But for now, breathe, live, make a mark on this world. Do all you can.
And remember, Gupta, you are my son. You are powerful. You are Egypt. I am it's past. Ancient. You are Egypt, and may the Gods always smile on you, my son. I, for my part, always shall.
Goodbye,
Your mother, the Ancient Egypt
Then, he understood. The sand that had blown past him, had been lost, was his mother. He collapsed and cried, then took the scroll and locked it in a safe place. He had this very same scroll, restored a few times, yes, but original, with him, today. To anyone else, it's just hieroglyphics. To him, it is Ancient Egypt's last will, last words, and last blessing to him. Now....he was a country. He decided from there not to call himself Gupta - instead, he went by Hassan, which was much more grown-up in his opinion.
A ten year old boy. This was Egypt now.
A Young Country: 30 BCE - 395 CE
"Egypt is dead! I rule now!" Rome stood powerful in an assembly of the earliest Hetalians. Greece, now old, sat nearby. Germania sulked. Persia stood to the side, watching on. A few other, weaker countries were there as well.
"No." Hassan could still hear his child-voice over Rome's deep boom. "Egypt did not die."
"And who are you, to know this?" Rome bent down and looked Hassan, who stood half-naked but defiant among the adults. "How do you know who we are, of what we speak, or what we are doing in Rome?"
"I am Egypt's son!" Hassan boomed, and he remembered all eyes on him. "I am Egypt, she died and I am her heir. I am the new Egypt. You, Rome, will not rule me forever!"
Their laughter stung. Every country there laughed, though Persia the least. He looked at him and said, "Greece herself thought that, too, but her son is under Rome's command, youngling. She died even before your mother did."
"I will kill him now. Look at his body! He is weak! His ribs show! He didn't inherit splendor, he inherited a dying land!" Rome shouted, then lunged. He didn't count on Hassan rolling out of the way, grabbing a stick, and shoving it in his eye, before drawing it out and slowing time down to make his escape from the grown-ups. And yes, in case you were wondering, he preserved and kept that stick. Because, just like his mother, he found symbolism in just about everything. A boy and a stick stabbed Rome in the eye. A stick was almost nothing, but it could break the back (or eye) of anyone, if it was timed right. And so, Hassan found his favoured weapon.
However, beyond that incident, during this time Hassan stayed mostly quiet. Rome wanted to dominate him, and so Hassan hid. A ten year old boy in the streets of various cities in Egypt never really caused a brow to be raised. He learned with his people, and with that learning and changing, came learning and changing to him.
He did not yet age much, but he was leaning away from his mother's religious, for a new and novel God called Jesus. He'd heard of the guy, of course, but not really paid attention to him until Alexandria became more and more Christian - and at around 200 CE, he converted, for the most part. Hassan was now a Christian, though he didn't leave the worship of the ancient Gods behind until almost 600 CE. He was, most the most part, growing up while not aging, living hiding from Rome and biding his time to be free again. He was a country, yes, a true one, but still a child, and his body reflected that.
It wasn't until 395 that something important happened. He met a young boy, with brown hair and blue eyes. "Persia sent me here." He said quietly. "He said you were the other youngling who had issues with Rome."
"Who are you?" Hassan asked the boy, who looked a mix between Persian and Roman.
"My name is Byzantium. But that's a mouthful. Call me Justinian."
"That's still a mouthful." Hassan laughed. "I'm Hassan. Egypt."
"You're a Christian?" Justinian asked him, cautiously.
"Yes." Hassan replied.
"Then you can be my friend. France and Germany don't like me much. They say I'm too Roman, but I'm not exactly Rome any more than you are Ancient Egypt." Justinian explained, as Hassan's eyebrows went up.
"Don't you know?" Byzantium replied. "Germania has children, too. Rome has two children as well, twin boys, but they're kinda loonie, if you ask me."
"You're Rome's child, but want to be my friend?"
"I am a country, too." The boy said with a smile. "I am part of Rome, but an Empire myself. Like you, Hassan. Play tag?"
Now, Hassan had a friend, a playmate, for the first time in his life. But it wouldn't stay that way forever. War was on the horizon, and a new time for Egypt, as the Classical times waned and died.
Byzantium and Egypt: 395 CE - 642 CE
The wane of the Classical world and the early middle ages. This was where Hassan saw the mortality of a country at play. He'd seen it before, but he watched, as a young boy still, as Rome grew weaker. Germania grew strong, and so France and Germany remained in diapers, but Rome? Rome was growing weak. But it was not the Italian brothers that grew stronger and bigger in his place - it was Byzantium. The two remained friends, but Byzantium was fast getting taller and bigger. Yet, Hassan persisted independently. He often met the other Hetalians of the time, as long as Justinian was there. He saw Germany and France and the others just learning to walk and babble, while he and Justinian played tag. The boy wore Roman armour, but he was different than Rome. And, he was freer than Egypt. In fact, Byzantium - the East Roman Empire, "owned" the country of Egypt. Yet Justinian let Hassan mostly alone.
What Hassan did not fully have, then, was a boss. He saw Justinian conquer more and more, rise in power, and talk with his bosses. Mother Egypt generally let her bosses to themselves, and Hassan, not wanting a Greek, Roman (or Byzantine) boss, didn't associate with them. But the country was growing power hungry. And with that lust, he began to grow. He felt no ill-will for his playmate - Justinian, after all, had had no say in dominating him, it was thrust upon him as much as countrydom had been thrust upon Hassan - but he wanted freedom.
And then, the chance came, in the form of yet another religion to come to rise.
Islam.
Hassan had human friends - he always had, and always would. They didn't know who he was, of course, other than a boy who acted much older than he was. Now about twelve, he ran into the Muslims. He was entranced by them...and their desire to conquer them. Hassan didn't like the idea at first, but as he hung out near their camps, he realized none of these Muslim men were from anywhere. They had no place. They could become Egypt, and if he was right, they could win him his freedom.
Hassan, for his own part, was not overly concerned about converting. No. But as the Muslim attacks of Egypt began in 695, he sat back and watched. This sort of raiding would hurt. But it would free him of domination by his friend. Religion was just as much a tool as a sword or lance.
Islam and Freedom: 695 CE - 1095 CE
The Islamic "conquest" of Egypt brought much chance for the Coptic Christian Hassan. Firstly, it brought Justinian to his "aid". Justinian told Hassan he would never let a heathen force take him, and fought viciously. Hassan stood by, praying to the Gods his mother worshipped that the Muslims would win. The Caliph held fast, and Egypt dropped free of Byzantium. Hassan can still remember the woe of his friend as he hugged Hassan and told him he'd tried to keep the Muslim pigs away, but the Muslims were also at his door, now, and Justinian couldn't keep Egypt. Hassan pretended to be torn, but now? Now he was fully in control. The Caliphate was his boss, and he was an independent country. He always had been, to assorted extents (or he wouldn't exist) but now? Now he was in his own power, and the boy-country grew into a fifteen year old, a tall, muscular one. With all the riches to export and profits to be made, Hassan quickly became a powerhouse. Suddenly, Hassan was one of the most powerful countries in the world. He was a pinnacle of science, philosophy and poetry. Suddenly, he was stronger than all the rest, and while still "young", he carried himself like his Mother, someone that no one but he had met. By this point, all the Ancient/Classical countries were dead, mere legends that the now-strong Hassan, and to a far lesser extent, Justinian, had met.
Hassan, furthermore, felt a pull to Islam. Both personally, and as more and more of his people converted. So, he joined the new country that was Syria, and became a Muslim Hetalian.
Justinian, needless to say, felt shocked and betrayed. The two teenage boys still traded, but far less, and Justinian was constantly muttering about how Hassan and Syria were heathens, and how Syria was always at his gates. Removed Geographically ad unwilling to attack Justinian, Hassan stayed out of that. nstead, he enjoyed becoming again one of the most rich, prized, and powerful nations. He knew that like his mother, he was being eyed as a prize. But he refused to crumble.
The Crusades and a Name: 1095 CE - 1272 CE
Religion. Hassan had been of three main religions, each corresponding to an era. But now, he was entrapped in Islam, and he was okay with that. In fact, as religious fevor heightened in Europe, so to did it heighten in the Arab lands. They clawed at Bryzantium, who had aged now to a middle aged man while Hassan now stood a strong, spry eighteen year old, with riches beyond imagining of most of the world. Suddenly, he had power and wealth Germany, England, Italy and even Byzantium lusted after. Hassan could suddenly relate to his mother. He lived in the last of her riches, but didn't fully understand until now. Everyone wanted what he had, be it grain or fine linens, or the fertile lands beside the nile.
However, he had a new ally. Syria. And while he took no part in the attacks against Byzantium, he did nothing to stop them, either. His desire was for his country to gain power, but to tromp through Syria was a long and dangerous task for humans at the best of times.
The First Crusade was the most successful for the Europeans, but it didn't yet reach Egypt. The second crusade wasn't very important to Hassan, either.
But the Third?
Yeah, things got interesting there. Firstly, just before the Third Crusade began, Syria came to Hassan with interesting news - they shared a boss, but yet neither country ruled the other. It was a rare, and delicate situation, never mind in a time of war, but there it was. They shared a boss called most commonly Saladin, Sultan of Egypt and Syria.
"Come, Hassan, you must meet him." Syria begged. "I know you don't like meeting bosses, but he's nice. And war's coming. Don't you want to meet this boss? He knows about me, so he knows you exist, too. Please?" Syria had persisted, and finally, won out. Hassan agreed to meet Saladin in Damascus.
"So you're Egypt." Hassan can still remembered Saladin looking him up and down. "You're a very quiet fellow. From what Syria tells me, most of the other counties are loud."
"I'm loud sometimes." Hassan had persisted. "But mother taught me being loud wasn't always as important as being present."
"You're not very present, either." Saladin had looked him in the eye. "Your country does very well for itself, step out onto the world stage, Hassan. The others, I'm sure, fear your ability to stand in the fact of time. You've seen more countries rise and fall than any other, you know. Don't be afraid to take up the stick you stabbed Rome in the eye with."
"You know about that?" Hassan asked, eyes wide.
"Syria told me." The sultan laughed. "Germania never let him live it down, so of course his children knew about it, and from there it spread. You may not have killed him, but that was gusty."
"Well...I guess I can be a bit more...known?" Hassan shrugged. Though the crusades, Hassan fought alongside Syria, alongside human soldiers. His religious fevor was boosted so much - particularly in the third Crusade, that this is when he took up a middle name. Muhammad. There was no going back for Egypt then, when it came to Islam, though he did tolerate other religions in his turf than any other Arab country did (or, for that matter, still does), mostly as a throwback to his own religiously varied roots. Personally, Hassan will still default back to his mother's Gods, or even Christianity in some situations, though not for long and not in the public eye.
For much of the middle ages, Hassan was left to himself, barring a couple invasion here and there, but he grew virtually unchallenged in the middle east. One notable mention, however, is the death of Justinian.
In 1453, Byzantium was a worn-out man. Hassan, by contrast, was still a strapping teen with plenty of poltical clout, known to everyone as a mysterious, elusive, but still dangerous, nation. His childhood friend, however? He was little more than a scattered land.
"Hassan." Justinian had croaked. He'd come to Hassan's great palace in Cairo, where the two had once played while hiding from various classical nations about the nasty prank involving elephants, Persia, underwear and Rome, one last time. "I can't believe this, but Constantinople is going to fall. It's May 29th, 1453...and I feel like..." Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Hassan, I..." He opened his mouth, but only blood came out. Hassan screamed. He knew his mother had dissolved into the sand, her ending somewhat peaceful (he hoped) but Constantinople fell in war. And Justinian, resultantly, was in great pain. "Help!" Hassan reached out and grabbed his friend as he collapsed.
"I...I couldn't..." Egypt as a people, after all, would never have come to Byzantium's aid, no matter how much Hassan pushed for it.
"I know..." Justinian managed to mumble, as he clutched his friend's back. Hassan held him up, and the mere force of doing so sent his hands into Justinian. The country was falling apart right then and there. Hassan lowered him to the ground, pulled his hands out of rotting flesh, and watched his friend twitch and convulse on the ground, until it was all over, and all that was left was a skeleton. The day Constantinople fell, Byzantium did too.
Hassan buried Byzantium in Constantinople, in a flower garden of the royal palace, and has yet to return to the spot, if it can even be found by now. The death shook his greatly, as it was the only one he fully witnessed, and he feels that most nations today aren't fully aware of their own mortality.
1882 - 1952 : Arthur and his Exploits
From 1882 until the revolution of Egypt in 1952, Hassan was again a country under foreign rule. This time, it was Arthur, like much of the world at the time. The 1952 revolution was the first one that Hassan really participated in, but not the last one...as Egypt once again was free, after a couple Presidents, it fell to the hands of Hosni Mubarak...and we all know what happened in 2011...
2011: The Arab Spring
This was a revolution Hassan is immensely proud of. A mostly peaceful, popular uprising that spurred on the rest of the Arab world, and the most successful. Hassan was right in the mix with the rebels, getting in trouble, and arrested once. He broke again thanks to a little bit of Time-Warping, and the fact that Mubarak's officials knew what he was, and released him on fat he just couldn't be part of an uprising. But he was.
Proud as he was of the Arab Spring, it also put him in a spot where who, exactly, was his boss was tough to determine, and he doesn't fully trust the Muslim Brotherhood that came to power. So for now, he took his black lady jackal, Amira, and began to wander. He got to Canada, and with some luck and skill, found his way to the New World Academy, where again he plans to make himself known after a long period of relative obscurity.
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your age: 19
your gender: I HAS PENIS
other characters: nupe
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School was a wonderful thing. Isabella couldn't say she enjoyed homework, but she tried not to complain. After all, there was a time when no one, let alone people like her, could get an education and learn to read. She tried not to complain to much, but she did dislike math. It was hard for her. Isabella liked languages, the studies of anthropology, warfare, gym, and the arts. She appreciated math and science, but it went over her head often enough. She got the concepts, but...they just didn't work as well in her mind. So when the bell rang o signify the end of math, Isabella was glad, even if it meant...you guessed it....
Math homework. In an attempt to make it more pleasant, the brunette girl shoved her books away and headed for the great outdoors, somewhere on the grounds where he'd be mostly alone to focus, but not cooped up in a dorm by her lonesome. Open sky and some grass and trees sounded like a good place. Not too many distractions, but not a while room with nothing in it, either - not that her dorm had nothing in it, it was a mess, but that was another story - that would drive her insane.
She wove through throngs of people to get to the exit, and then took her time across the grounds. It was a lovely day, and Isa was glad she just had her short sleeved T, not a hoodie or anything else. The breeze was nice, and the sky was blue. Perfect for a game of soccer...or, in her case, working out polynomials. After some walking, she came to a small copse of trees and threaded through it, looking for a place to sit when she heard some humming. Or some kind of humming - a song composed of 'la's' to a tune. Curious, Isabella moved towards the source of the sound. The singer didn't sound like any of the musicians that she knew of around Riverdale. The singer, firstly, was female and not Drizzle Beneto, and was female, so couldn't be resident asshole Errol.
She came out of the trees to see a girl about ten feet to her left, the singer, it seemed. Isabella had seen her a couple times around school, she thought. The girl seemed a bit shoved around, form what she saw, as well. So, Isa, being the typical Isa, walked over. While straight-backed with a long stride, Isabella didn't come just marching in, the kinda meandered over, hoping not to startle the girl too much; she did seem a bit lost in thought. Once the sophomore had closed the distance between the two, she spoke, a very light french accent on her words.
"Hello," She began with a smile. She looked the girl over, and at her notebook, which caused her brown eyes to light up. "I don't mean to pry, but I heard you, and...are you writing a song?"
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