"Good afternoon. Please. Come take a seat, Raven."

Were the very first words that were uttered out of the Professor Thorn's mouth despite what he had done to one of his students earlier in the day. At first, Raven expected to be met with more hostility, if not... anger, but this welcoming gesture along with an offer to take a seat down on a chair wasn't something he'd anticipated. It surprised him a little, to think that he wasn't met with any sort of rebuking statements - not yet anyway. Then, as the professor sat himself down, the young hunter did the same as he looked around the room. 

Much like his character, the room seemed quite spartan. There was very little to no luxuries that one could find in this teacher's office except some chairs, desks and things that he needed to complete the day's work. He also took notice of a small coffee machine along with racks of teabags lined up next to it. What caught the brunette's golden eyes the most was a very queer-looking staff that was leaned against the corner of the room. It was black as the night sky, and had tribal grooves carved and etched directly onto the surface in a ritualistic manner. The metal staff seemed to hold no special functions of its own, but it couldn't be denied that it was indeed a deadly weapon. A single swing from that could easily break and crush skulls if done right, and its extended range made it all the more threatening. In hands of a master, a staff could be all sorts of things and a very troublesome weapon to deal with. 

Then, Raven set his pair of golden iris back to the professor, now studying him in a same manner that the older, experienced hunter was doing. "I've heard that you're a mute, yes?" The man asked him, pushing him a small notepad - as well as a pen to help him communicate. It was a good thing, too, considering that his scroll had run out of batteries a little while ago during his travel back to the academy. The boy took his eyes off of the teacher and took up the items that he was given. 

"I like to inform myself on students to blow past uncomfortable beginnings. It's obvious why I called you in today yes?"

Of course. Raven had long known about it before he'd came in here. He figured that he was going to be called up to one of the teacher's offices sooner or later after the fight. Lily had taken a serious wound to the chest, a burn and from a very high density rubber meant to withstand extreme temperatures. It wasn't exactly something that'd impede her from her normal day-to-day activities, but the boy had a feeling that it was going to definitely leave a permanent burn scar and undoubtedly a hole at a center of the dress that she wore. Well - it couldn't be called much of a dress anymore. If anything, they looked more like rags than to call it as such.

Raven took up his pen with his mechanical hand, and started to write on the notepad that he was given before holding up the message up to the teacher.

<"That much is obvious."> Raven sighed, <"If you're going to make me write some sort of letter of apology to the girl, then let's get it over with already. I'm getting tired of being asked about this issue left and right when it's already over."> 

Was he hearing this right?

The White-haired Terror wasn't going to make him write a letter of apology? Usually, the rebuking always started like this, and ended there whenever he found himself being called to the office of one of the teachers, but he'd heard that this man was rather unorthodox in the way he taught, so the rumors had to be true. Professor Thorn even went as far as criticizing that the teachers weren't doing their jobs properly. However, this entire notion made the brunette frown. It wasn't really because this wasn't exactly ending the way he thought it was supposed to, rather, the professor was bringing up the subject that it had already ended, and was asking the typical, same damned questions that the others were asking.

Why? Why did this happen between them? What caused the uproar earlier during the day? The boy was already growing sick and tired of it, and a frown slowly made itself apparent on his stalwart features. "So tell me Raven. In the most accurate way possible to tell me why you and Lily fought. And why you caused such an injury to a fellow student." Why indeed. Since the man was asking, he might as well give him an answer to sate his unquestionable curiosity. Raven didn't want to drag this any further than he needed to, so arguing with Professor Thorn that it was already over would only escalate the time he'd have to spend in this place. 

Raven thought about it, his pen tapped in a consistent beat against the fresh sheet of note that he'd flipped over earlier. Where to begin...? For him, he thought it started with a slight misunderstanding on both of their parts. They'd taken each others' bags (which looked same in design as well as in color) and led to the kind of shitstorm that started in the training grounds. It was a mess, really - though he'd got off with an obvious victory, his win almost certainly didn't feel like one. Perhaps it was because their fight had ended prematurely, thanks to his combat boot that had turned molten right on her small body. 

<"I guess you could say that it all started with a slight misunderstanding on both of our parts,"> The boy wrote, <"We took each others' bags. I intended on giving it back to her, and because I wasn't able to communicate with her the way I could properly, I got angry, threw her bag, and it all started from there. Also, I didn't intend on giving the kind of burn that I had 'supposedly' given her. It was actually because of her semblance that caused the sole of one of my combat boots to melt on her chest while I was stepping on her to keep her from escaping. Of course, I'd gotten away with some scratches, but she's got something that'd leave a mark on her for a while, no doubt."> 

After Raven had given Professor Thorn an adequate enough time to read, the boy returned the pen and the note to him before crossing the arms over on his chest, giving him a look as if to ask him if he could go now. Somewhere in his mind, however, the boy had a feeling that the teacher wasn't going to let him go this easily. The man had something more in his mind. That green eye of his was still yet looking at him attentively. 

Anger and miscommunication. That couldn't describe their situation any better than what the Professor Thorn had said. Almost at the same time, both the teacher and the student simply let their backs collapse against their respective chairs in an exhausted manner. Though it was really more towards lines of a mild annoyance for the brunette, because he wasn't being let out in a timely manner. To him, this felt like one of those counseling sessions for the Anger Management, which did nothing to help him. They always thought he was making progress with how he expressed himself, they always told him that he was getting better, what a joke. He was always surrounded by fellows by those that had their own problems. How could the they possibly expect to understand his own when he couldn't understand theirs? The teachers told him to talk about it, and when he did, it was always something along the lines of 'I'm sorry that this happened to you', or 'things will get better'.

Placing his hands in his pockets, the brunette's attention went back to the teacher when he spoke of an old proverb. It sounded like something he heard a long time ago out of his parents, it was worded differently. Nonetheless, it all meant the same thing: "Basically it means one thing leads to another and another. You nor Lily could be held at fault, Raven. However this behavior is not suited for a Huntsmen. I'll visit Miss Wilde tomorrow to evaluate her health. Hopefully she can resume her studies and training soon. I will also have to test her Semblance again for anything else that might cause harm to her once again."

Raven simply shrugged as if to tell him: 'Go ahead'. From what he'd seen earlier, Lily was running, pouncing and jumping all over the place way faster than he ever could despite the obvious injuries she'd sustained on her body. If the Professor ever saw her again, then no doubt he'd be a little more than surprised at the girl's energy, the willingness to continue. From what the boy had seen, she was tenacious, and was a natural fighter to boot in both literal, and figurative sense. It almost looked as if there was nothing that could possibly hold her down. Truly befitting of the name 'Wilde'. If possible, he wanted to cross fists with her again, though on a more friendlier note than earlier during the day. Both were on good terms now (at least, that's what he liked to believe), they've already put their differences behind, so there really shouldn't be any problems arranging a proper spar later down the road without either of them getting hospitalized

However, a sudden question, all too familiar like the one he'd heard from every other teacher was presented before him:

"Before that however there is something I'd like to know...Why are you angry Raven?"

Right, for a moment, he almost forgot that Professor Thorn was also known as one of the few guidance counselor of the academy. It almost felt natural that the man would ask something like this out of him: Why are you angry? The man's expression softened, but it was so subtle that the boy didn't notice. He even went as far as pointing out that he displayed these kinds of tendencies frequently, not only in class, but also, in other places that were outside the classroom environment.  

And neither of them needed to explain what'd happened. Where did his anger begin? He looked back to the days when he first woke up in the hospital, when the news of his parents' death had hit him, thereafter, the only remaining family member he had left spewing hatred on him. The most difficult thing of all was watching her turn away from him, walking out of that room. He couldn't scream, cry, or call her name. Only tears, silence. He balled up his only hand into a fist, and he'd slam it against the wall. Hit it, again, again and again until they bled until the doctors stopped him.

Since that time, he started to punch at his problems. It worked, but before he knew it, he lost everything. Friends, people he cared about. What did the Professor know? He was probably like the rest anyway. He wouldn't know the feeling of not having a voice to scream with, to call back someone you love and hope that she'd at least turn to glance back at you, to lose an arm, and everything else that was important to you. The boy balled up his mechanical hand into a fist, and brought it down on the table like a hammer of god, smashing it up into splinters and pieces with relative ease. Thereafter, his ember-colored eyes glared up at the teacher with so much rage beyond understanding burning behind it. 

He'd then pick up the note and the pen, and write. 

<"You want to know? YOU pissed me off. You professors always say, and ask the same goddamn thing with your shitty 'counseling' sessions, telling me how it's going to get better. Well, guess what, genius: NOTHING is getting better. I've lost my ability to speak, I've lost my arm, I've lost ALL of my friends, I lost my family, and the only family member that I have left HATES me and cut off all ties from me."> He flipped a page, <"So what do YOU know, arrogant asshole? FUCK YOU, I'm going back to my dorm."> 

Throwing both the pen and the note at Professor Thorn, Raven kicked down the door of the man's office, and stormed out, fuming, angry, enraged. Everything that was in his way was tossed aside and torn apart as if a tornado was passing through the entire area, and nobody dared to stand in the mute's way. 

At this point, the brunette was simply running on fumes alone. Taking his rage out on anything that happened to be in his path like a tornado passing through the area. Truly, like some sort of a natural disaster, nobody dared to stand in the way of its onslaught. The boy was blinded by his own emotions. Everything that stood remotely near him was a target of his rage, all life, all objects, everything was equal for his anger was blind. However, Raven's rampage came to a short, abrupt halt when a familiar voice called out to him from behind. The voice carried a hint of irritation - as well as anger behind it, at the same time it was assertive and commanding, much like how a father came to rebuke his child.

“Raven.”  

His golden eyes narrowed before turning his attention towards the guidance counselor who had a very much different look to him than before. Unlike earlier, the man carried a very cold, indifferent look about him and he was armed with a pair of exceptionally durable-looking wooden tonfas reinforced by metal braces. This was something that was never done before. A teacher, coming at him, armed. No, this was not a teacher, the man who stood before the brunette was a professionally trained killer who came out on a hunt.

Of course, the real reason why Professor Thorn had come was to prevent him from causing any more damage. That much was obvious, but the next words that were uttered out of his mouth surprised the boy a little. 

“Come here boy. I am not finished speaking with you.”

Not finished... speaking? The man may have not finished speaking, but the brunette was done with these so-called 'therapies', the 'talks' which did nothing for him. Surely, the professor would've said the same thing anyway. The thought made Raven's lips twist into an angry snarl. He was tired of same bullshit being forced down his throat day after day. Truly, the boy never expected other people to understand his pains and difficulties. Such selfish request was something that he'd never ask, but those who thought they simply think they could understand or understood him simply angered him the most. He was not pitiful. Pity was for the weak. Weakness was a sin in this world. 

Raven was done talking. 

With that, he flicked his right wrist, transforming the bracelet that was clasped onto it make series of ratcheting noises and whirred to life. The series of interlocking plates moved up to his forearm and his fingers, forming itself into an armored gauntlet of silver, Hound. Thereafter, his obsidian left arm rumbled to life, and started to glow in an angry crimson and bright orange. The plates popped out, ripping itself out of the cloth to reveal its true, horrifying form. The clawed index finger flexed towards the teacher, beckoning at the man to stop him. If he dared. 

<"An' guess what, old man? I'm finished talking with you.">