To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong. [CLASS, EVERYBODY WOOO]

Ebony yawned loudly and stretched her arms out wide, getting prepared for her class begin. She had laid out an extremely large sheet of paper over every single table, and dozens of colored pencils, crayons, paint, charcoals, etc. Today would simply be experimentation, a test of knowledge some would think- or more like imagination. She loved art for the pure simple fact that everything is/was considered art. Every design, everything... art.

Grinning at the door, Ebony felt a little excited. She wanted to see how imaginative her little students were, do they have an emotional or logical mind? Everything was fascinating. In the corner of her classroom stood an extremely large canvas, one that went all the way up to the ceiling. /That/ would be a surprise for later, seeing as how it was empty for the time being. Near the large canvas was a much smaller one that Ebony had been messing around with, which happened to show clearly on her paint splattered and paint covered hair. The small canvas she had been working on simply had a small arrangement of colors mixed in a brilliant way, making someeone think that they might fall into it- the colorful abyss.

Walking around her room, in almost a bouncy manner- Ebony's bracelets jingled as she kept on looking at the door; impatient for class to begin.

Saffron was very, very, very excited about class today. She preferred the medium of Fred- that is, her camera- however, pens, pencils, paints, pastels- they intrigued her beyond all other things. She wasn't bad with them either, she could hold her own in any artistic competition, maybe place fifth, fourth or third out of a group of ten or so- at least, so she thought, based on past experience.

In any case, it wasn't first place that she looked for when she did draw or paint- it was just the whole getting emotions out thing. The whole doing her best and doing what she felt thing. That's all.

Entering, dressed herself in grey leggings, a dyed purple jean-shorts and a teal blue scoop-neck, she nodded approvingly to Ms. Queen as she dropped her bag of goodies [just school stuff, really- and a couple chocolates, but shhh- it's a secret] on the floor.

"Gooood morning..." she smiled as she plopped down into her seat. "How are you today Ms. Ebbie?" That's what Saffron called this particular teacher. She never called teachers by what they were supposed to be called, she always weaseled their first names out of them and then switched it up a bit, keeping Ms. or Mrs. or Mr. for politeness. That's just how Saffie does.

For one reason or another, Alistair found himself in a surprisingly good mood that morning. It wasn’t often that the teenager managed to get himself a decent nights sleep, but last night had obviously been an exception as he’d woken up feeling more energized than he had in months. Needless to say, he wasn’t exactly what one would call a ‘morning person’ but nevertheless he strutted into the class with a very pleased expression brightening up his usually brooding features. Sporting a pair of baggy black jeans, studded belt and a bold, red “Famous Stars and Straps” t-shirt Alistair couldn’t help but spare a glance at his reflection in the windows opposite. Though not normally a vain person, he couldn’t help feeling that this morning, he was looking particularly good; a sure sign that the day would be following suit.

“Morning, Ms. Queen!” He said, pushing his thick, red-rimmed shades up onto his head as he slung his bag down onto the floor. Almost unconsciously Alistair ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tidy up his scruffy brown locks. Sparing a fleeting smile for Saffron he took a seat opposite her, leaning lazily back in the chair as he glanced expectantly up at the door.

While he couldn’t say he really felt inspired, the site of so much clean, white paper called to him and Alistair was itching to get started. While that feeling could admittedly have been down to the two cups of coffee he’d had that morning, he was generally an impatient person when it came to his lessons - after all, the sooner class started, the sooner it finished. And the sooner, the better, as far as Ali was concerned.

Ozzie was absolutely terrified to be walking to his first art class at Harriman. He'd never had any kind of formal training in art (hah! like his parents would ever pay for anything like that for their runt), and while he wanted to be good in the subject, he had no idea if the random sketches and doodles that climbed up the edges of his notebook paper even constituted art. He had signed up for the class, though. He was determined to at least make a decent effort out of it, but still he was terrified of being laughed out of class or made fun of by one of the older students who would be in the class with him. And what would the teacher be like? He hoped she wouldn't be anything like most of the other teachers he'd had in his life. Harriman was supposed to be a very selective school, though, so he could only hope that she'd be good enough to be patient with his stubborn and unlearned hands.

Oz poked his head into the classroom, then followed it with his body, which was currently clad in beat up jeans and a gray t-shirt. His eyes widened at the expanses of paper that took up each table and he gave an anxious, friendly smile to the two older students who were already sitting down. He wrapped his hands around the straps of his old backpack and walked quickly over to the group of two students and the teacher. "I reckon I'm in the right class? Two-dee art?" He set his backpack tentatively on the table but made no attempt to sit down. What if he wasn't supposed to sit with people older than him? But there was nobody else, so he would stand here until they told him to leave. "Um, you're Ms. Queen then? I'm Osmond Kendell."

Kaylor brushed her pants off. Paint-splattered as they were, it made no difference how many times she brushed them off, they weren't likely to change. Not that she appeared to be bothered by that. Green leggings and a black tunic, both of which had seen paint before, had been donned this day to commemorate the beginnings of her 2-D art class. In truth, she was incredibly excited for it. So much so that she had actually taken the time to pull her hair up into a mess bun, held there by a pair of decorative chop sticks. She picked up her sketch book, full of sketches from the beginning of the year and rushed out of her dorm.

She practically ran the whole way from the dorm to the classroom. She only paused to catch her breath and check that all of her art supplies were in her bag (along with a bag of freshly baked cookies) before opening the door. Kaylor was unsurprised to find that she was not the first student to reach the class. Nope, not at all. Three had already beat her to it, the youngest of the group was still standing, as though he didn't know if he was allowed to sit or not. "Hello Ms. Queen!" Her voice was warm and soft, the smile that warmed her face full.

She settled into a seat next to young Mr. Twyman. Not because she liked him better than Saffron, but merely because that's where her feet had led her body. She spread her hands over the clean, fresh paper on the table, already yearning to defile such purity with her artwork.