Jahlan of Agrabah

"Ah! Fuck these cursed stones–these imbeciles couldn't afford to renovate this place!? Heh–haven't gotten pierced like that in a long time..."

The Agrabahn flicked his hand away from the cracked rocks jutting out from the parapet. He looked down at the reflection of the shackles around his wrists, the golden chains stringing their way up his arm and then below his skin; his blood shining gold spilling from the gash on his palm. The boy squeezed his hand into a fist, as if ringing the wound dry, fighting the urge to wince–though he found it in him to laugh all throughout.

He'd been wandering aimlessly through the halls of Auradon Preparatory, better acclimated to the surroundings then his other companions from the Isle. Still, the school carried with it a coldness he'd only remembered from The Isle–even the slums of Agrabah extended him a warmer embrace. If anything the places just gave him more walls to climb, provisions and regulations to ignore, and a "healthy alternative" to his "violent streak" in the way of sporting activities with his fellow peers. A broken stairwell was enough invitation for Jahlan to find himself some rooftop access.

He'd noticed the other person up there the second he'd kicked down the door. How they'd managed to find themselves up there as well–he cared a tad.

"Seems we've both have some good ideas don't we? Got another cool guy in this place after all."