The non-humans are okay, except for Sephalla.
She's a nightmare, literally. That's the kind of, what, "racial" descriptor? A nightmare is like a horse-demon, so she's quite like the other horse-kids but with coal-black fur and a mane of living rebellious fire, in her case blue giving way to vivid red.
She's also, unmistakeably, a complete and utter prick.
Mud in my mouth, because she tripped me on the field. A crack on my phone, because she knocked it out of my hands. Buttons missing on my shirt. Half of my tie missing. My shoes on the goddamn library roof.
Nobody likes Sephalla. "The Magnificent"? My fucking arse.
I can't exactly fight her. Sephalla is about eight-and-a-half feet tall. She's muscular, toned, and -- most annoyingly -- very, very attractive. The horse girls are generally pretty cute, but Sephalla is gorgeous, and womanly in a way that most adult women must envy her for. Curves like a race-track, breasts bigger than my head, a backside that could crush steel between its cheeks.
'Seph, why did Jake feel the need to report your behaviour towards him as bullying?'
Ugh. They send us to a sessions with the school counsellor, Mr Mayhew, a weak willowy rod of a man. To sit opposite her is ridiculous, as if her claim has as much weight as mine. She's like twice my size, and inhuman besides that; nightmares are demonic, not even regular non-humans, way beyond human limits.
'He's annoying,' she says. Sephalla's voice is sultry, dark, syrupy-sweet, black treacle. 'He's always in my way. I can't exactly see him without looking down, after all.' The nightmare rolls her coal-fire eyes at me, red irises with a hint of flame-blue. 'I can't help bumping into him.'
Mr Mayhew makes notes, and looks my way. 'And Jake,' he says, adjusting his glasses, 'what do you say to this?'
