In the blight of the figure's awakening, they heard the sails begin to ride alongside a wind from an unknown source. A chilling, artificial temperature dampened the world around the vessel, leading it into a dark and twisted sea. Arctic spires passed by the port and starboard sides. Trails of fragmented ice littered the oceans around them. A fog obscured the way. A creak of steel, wood and iron echoed through the blackness. Beyond the confinement of the ship, only the thick mist hid the horizon. Crashing wave and curling tidal currents slammed against the hull and sprayed a frozen shower onto the deck. Two large masts of velvet sails dragged the motionless vessel through. Between them, three iron funnels lay in dormancy. No plumes of burnt coal puffed from its chimney, only the silent and deathly silence it carried with it. Across from the deck, a rectangular room, laced with glaciers of stained glass in 20 unfamiliar signs presented itself. Its door slowly opened, and inside it, the doings of two hidden individuals played out. First, circling the room in a twirling long-coat, a lean and fluid dance occupied the navy-toned Attendant. Their voice hummed a tune they'd never heard before, and yet it was instantly recognisable. Delicate harmonies battled against the raging waves outside, toying with the idea that perhaps there was more beauty inside the twisted world they inhabited than they'd realised. However, at the helm of the Captain's bridge, an odd figure stood, clad in a suit with a small Officer's Cap.

Igor sat in delightful patience. The hour would soon be upon them. A course could finally be set, and the vessel left stranded in aimless hopelessness. He chuckled, a wheeze from behind his teeth and a snort exhaled from his pointed nostrils. As he spun, the Attendant looked back at him, halting their spin. Igor soon drew the final breath of his chuckle and wiped his eyes with the parade-gloved hands. Adjusting the hat placed upon him by the Attendant, he felt a slight irritation towards wearing it. Rolling his eyes at his assistant's gentle chuckle, he readjusted himself and composed his posture.

"Well, if it isn't a delight to finally begin the due process. All roads once...lead to their destinations eventually. Though, I must apologise for the restlessness of my Attendee, they've been waiting quite a long time." With a gestured hand, he laid an open palm towards the Naval-Clad Attendant. Their twirling flowed elegantly into a courteous bow, one that contrasted the stillness of the Captain's helm.

"I can only wait so long before I get bored. But you're here now, so that's all I can be thankful of!"

The hall fell silent as the Attendant led the shadowy figure towards the desk, standing them directly in front of Igor. One could've sworn they'd seen another face or two, but nothing of a crowd. Instead, they were met well with Igor's great eyes, staring them up and down unlike ever before. His scrutiny felt unmatched, a scanning gaze tearing through clothes, skin and bone, straight to their heart. It was a sensation unlike any other, somewhat fearful and anxiety-inducing. A tear into their soul finished in absolute quietness. A solitary churn came from deep within the ship. Somewhere, down in its bowels, the engine room seemed to scream for help, for alleviation from its course and vile static abandonment. Igor waved his hand in the sky, beckoning for the guest to ignore its brutalised pleas. An apparition of a card deck sparked before him as he chuckled, drowning out all ambience with the sombre tune of a piano, similar to that of the one hummed by the Attendant. Where the tune came from was unseen, yet it felt almost all around the room, almost as if it were a part of the room itself.

"In times of dire circumstance, sometimes one must always hold a spare at hand. Sometimes it could be a spare tyre, a new sail or...a new awakening. Something will make its way to your doorstep in close proximity. Time will be against you. The world may be against you. You'll potentially find allies, but there will be foes in your way. I look forward to gambling on your journey to set a course through this vapid ocean you've created. Goodbye, for now. We'll meet once you hit the brick wall." And with a smile of giddy intent, the entire room collapsed into darkness, and the dream was soon subsided with that of blight. The world returned to how it once was. Dreams remained as dreams. Mysteries remained potently mysterious. The cryptic speech, however, lingered in the minds of the attentive.

---

The alarm had been particularly annoying that dreary Monday morning. A thumping fist slammed down on the alarm clock. Its ever-growling screech pestered his dreams, giving him a return to reality. Grumbles and morning groans combated its wail right up until it turned off. He couldn't slack off anymore. The time was then and he had to get up, to shower and to do all things that normal people did. It should've been an exciting day. The second week of University starting off with a bang. Laurence wasn't timetabled any lessons on the Monday but going in to study and talk to whoever wanted to bother doing so was always a treat in some alternative universe. The routine of the morning went by sickly. His breakfast tasted stale, the toaster refused to work with him and the showerhead nearly detached itself from the wall for a second time in two days. Everything else about the flat was well kept, in good condition and fairly decent for the price he'd gotten it at.

An hour ticked by. He finished, dressed himself and braved into the streets, a glum and emotionless gaze upon his face. He'd had a weird dream. It wasn't uncommon. There were faces in it of people he didn't know. A flurry of crowds occupied the streets as he took the journey as he always did. A cold September breeze violated the sky with the typical English weather. The sunshine had mostly gone and the downpour was right around the corner. At least he could make do of the Autumn atmosphere before going outside became more of a oceanic survival mission than a general stroll to university.

Laurence passed by all the regular small shops and did to rekindle his senses. The vibrant smells of bakery produce, confectionery, bacon butties, hashbrowns and all things inbetween made for a wonderful reminder of what he didn't have. Eventually, he saw the pearly gates to his institution on the corner of his road, and he put on a smile. Inside, a bustle of faces he'd not seen before coated the outside and inside world. Freshers, of course. The usual university goers had already segmented themselves to early classes, social gatherings or private studies early on into the year. For Laurence, it was a case of brainstorming, finding a general distraction to get him away from the dark lingering cloud that held above his face.

Moving past the crowds, he waved a silent hand to the few people who nodded in his direction, the courteous welcoming that everyone seemed to give, regardless of who it was. From there, entered the main building and indulged himself in the loving warmth of its interior heating. Blissful, definitely. And so, he moved to one of the many common areas, preferably the one with the least amount of individuals around him. Even in his desire to get straight to work, the contents of a peculiar dream had his imagination running wild. Whether or not it was a clever conjuration for a new film project or a spark of his conscience whispering to him, it didn't change who he was in the moment of it all. He truly believed that life would remain the same, a spiral upward that left no desire to satisfy himself with. There was no love at the top, just as there was at the very bottom. And, just as he had before, he truly believed that the rest of the day would go unnoticed, without a flicker of conversation, hope or surprise.

---

Felix awoke with a start, banging his head on the wall. Clutching his head, he swore to high heaven in gaelic. That motherfucking dream again. That blasted ship.

The worst part to Felix was he never remembered much of the dream, merely the swaying of the ship and the long nosed man. There were no clues, just glimpses. It was legitimately driving him round the bend as it was a challenge with no answer. The only conclusion he could come to was that the man on the ship was Mannan, and that his subconscious was telling him that his current path would lead on his ship to the underworld. Like he needed to be reminded of that, but he couldn't help himself from diving into challenges.

Looking at the clock, he sighed as it was half an hour before he was supposed to get up, though with the throbbing pain there was no point trying to get more rest. He staggered over to the bathroom, hissing like a cat as he showered. It wasn't that he hated showers, but they made his 'ears' even more poofy and cute. At least according to women who insisted on treating him like a cat. However, the cold water helped with his headache.

Drying off his hair, the two bangs immediately spiking back up, the puffy traitors. He pulled on his usual oufit, and grabbed a glass of milk and some toast from the pub kitchen. Odin didn't mind him taking stuff from there as long as he wasn't cheeky about it. Usually he'd cook up some eggs and either bacon or sausages, but he wasn't particularly in the mood today.

Finishing his light breakfast, he stretched before beginning his run towards the university. It was a great test of agility to weave through the crowds that populated London without losing speed. He preferred not to get close enough to... people... as they always seemed to be put off by him for some reason. Eh, one of life's great mysteries.

The instant Kirsty's eyes blinked open, she could feel their weight. They pulled downward as if strung by sandbags, a powerful argument for her to sink back into her pillow and the soothing world of sleep beneath. This time, however, she couldn't. She could never resist the first time, hence the second alarm ten minutes afterward. The first awakening served only to reel her up from the depths, slack enough to let her comfortably drift back down into the shallow waters of a light sleep. By the time the second alarm hit her, however, she knew it was time to rise, fishlike, from the deep, and face the new day.

She sat up, threw off the covers, kicked her legs out over the side of the bed, and stretched out to her phone to turn off the alarm. By keeping it on her desk a couple feet away, she was forced to pick herself up and reach out to turn it off. More activity meant less chance of more snoozing. At this point Kirsty made use of an efficient system, but many a missed breakfast and rushed shower paved that road. It was time to start her morning routine, but this time, after taking care of the alarm, she sat on the bed staring between her planted feet at the dorm's dark carpet.

Her head swam. It'd been hard waking up lately. It wasn't that Kirsty particularly loved sleeping or anything; she couldn't even remember her dream, if she had one. But nothing made her want to get up. Any hopes of a new beginning with the new semester changed halfway through the first week, when the typical introductory period gave way to business as usual. Already plans had been laid out for a research project that'd be taking place over the course of months, starting with extensive searching and ending with time at a real news outlet. Things would be just the same as before, unless they happened to be harder. Even though things had yet to really start, she already felt tired. Not interested, not driven, not excited...just lost, dazed. Yet she had to do something, so up she came.

After a brief period in the washroom, Kirsty emerged in proper clothes and with her hair tied up. She withdrew some grounds from a plastic bag with a plastic spoon and loaded her little coffee machine, indifferent to the use of last week's water in the tank, left sitting over the weekend. As it got to work she left her room and headed for the kitchen, where her clearly-marked box of cereal and bags of dried fruit waited for her. While she and her friend Annalynn often shared meals in here, the portly brunette did not return to the university the night before like Kirsty did, and there seemed to be no-one else around at the moment. Thus, a glum breakfast ensued in perfect quietude, with Kirsty staring out the window as she munched away. Cold, dreary, and liable to rain later. It would be an inhospitable day. Idly Kirsty wondered what her acquaintances would think if they saw her slumped here, leaning on her elbow over a bowl of soggy multi-grain, her half-closed eyes dull as a stormy sky.

When Kirsty left Student Accommodation a short time later, she bounced along with a sunny expression, treating anyone who looked her way to a smile. Today the 'fresh meat', as put by some, was arriving in bulk. A great many students from all walks of life, all bearing worries about costs, classes, friends, futures, or something, would be making their university debut. Not even all the faculty members who those students were paying would be extending them a warm welcome, so Kirsty made it her mission to try and ease as many minds as possible. Maybe they'd think her weird, but if she made even one heart feel welcome, it would be well worth it. “Heya! Hi! Welcome to Thames Edge!” She greeted them, either individually or in small groups. “Have a great day! Good morning! Enjoy yourself! Have a good one!” A familiar haircut caught her eye, and Kirsty waved. “Hey, Annie!”

Her target looked up, blue eyes scanning the crowd for the familiar voice. “Oh, hi!”

The girls met briefly, exchanging a hug. Annalynn looked to be in something of a hurry. “Good morning!” Kirsty said. “I'll see you in class, okay? You know where to go?”

Annalynn shook her head. “That's the problem! I lost my schedule, so I was gonna try and connect to the wifi and pull up my student page. Unless you know where to go? Can you tell me?”

“Of course!” Kirsty shared the room number and building name with her friend, and a moment later the two parted ways. Evidently Annalynn needed to do something else in her room, so Kirsty proceeded onward. Before she got another ten feet she got stopped by a pair of nervous-looking freshman who asked her, with almost comical trepidation, for directions. Once Kirsty sorted them out she got underway once more. Before lecture she needed to conduct a little more research, so she made for a common area. For the coming research project she needed to find five articles from different news outlets all covering the same topic, and since Annalynn had a trip over the weekend, Kirsty not only volunteered to help her but to find hers first. Of course, the lists could have no overlap, since that could arouse suspicion. That meant three more solid articles concerning homelessness. It'd been easy to find coverage on Brexit for Annalynn, but this topic was a bit harder and a lot sadder.

With a sigh Kirsty looked around to find a seat. She passed a guy who waved at her, and she waved back with a smile. He seemed more at home than the freshmen, so she figured he must be a second-year at least. “Hiya!” she said. “Hope you enjoyed your summer. Welcome back!” Then he was gone, headed somewhere else, and Kirsty found a place by the walkway where she could crack open her laptop and get searching.

---

Eyes slowly opened. Covers paler than bleach weren't even on the waking young adult. John groggily brought a hand to his face and rubbed them until he felt a little bit more awake. He pulled off the small part of the cover that was still fulfilling its objective and got out of bed. He stretched and yawned before muttering to himself.

"Another one?" He yawned again after expressing that sentiment. He's been having reoccurring dreams that might warrant a trip to a therapy. They're all somewhat different, yet they always end the same.

With him nearly dying.

This one was just the latest surreal one where he was on a road with both sides surrounded by Yield Signs as far as the eye can see and a truck barreling down that very same road at abnormal speeds. He mostly recalls his expression being shown by the front mirror. The widening of his eyes before everything turning white and him waking up. At this point, he would welcome even a nightmare as long as it doesn't end with him basically dying.

He can already imagine what kind of crap any wack job therapist would cook up. Maybe something like, "this might be due to a latent desire for death. I recommend coming for weekly checkups." Pointless stuff like that he could've easily figured out on his own to make him waste money.

That thought made him scoff out loud before heading to the bathroom to carry out his daily motions. He may be a scummy, rotten person, but he still acknowledges the importance of hygiene. He opened his bathroom door and pulled a toothbrush from his mug. He grabbed the superior toothpaste brand, Colgate, and proceeded to clean out the gunk.

With that done, he went over to his kitchen and opened the fridge to see if there was anything quick and easy to microwave. A slimy grin grew on his face when he saw cup noodles sitting in there.

"Just need hot water and let it sit in there for three to five minutes," he muttered to himself. He used that time to change clothes and get dressed. From a gray t-shirt and boxers to a long-sleeved black shirt and gray pants. The cup of noodles were still spinning inside a cheap microwave, so John was left staring at it until he heard the ding.

He grabbed a fork and devoured the whole thing. He then dumped it in the trashcan and cleaned his fork before placing it back where he got it. He then stared at nothing.

"What was I supposed to be doing again... Oh, right." He scratched the back of his head. That's right. Today's his first day attending this university. He glanced at his laptop with a charger plugged into it. The green light symbolized it was fully charged, but...

"I'll be late if I screw around." He took one look at his phone and realized he couldn't mess around on the internet. He sighed and picked up his bag that held notebooks and pencils. He hesitated in front of the door. He, a former shut-in is finally trying to open up to society.

He pulled the door open. He forced himself through all that pathetic hesitation and fear and locked the door to his dorm. "First class is..." He memorized his schedule so he went onwards.

Knock knock.

Adonna took her fingers off the keys, swiveling in her chair to face the room door she'd left open.

"Morning," her cousin greeted, his smile sleepy but appearance groomed and his suit immaculate. They'd both been up around the same time, but while Virgil had been all over the large apartment getting ready for the morning, Adonna had quietly used her bathroom, put on clothes, and continued the work she'd left over from last night.

Sound didn't travel well in the apartment, and their respective rooms were on the opposite sides of the large space, so she could have slept in longer, but she had never liked sleeping while someone else was up and about. Besides, this schedule agreed with her.

It was about time for her to leave, which was usually when he ventured over to this side of the apartment to say a quick hello.

"Morning, Virgil," she returned, leaning against the pillow-cushion she'd thrown onto the chair for added comfort.

"How's the research going?"

"It's... I'll be more comfortable once I have more," the dark-haired woman admitted.

He shook his head, still smiling. "I get you want to know all sides, but sometimes it's more effective if you just use strongest pieces of information to make an argument."

"I don't want to pick and choose, I want to know what's right."

Virgil laughed, "Why'd you pick this major, again?"

Adonna, with no change in expression, pulled the cushion behind her and chucked it right across the room.



On mornings that Virgil went late into the office, Adonna was driven to the University by his driver. Still a weird concept, if she let herself think about it.

Usually the backseat of the car was enough to lull her into sleep, giving her a few minutes of reprieve before she had to get going for the rest of the day.

But, today, the hum of white-noise instead took her to that odd dream. Her dreams were usually blurs. Constant motion, faces that didn't make sense, didn't exist, and could never quite be focused on. But this dream had been more... grounded. She could still recall the clear faces, strange as they were. And a deck of cards. Why that detail wouldn't leave her mind, she wasn't certain. Or why the dream kept pulling for her attention when all else was quiet.



When she arrived, after thanking the driver, she absent-mindedly headed in, only after passing the gates did she process the crowd of young faces and nervous, excited energy.

Ah, right. Freshmen. That was today, wasn't it?

"..donna."

Adonna looked about, certain she'd heard her name.

"Hey! Adonna!" the short third-year tugged at the hem of Adonna's shirt.

"Carol, hi, sorry."

Carol shook her head, her nape-length blond hair shaking with it. "In a rush? Chat a minute," she bobbed her head towards a small box where her friends were gathered.

Adonna checked her phone to confirm, and then followed the bubbly blonde to the makeshift table.

There were a few freshmen around the box-turned-table, as well. One of Carol's friends, another third-year, was placing down cards, flipping them over, and making revealations that caused a few of the freshmen to giggle, and one to blush.

A deck of cards...

"...Tarot?" Adonna questioned, raising a brow towards Carol, "Is that part of that thing you do... astro..." She fought with herself to remember if it was 'logy' or 'nomy'.

"Astrology?" Carol looked up at Adonna with glittering blue eyes, and chuckled, "I love your thinking face, you look like you're about to committ heinous murder."

"Sorry, no, I--"

"Shh, don't explain," Carol insisted, "Ruins the mystery," she grinned at her tall friend's expense. "No, not exactly, I mean, there's a connection between astrology and tarot with the major arca..." she stopped herself, remembering her audience, "Nevermind, there's a connection, pretty much."

"Oh..." Not being able to make heads or tails of it, Adonna wasn't sure what else to add.

"Wanna have a go?"

She took a look at the laid out cards, and shook her head. "I should really head in."

"Oh, c'mon!" Carol took Adonna's elbow, and the taller woman didn't resist.

"Will it take long?"

"Uh..." Carol bit her lip. "Well..." she looked over at her friend manning the cards.

"It can. How about you do the short version? Here," the card-reader said, taking the face up cards and putting them face-down on the rest of the deck before shuffling. "Pick one," she fanned out the cards. It was impressive how large of an arc she managed to make with such small palms.

A deck of cards. Why was she remembering that dream, again?

"Adonna?" Carol's voice drew her back in.

"Right, yes." She picked one unceremoniously, running a thumb over the shiny back before turning it ove- "Oof!" She steadied herself, the unseen card falling onto the box-table as she turned her eyes onto the source of the sudden force.

"I'm so sorry!" a young freshman apologized, then quickly turned to the reader. "Sorry! I ran here, here's my friend, the one I mentioned?" she put her hand on the shoulder of an equally out-of-breath girl, pink and grinning sheepishly, "Can we do a quick one before class starts?"

"Sure, but--" Adonna raised her hand, shaking her head, already taking a few steps back. "...But, no buts! Here we go."

Fiddle's alarm clock went ignored, its harsh beeping muffled by thick walls and her intense focus on the action happening on screen. Sleep, while certainly necessary, had seemed like a less productive use of time than online gambling. It had been maybe eight hours since she had started and in that time she had played approximately 800 hands (assuming she hadn't deviated too much from her hourly average of a hundred), winning just under half of them. She could have boosted this number of course using any number of the strategies peddled by supposed card sharks and numbers wizards but that would have diluted most of the fun.

Blackjack was a game of pure numbers, an example of random chance that had been carefully prodded at and quantified by centuries of experts. The odds were always the same each time you played: the house edge was about 2% (when she wasn't bothering with basic strategy of course) and she won about 48% of hands played. If she had been keeping track Fiddle would have found that of her 385 odd wins 19 of them would have been through being dealt a blackjack meaning that the remaining 366 were the result of standard hit-hit-stay play.

The money that won and lost (she just about broke even, having lost 4160 dollars and winning 3850 back) was entirely secondary. Fidelity got her rush just from experiencing the odds. If she had her way she would have spent another eight hours sitting there at her desk surrounded by empty energy drink cans and stale beers she had forgotten to finish. But while the incessant blaring of the mechanical clock could be ignored the two biological ones were much harder to brush off.

Turner and Basker, the best and brightest parts of her hectic and confusing life, had come to rescue their mistress from herself. There was nothing the little lady could do when her boys tugged her out of her seat except to reward them with pats on the head. "I know boys, I know. Breakfast time. They eat better than she did, the hounds devouring the steaks pulled out of the fridge for them while Fiddle contented herself with pain medication and cold pizza from the previous day.

Showering was the next step, an ordeal that required two stools. One was to sit on and the other to prop up her gimped leg. Back home her parents had one of the staff on hand to help her, an embarrassment that she was very much glad to be done with. All the babying and concern over her "disability" had been little more than an poor apology for their previous negligence. She had gotten along fine her whole life without them, she didn't need them to start paying attention while she scrubbed down.

Her body rinsed free of soap and her hair more or less combed she set about getting ready for the day, slipping on clothes, watch and leg brace and grabbing her bag. The alarm was finally silenced with a thwap of her cane, a short whistle calling her best boys over to be dressed in their little harnesses. The first time someone accused her of faking it had been enough to guarantee they would never go unemblazoned. With cigarette in mouth and keys in hand Fiddle slipped out of the penthouse inherited from her cousin, beelining for the stairs.

There was a much greater risk of her dying on the steps even if she hadn't been hobbling. The chance of an elevator suddenly collapsing was quite literally infinitesimal, a freak accident less likely than being struck by lighting and winning the lottery in the same day. Stairs on the other hand killed about a 12,000 people a year, of whom the majority had full mobility. The odds couldn't have been more lopsided and yet she still made the "wrong" choice every time. Stumbling down eleven flights seemed like less of a middle finger to the cosmos than riding up and down in the same little box that killed her cousin.

Descending was a deliberate process. Her cane never left the ground at the same time as her feet, keeping her grounded as her stronger leg touched the next step followed by the weaker. Once both were on the same level her stick could be moved ahead, the click of it against the stairs an auditory warning to anyone else insane enough to cling this far. Stronger, weaker, click. Stronger, weaker, click, all the way down.

And then once she was at ground level it was little more than a mile to Thame's Edge. Easy.

Not at all but Fiddle managed anyway. Her cane and her dogs made sure that no one got too close, giving her a solid circle of space to work with at all times. People tended to ignore her anyway thanks to the combination of her small stature and her obvious injury. Most people just scanned right over her and those that took a second look usually just wanted to gawk. Gawking was fine. She had been stared at and regarded as an object of curiosity ever since she had been chauffeured to little league games.

The cigarette was stubbed out against a wall and flicked into a trash can, Fidelity pushing open the doors to the university for her furry bodyguards before bringing up the rear. Honors Business, year three. Her last year of fucking about with no goals besides slow motion self-destruction, or at least fucking about with no goals while being funded by both parents. Once she had her degree she'd pick one of them to work for at random and likely never see the other again.

There was still time to kill before class and there wasn't really a better option than hunkering down in one of the common areas. She picked the closest one out of respect for her limited mobility, parking herself next to a much taller (who wasn't?) blond that she might have seen around before but wasn't going to rack her brains over.

"Howdy, how ya doing?"

With her light drawl and the way she rested her weight on her cane she could have been some Southern gentleman fresh off the plantation, a waved head signalling for the four hundred pounds of pup beside her to sit. Turner and Basker both looked up at the stranger as if sizing him, quietly panting as their mistress made small talk.

@LetMeDoStuff

---

A pen scratched satisfyingly on paper, though the writing produced was near illegible to anyone but Jory herself. It wasn’t exactly by choice—her handwriting was just naturally terrible, and though she had made some effort to beautify it a bit over the course of her life, it wasn’t something she had ever put enough time into to counteract her natural tendency to just scribble.

In this case, at least, it didn’t matter. All the writing was solely for herself, going over what little notes she had from the first week of lectures. The goal was simply repetition to commit the information to memory. A necessary—if boring—effort to make sure she'd be able to keep achieving the perfect grades she wanted. Swiftly understanding difficult concepts was unfortunately not a talent that she was afforded by whatever powers that be.

Stingy bastards.

The girl’s eyes shifted from the paper to her phone on the desk. It was almost 5 am. She picked the phone up and navigated the menus to turn off the set alarm preemptively—there just in case she happened to be asleep at this time, rare as that was.

She also noted the few messages she had received last night, still left unread. With a sigh, she gave in and tapped through them. A few, short broken texts from her brother, and one single properly written one from her grandfather. Mostly just pleasantries, asking how her week had gone. Jory knew she should respond, but… getting roped into a full conversation, knowing where it might go—it just wasn’t high on her list of priorities for the day.

Later then, she decided. Maybe.

Checking the weather app, she noted it was comfortably cool. No need for her hoodie, then. She threw it off, tied up her sneakers, and headed out for her morning run.

---

Just over an hour later, Jory had taken a quick shower—fighting to wet her thick hair as per usual, having to stand on her tiptoes to press her scalp against the showerhead—and finished off with a minute of cold water.

Breakfast was the usual—large and relatively healthy, for a university student. At such an early hour, she avoided running into anybody in the kitchen, which was just as she liked it. After her meal, she finished her morning routine, grabbed a random clean hoodie, tossed everything she might need haphazardly into her duffel bag, and headed out.

Her first lecture was only at 10 am, so she had some time to kill. While she absolutely could have hidden in her room, the little notes she did have to study were no longer sufficient enough distraction for her liking. To use her time a bit more productively, she figured she may as well continue her efforts to make a mental map of her new surroundings—even if that meant a high probability of being accosted by other eager students.

---

It was exhausting. Even so early in the morning, there were still plenty of keeners up and willing to say hello to her. Where did these people come from?

“You!”

Jory visibly flinched. After a brief pause, she decided to ignore the female voice and continued to walk, her gaze stiffly bolted in front of her.

“Cute red-head! You!”

Her shoulders slumped, this time slowly turning to look in the voice’s direction.

“You look like you’d be great on skates!”

Jory blinked in surprise. Did they know who she was? It wouldn't have been the first time she'd been randomly recognized, but she really wasn't expecting that to happen across the pond.

“You have the body for it too! Lithe, but deceptively strong, right? Right?”

Jory looked the excited girl up and down. A brunette, just a touch shorter than herself. Beyond her stood a girl watching them who looked… a lot like the first girl, to be honest. Jory suspected they were related. The second girl simply smiled when they made eye contact.

“So? How would you like to join our ice skating club?”

Huh, just right into it. Weren’t these recruiters supposed to like, ask for your name or something first?

“I’m… I’m good," Jory said. "Not really interested, and I’m usually busy at night anyway. Thanks, though.”

She couldn’t really tell her she was busy due to her own figure skating practices outside of school, with her latest coach and a few other athletes. It would just excite the girl more and there would be no escaping her.

The brunette’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. She made a show of glancing down to look at Jory’s chest. The red-head instinctively covered herself, feeling judged, but then followed the gaze.

Oh. Oh.

She was wearing her old Toronto figure skating club’s hoodie. Well, that explained things.

And also left her up shit creek without a paddle.

“I-It’s uh… a friend’s?”

“Uh-huh," the girl said, a smug look of satisfaction painting her face.

---

Restless as a sleepless sea in terms of how Gloria was sleeping in her dorm room on the second floor. This specific dream was utterly confusing to her but it felt like it had religious feelings to it. If anything she would want to try to figure it out by herself or ask people. However, she was awakened by no other than her cellphone’s alarm clock, which her father bought for her. It had a pink protective case and she just sighed at the alarm clock. It took her awhile to finally get up off her bed since she was more quiet than most people who spoke. If anything she’s thinking about that strange dream even though it didn’t really make any sense. ”I wonder…” Gloria said, quietly. She looked at her cellphone after stopping the alarm clock, which wanted to see if there was any messages.

There was one specific message on her cellphone that caught her eye, which was from her father wishing her good luck at the University. She had a slight smile at this but the next part of his message is he’s still searching for Louise, which kinda depressed her slightly. Only if he could see reason that its been four years since her disappearance, she couldn’t possibly be alive. She texted her father back with ’Father, I do hope you have a good day at work. I will try to have good luck at the University, and please don’t cause any trouble while you are searching for Louise.’ If anything she hoped it would help her dad from being so proactive in searching for Louise because she loved her family. It was the hardest thing she had to deal with the fact her older sister disappeared four years ago.

Gloria set her cellphone back down were she gotten it to turn off the alarm and check messages. She gotten up from her bed even though it would probably be better to sleep some more. It is only because its very tiring but she’s at the university can’t really be slacking since she’s forced into this position mostly. This means taking a warmer shower, which would be needed to waken her up some more. It would be better to take a shower now than later or she might miss things. The shower definitely helped her mood and she dried herself off enough and she combed her hair to make it go a specific way. She put on her clothes and sat down on her bed. If anything she did like the accommodations at this university since it would put less hassle on her parents and her sister Zoey. ”I hope Zoe-Zoe is doing alright...” Gloria said, quietly with a definite look of hopefulness mostly in Zoey’s case.

Being a freshmen in this University felt a bit scary for her in some cases. Its only because she felt butterflies in her stomach and she had to try to get to know people. She coasted by without really trying in that department, it usually makes her flustered and quite annoyed at the fact. It might be a good idea to try in getting to know people even though she’s quite shy. She looked at her wardrobe she brought with her from home and decided to wear a simple warmer thin jacket, which matched her shirt. After she got on the jacket basically a windbreaker, which she decided to get some breakfast outside of her dorm room. She locked her room and at least got something to eat alike a small breakfast. Afterwards, she finally walked out of the accommodations, which took a bit since she had to walk down the stairs to the first floor and out of the place.

---

She was looking at her cellphone to memorize her schedule, while walking with a specific lack of what’s going on around her. This usually gets her in trouble sometimes since she’s not one of those specific people who can multitask alike that. ”All to get my degree to feel like I am worthwhile in my family… while my sisters are far ahead of me… Ugh...” Gloria said, quietly with a slight frustration in her voice. She stayed concentrated on her cellphone, which made her a bit too focused on it and felt like she was alone. If anything happens in the back of her mind, would be a bit embarrassing since she would really not enjoy that no matter what.

”Hopefully nothing bad happens...” Gloria said, quietly. However, it feels like the world was aligned against her since she bumped into someone. It made her curse slightly and quietly. She looked up at the person whom she bumped into whom was a woman that looked around her age but was probably a rush to get to her class.

The other girl was a bit frustrated in how Gloria rudely bumped her. If it wasn’t for the fact if the girl whom bumped her was in her own little world. “Aren’t you stupid or something…? Can you bloody pay attention to your surrounding, you idiot. Ugh, so annoying. I hope I don’t have to meet you again.” The girl said to Gloria, with a bit frustrated and angry tone in her voice.

”I’m sorry… for the trouble… I should’ve paid better attention to my surroundings. Please don’t be pissed off, I am new here. My name is Gloria...” Gloria said, quietly. She tried to defuse the situation right now even though she was awful at it. Its mostly because of the fact she was panicking with what the other girl had said.

The other girl couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the half assed attempt to apologize. However, she couldn’t be a bit shocked at the fact Gloria of all people whom lost her older sister mysteriously is going here. If anything, its amazing none of her family mysteriously died or what not in terms of the Hathaway’s. “Guess, I am sorry for calling you an idiot and stupid, Gloria. Since you introduced yourself, I should as well… Abigail L. Walters, its a pleasure to meet you. Should’ve probably realized freshmen would be walking around here… I’m a second year here...” Abigail said, with a smile and noticed that Gloria probably needs some help.

Gloria smiled slightly at what Abigail said, which was a bit refreshing for a change. Even though Abigail did yell at her, which was a bit harsh to say the least. ”Uhh, I would love some help to my first class… please?” Gloria said, quietly with a returned smile. She can only really deal with so much at a time since she tries to focus too hard on one thing mostly.

Abigail had problems the first year she was here too, which would be useful to help her instead. “Could always ask people in the commons area for directions, since that the easiest place for anything.” Abigail said, with a smile. It was time for her to go so she waved Gloria goodbye.

It would make sense to her so she decided to do just that even though. Her first interaction in a new place felt different but she still had those butterflies in her stomach. She needs to try better so she decided to go to the commons area, specifically by the fact she looked at the signs of the University to find the Common Area. However, the one thing that caught her eye was two large dogs next to someone who was sitting down and talking to someone. She slowly walked over to them not to make the dogs go after her since they must be protecting the smaller girl sitting down.

”Uhh… Hi… How are you two doing? I-I need help finding my first class…” Gloria said, towards the two she saw. However, she noticed that the shorter woman in question had a disability, which why she had those two dogs but that freakishly tall guy was definitely tall. She was heavily nervous and it was definitely not a good thing to be basically so nervous around two people. If anything she hoped she could get help so she doesn’t have to miss her first class, since that would be a pain in the ass. It didn’t help she was a bit confused in were she had to go mostly. The one reason she bumped into Abigail anyways, which sucked for her. At least, she hoped the two in question wouldn’t try to ignore her for she has an important question. It would ruin her day completely and utterly annoy her to no end, she is a hard worker that tries her absolute best, which isn’t really enough compared to her two older sisters. ”I-I hope I’m doing this correctly… even though I feel like these butterflies are going to kill me of embarrassment over anything else.” Gloria thought to herself.

_{@LetMeDoStuff@Smike}

I'm dunked on by a dense spray of freezing saltwater, moments before I wake up.

Wait, that's not right. Now my clothes and even messier hair are sopping wet, chilling me to the bone. Blasted ocean, never wanted a reason to head south towards the Atlantic or Channel for this matter. Which is peculiar that I would know the sensation of tasting sea salt on my lips, and feeling the weight of dampness in the first place. Right, my name is Thomas Robinson, and I'm most probably lucid dreaming, to an extreme degree I haven't experienced before.

I let out a sneeze, then scan the scene about me, from the wide blue cloths pulling against massive posts in the wind, to the three cylindrical towers lined down center row. The slippery floor rumbles a bit, as from the depths I feel a tremor followed by cracking sounds, and I make out a jagged pillar of ice in the fog pass by the railing on the side. Only then I realize I must be on a ship, not in the middle of the Atlantic or Channel but some Arctic hellscape.

A section of the wall from a shrouded building ahead turns outward to become a door, and a figure clad in the same blue as the ship's sails steps out. One by one, shadowy figures I missed lurking outside step indoors following the first figure, before I steal in right behind them, hoping to not be noticed and further wet. Just in case of anomalies like me walking into a freezer or gas chamber next in the dream sequence, I keep one foot out the door to bolt, into the bloody ocean if need be.

What immediately strikes me is the piece being hummed by the figure clad in blue, a proper instrumental arrangement I'd imagine comprised of piano and strings, yet no classical composers I know of ring a bell. Except all that comes short for naught, holy hell, is that what a senile Pinocchio looks like in my head--mate, not the childhood haunting I want to be in right now. Never mind the old coot's rambling, god those eyes right about bulging out of their sockets, talking about spares when you better get a mirror and sewing kit first yourself. Nah mate I'm out, if this ship's sailing nowhere, I'm gonna jump into the sea myself and get somewhere.

I move when the lights suddenly go out inside the room, but as I run for the railing and over, my surroundings begin to blur and distort like a waking transition, the solid weight of water in my clothing becoming lighter yet airy. The last things I notice when I turn my head back, are a strangely familiar head of long strawberry blonde hair, another of spiky black hair, and a sparkling card floating off the desk in the room bearing Roman numeral XIII.

---

I haven't set an alarm clock for morning in a long time, so I wake with a jolting start to the beginning notes of Musette in D Major from my mobile.

I shouldn't need it after the first week of university anyways, my internal clock will adjust soon enough to new schedules like I trained it to. Everything in my life must be routine, accurate and precise, for time is a finite resource. Sleep as long as possible, get up, pants on, business in the bathroom, hoodie over, bag shouldered, then out the door. The faster I do the latter activities, the more efficient results important stuff in my life outputs, like sleep and studying.

I open the fridge in the commons kitchen and pull out a loaf of bread, then take out a jar containing the baked, rather stewed beans I cooked the weekend moving into student accommodations. No complaints from the flatmates yet about my extensive use of the kitchen, though having taken advantage of everyone else still ferrying their boxes of extra rubbish to and fro. I only caught wind of two names myself, a Gloria with an accent likely Yankee still adjusting, and a Tyler, hopefully another good Briton lad, like there have been many in that camp since the vote. Right, that reminds me to check the local food pantry after classes, since my scholarship doesn't automatically undo poverty.

After having my beans on toast hot directly from the frying pan, I wash up and head out. Through the drab and harshly lit hallway, down the clanging metal steps, jogging out heavier than they should be doors, past students waving on the freshers, past another running student with two loose bangs flying in the air, past a table of students dealing cards to one another, past one sitting at their laptop in a campus common area I just enter, and even past a peculiar bunch of three, tall, short, and stunted. I know where I need to go and what I need to do, according to my class schedule and planned education. Why I'm doing this is an inefficient waste of thought, I fink.

Rose was awoken by the sound of her alarm clock beeping loudly, and her eyes flung wide open. She had been interupted from a very strange dream, involving a boat, and a man with a long nose... It had been a recurring dream she had been having for a few nights now. She didn’t know what on Earth it meant. She had been meaning to see if she could find anything about online about strange dreams, but often got caught up in schoolwork and forgot about it.

The young blonde woman sat up on her bed, shut the alarm off, and yawned as she got out of bed. It was several hours before classes were scheduled to begin. She needed all the time to prepare. She took her time making herself look presentable for the day ahead.

After taking a shower, getting dressed, brushing her teeth, making sure her hair was neat and tidy, and applying a tasteful amount of makeup to her face, she was finally ready to have breakfast. Nothing too difficult, just some toast and eggs. It was her second year living away from her parents, and she was finally getting the hang of preparing meals for herself. She used to burn her eggs. Now she understood the timing of removing them from the frying pan before it got to that point. Before that, she was used to waking up to extravagant meals prepared by the private chefs back home. Learning to prepare her own meals hadn’t been too difficult. It was a simple matter of following instructions... Of course, she still missed having fancy meals waiting for her after she had finished her morning routine...

After she was done, she calmly walked to the University. She had woken up early enough, that she didn’t have to run there to make it to class on time. Which was good, because she usually wore heels... There was a crowd of students headed the same way she was. Incoming first years no doubt.

As she was walking, Rose looked down at her Cell Phone, as she saved her class schedule on there. All of a sudden, she felt someone bump into her from behind. Rose looked up, and saw the culprit zipping past her. He seemed to be headed in the same direction she was. Rose power walked as fast as she could given her choice of footwear, and grabbed him by the wrist. ”I beg your pardon. But you bumped into me. I think you owe me an apology.” She got a good look at the boy. He seemed younger than her, and it looked like he didn’t bother to try to tame is fiery red hair. Two pieces of his hair were sticking straight up like ears. Could he not try to look professional for university?

@Ryteb Pymeroce

---

Alarm number five. Great, he was out of time. Though if he shortened his shower a little, he might be able to- no, he couldn't be late on the second week. That was just giving up. Besides, that creepy nose goblin was liable to show up again if he went back to sleep. Usually waking him up would dispel any remnants of a dream he was having, but that thing just picked back up where it left off everytime he went back to bed; it didn't even skip a beat in its monologuing. If only he could remember what the hell the long-nosed thing was saying.

Leo Gremminger sat up in bed and tapped at his phone. Somebody with a decent sized following must've retweeted the painting he posted last week, more notifications than usual. He'd have to finish another piece while he had a spotlight. Maybe the river? He debated the riveting facets of social media management in his head as, bleary-eyed and hardly lucid, the boy fumbled his way toward the bathroom, a tune on his lips that he knew he'd picked up recently but couldn't for the life of him remember where.

The trip to campus from his apartment wasn't too bad; the quickest route to the bus stop was through a quaint little park, and a short bus ride was the perfect opportunity to catch up on anything he'd missed overnight and get his online presence in order. Leo found that if he didn't, he'd just spend the majority of his first class on his phone anyway. Once he got off the bus, Leo was basically on autopilot. He kept his nose in his phone, scrutinizing the schedule he had screenshotted as he carelessly merged into the crowd funneling toward campus. The campus grounds had lost their wonder after his first semester, and had been reduced to simple buildings in his mind. Paying attention to them at that point was a waste. He even tried painting some of the more impressive landscaping once, only to get whacked in the back of his head with a frisbee for his trouble. Plus the lighting always sucked.

Leo finally took in his surroundings as he heard someone nearby being chided for bumping into someone else. "Sorry," He instinctively muttered, only to register a second too late that he wasn't the one being spoken to. Walking into people on accident was all too common for the inattentive boy at this point; it was a bit jarring to not be the one at fault for a change. The blonde girl was the one that spoke, so the redheaded... middle schooler? - she was wrangling had to be the culprit. Wait, blonde looked familiar, did she have a class with him? Keeping track of all these faces was hard. Better to play it off on the off-chance she tries to talk to him again.

"Uh. I mean," He swiveled his gaze blankly between the duo as he floundered for words, eventually settling on an innocent grin, "I have no idea why I said that. I'm just used to being clumsy, I guess." Smooth. Maybe he should've just walked away, not like it would've bothered him a couple minutes from now anyway.

---

@Crimson Flame@Ryteb Pymeroce

---

Felix shifted through the crowds that made up London like a leaf blowing through the breeze. It was invigorating to try and predict how people would move, and how fast, so he could maximise his speed. Of course there are always hiccups. He wasn't expecting the woman in front of him to suddenly slow down, but he was too in the zone to let that distract him. He continued on for a bit before getting grabbed. Turning around, he saw the woman he had bumped into.

'Shit,' Felix thought, 'She's hot.'

While not a horny teen, he still had his turn ons, one of which was powerful women. And this woman radiated power. With her well sculpted body, and towering height even without heels (Wait, she caught up with him in heels, how the Fae did she do that?), not to mention the aura of command she put out. He was going to apologise, but when he went to open his mouth:

"You ain't the boss of me!" 'Shit.'

Not for the first time, he cursed himself for seeking out challenges for himself, even if it was unconsciously, and to his brain a woman this powerful would also be an excellent challenge.

---

@Crimson Flame@Scribe of Thoth

---

Beau Macguaire stretched as he awoke from his slumber. He'd stayed in the guest room of the house he used to live in prior to moving out for university, but from tonight onward, he'd be returning to his dormitory that he'd already been set in. He gathered his things from said room one by one and stuffed them into his duffel bag, before taking the clothes he intended to change into with him into the bathroom, and setting them aside as he turned on the shower, undressed himself and stepped him.

Now that he took the time to reflect on it, Beau did recall having one of the strangest dreams he ever had in his life. He remembered being on a cruise ship or the like with some of the students that went into the same university with him, and every single one of them was being addressed by the captain of the ship. The captain's appearance was... striking to say the least. He was significantly shorter than the statistically average man, and he appeared to be very elderly; ancient, even. There was no mistaking his long nose for anything, and those bloodshot eyes of his were easily the most unsettling find Beau found about the captain.

Still, it was just a dream. Beau proceeded with his shower as normal, water cascading down his muscular, well-toned body as he soaped himself up. Just as he was about to finish up, he took one last glance at his watch over at the distance.

"Aaaawwwwe, shit..." Beau immediately shut the water off and rush to dry himself off and dress him again. He wasn't worried about arriving in time for his own class; that didn't start until 9 o'clock. But he remembered his parents had asked him to take the twins to school, which he knew wasn't so forgiving, and what he didn't know was what those two were up to.

His first order of business was to check up on Zoe. She had a bad habit of oversleeping until right at the last half hour and, unfortunately, this was exactly the case today. Wasting no time, Beau immediately pulled the sheets of Zoe's bed, and pulled the curtains so that the sun would shine directly into her eyes.

"Rise and shine, lady, chop chop!" he told her.

Zoe groggily stirred, evidently not appreciating such a rude awakening, but as she looked down at herself, she let out a blood-curdling scream and instinctively covered her chest just as Beau left the room.

"WHAT THE SHIT, BEAU??!!" the aforementioned young man could only sigh.

"You should've thought of that before you overdid the beauty sleep," he calmly replied, "Now c'mon; you're gonna be late for school at this rate."

Meanwhile, Beau's other somewhat feminine sibling had just come out of their room with hair brush in hand. This one at least seemed to take the initiative to some extent, but still lacked certainty in the actions they took, and struck Beau as rather wishy-washy.

"Hey, er... B-Beau? How do I look?" they queried.

"We've been over this, Noah," replied Beau, "There's no use you slathering on all this girly crap if you're not gonna own it."

"I-I know, I know," Noah sighed after saying this, "It'd be much easier if people weren't so critical..."

With that, Noah returned to what he was doing, brushing his rather long hair, then moving some of it aside so that he can affix a hair-clip to it. At that same time, Beau doubled back to grab his toothbrush and place that in his duffel bag before heaving it over his shoulder. Finally, he moved to the kitchen to quickly prepare lunch for the twins, before grabbing the ingredients he'd need for his full English breakfast, as well as whatever utensils he had the spare space for. It was evident that he'd need to borrow the community kitchen when he got to university, but at least it was sorted. Beau addressed the two twins.

"Your lunches are on the counter, there. Shoes on, grab them and let's go."

...

It would take half an hour to walk to the high school's gates, where Beau would ultimately part ways with the twins. Seeing it from the outside brought back some fond memories for Beau. Some memories were better than others, but one had to take the bad with the good.

"Alright, that's it for this month," Beau smiled as he said this, "You know where my dorm is if you start missing me all of a sudden,"

"Oh, right, today's the day you move back in," Zoe rolled her eyes for having forgotten already, but a smug smirk came across her face, "Good luck with that."

"Mhm, oh, and uh... thanks," Noah chimed in, albeit hesitantly, "F-for sticking with us all this time."

"Stay safe, you two," Beau replied, "And no falling asleep in class like you did last time, Zoe."

"Ugh, fiii-... wait, I never fell asleep; the hell did you...?" queried Zoe, only to be intervened the sound of the bell, "Crap! Class's about to start!"

With that, Zoe grabbed Noah's hand and charged forward into the school grounds in hopes of making it to their first class of the morning. Beau stuck around to wave goodbye, but set off again the second he was done. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived with plenty of time to spare.

...

As he got to the community kitchen, he set his duffel bag on the counter, opened it up and pulled out the utensils ingredients he brought with him, before grabbing whatever pots and pans were there in the kitchen already. He started by putting the two plain pieces of bread he brought into the toaster and turning it on, before filling the jug with water and turning that on and setting a mug aside with a teabag already inside. Beau also brought a can opener to open the can of baked beans with, pouring them into a pot and seasoning them with salt and pepper. The final ingredients he was cooking at that same time were a trio of eggs in one frying pan, which he lightly seasoned as well, and two sausages and four rashers of bacon in another larger one.

Beau had just started to slice the mushrooms, tomato and black pudding that he also brought with him when the door to the common room opened up again, and in came a redhead girl with freckles all over her face, who sat down in a huff. At first, Beau wondered why the girl wasn't preparing to attend class, but decided against bringing it up. It was possible that she, like him, didn't have to be there until later in the morning, and considering the foul mood she looked to be in, now wasn't the time to question it. Instead...

"So... rough start to the morning, huh?" Beau asked the girl, in an attempt to start light conversation with her.

Alina was quite lucky to live on the ground floor of the student accommodation. It meant she didn't have to spend long stretches of time climbing up and down stairs with a heavy bag - and with a relatively late class today, she could afford to relax a bit. Great. She needed some time to herself, after that weird half-remembered dream left her in a state. And she... didn't feel much like talking to the other people in the dorm right now, either. She'd do a bit of interacting later, probably.

So today was gonna be a bad one, huh? Wonderful.

She couldn't stay in bed forever, though. She had coursework, and she had a class just before lunch at that. At about ten, she finally dragged herself out of bed, and made a quick meal for herself. Cornflakes in milk, a banana, glass of water. Simple stuff. She tended not to spend much on food; she physically didn't need a lot, did she? Didn't want to get fat. After that, she brushed her teeth, got showered and dressed for the day - a simple yellow dress, this time - and pre-made lunch in the shape of a Marmite sandwich, a peeled carrot, and a bag of Walkers Prawn Cocktail crisps. Again, light fare. She'd make something heavier for dinner, perhaps. Pasta? A salad to go with? Maybe.

She didn't pass anybody on the way out.

---

'Hey Aliiiinaaa!' Mary called out, running up behind as she did. Ah, Mary. Tall, blonde, friend to everybody. Alina's closest friend, funnily. Embarassingly better at Chemistry than Alina. And they were right outside the gates by now, too, mostly devoid of other students.

'Hey, Mary. How's coursework going?'

'Ah, pretty swell, actually!' she replied, tossing her hair back behind her ear. 'I'm mostly done on the latest assignment; I could probably help you with it, if you wanted to come over later?' There was the ask, the request for her to come over.

'...maybe. I still need to think about dinner, too.'

'Yeah, perfect! We'll have something solid to fuel us, and crank it out in no time!' she cried, pumping her fist energetically. She hadn't said it yet...

'And then?'

'And, uh... and then we can, um, play some of this new game... it's, uh, pretty fun, you're a girl in an all-boy's school... they, uh...'

There it was. The perverse part of the query. Because, turned out, Mary was also very into pornographic games.

'Why do you keep asking me to play eroge games with you, Mary?'

'It's not ero-! It's not smut,' she whispered back intensely, blushing a little after her initial outburst. 'These are highly story-intensive visual novels with a lot of depth and plenty of paths to follow, like TellTale did before they went under. Sure, these ones involve some, you know, plot-based intercourse, for the sake of advancing the story and stuff, but you know that's not the sort of thing I'd show just anyone, Alina!' Yeah, like she hadn't asked- well, to Alina's knowledge, Mary really hadn't asked anyone else to play those sorts of games. Rumours spread like wildfire, and she suspected even she might have heard something about it.

'Besides,' Mary continued with just a hint of either mothering or smarminess, 'you'll get behind on the work again if you don't get on with it. Remember last year, with the second-to-last project?'

'Yeah. That was right after grandad died.'

'Mm. Not to remind you of that, I'm sorry. You were in a right state, though, and I've seen you slowing down even after that. I do care about you, Alina, you know?' she uttered, hugging the girl affectionately. 'I want you to do your best work, and why not get help from somebody close to you?' Well, that did make sense when she considered it... she shrugged the arms away as they continued walking, they'd been there a while now.

Alina stiffened up a bit as she stopped. Close to her? She cared about her, the hugs? She- no. No way. How had she not seen it before?

'...Mary?'

'Yeah?' Mary asked, already sensing something was up in Alina's head.

'Do... do you have a crush on me?'

Mary's expression fell like a rock. Or rather, it expanded like a cloud. Or an explosion? The point being, it went from smiling and slightly worried to pure, unadulterated panic in less than a second, and less than a second after that-

'Wait a minute-!'

'OKAY I'LL SEE YOU IN CLASS ALINA BYEEEE!' Mary yelled behind her as she sprinted, full-speed, into the building and out of sight, leaving her on her own again. Then either the very thought of being attracted to Alina was deeply disturbing; or Alina was exactly right, and Mary was crushing on her something bad. She suspected the latter, and sighed deeply over the idea.

'Well, shit.'

---

A voice. Voices were common, obviously, even in the quiet spaces of the open area Laurence worked within. It took him by surprise however, as it seemed directed at him. He'd been making some notes on his laptop, brainstorming yet another film idea. A documentary, perhaps, but it was all drawing up as blank. Then the voice came. American, unsure of what state. Laurence looked up, more out of courtesy, and looked at her. Immediately, he was hit with several questions. He wasn't sure if it were his polish culture confusing him or there being a new normality to the university life, and so he mentally began to think to himself. Up and down, subtly, he took a second to check who she was. Interesting. Had a cane. Two great dogs. Two? Already, he was lost for what to say. She spoke with relative informality, as did any university student, and took about a casual pose from what he assumed was a slight physical difference. All fancy, all glamour. Even in normal clothing, he felt a strong sense of a figurehead, a tip to the pyramid he'd so helplessly slid down.

"Hey, I'm alright. How's things?" He always felt a little awkward. A very slight accent always peeked through the cracks of his false East-Anglo tone. Again, he had no clue who this girl was. Well, sort of. Chances were he'd passed her several times, giving the odd welcome or nod of introduction, the common courtesy of a passing pedestrian.

"About as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. You?" Confirming his suspicions, there was most definitely an issue at hand, something of a burden to her way of life. Even if not physically, it struck a chord with Laurence's psyche, something he wasn't quite prepared for. It took him a second to gather his thoughts as he stared at the ground. She'd gestured to her leg with a free hand, leaving him to take in the confirmation with a level of uneasiness. He didn't feel sorry for her. Feeling sorry for her wouldn't make her feel better. Instead, he empathised, just on a completely different plain of thought.

His eyes moved to her dogs. Two of them. It still filled him with a small level of cultural confusion. Once more, it wasn't an impossible feat to find a blind or disabled student in the university. Off of the top of his head, he could name three who were reliant on a service dog. All of them were Labrador Retrievers, or Golden Retrievers for pedantic eye, and were dressed in the usual service dog outfitting. Two of those students were blind and thus had used them as a source of guidance, whilst the third relied on them as a combatant of anxiety. Truly, Laurence was surprised as to how much trivial knowledge he had held in the back of his mind. All of these people who he'd acquainted with, but never made friends with, all stuck to him like quotes from Shakespeare during an exam. In a way, it was a foul taunt towards him, the personal information that he shouldn't necessarily know unless he was their friend. And in truth, no one really was. He was just glad that she was talking to him.

"I'm just...getting by. Sorry, I have the tendency to stumble on my words when not properly focused." He couldn't draw his eyes from her two pups - the dogs, not the... They weren't anything like the standard dog by any means. It just felt odd, peculiar. A common explorer inside of him beckoned for the inquiry, and his temptation delivered as swift as it had manifested. "Sorry to ask but...how come you have two dogs? And of such different breeds?"

"I get it, day's still early and all. They're service dogs, help me by getting things and letting me lean on them and stuff. They're also trained to defend me since I can't really run away from anyone with the whole leg deal. This is Turner and the other is Basker. You can pet them if you'd like?" And even in explanation, he couldn't quite point his finger onto it all.

"But don't you usually get one dog? Sorry, it may be rude of me to ask. Can't pet them either. My guardians all taught me never to interrupt a service dog." Finally, he left an awkward smile as he rubbed the back of his head. Her occasional gestures towards to each of the puppers had at least given him a solid response - which one was which. In the end, he thought best to drop the subject for something a little helpful, or at least something to take his mind away from the confusion which was international culture. "So, Turner and Basker? And so who might you be then?"

There weren't many times where Laurence was curve-balled in a social situation. Rarely had he been broadsided with a sudden emotional distress or buzzword that stumped him in his tracks. He was usually reliable. Usually. It was out of character for him to face a problem without an open mind, expecting the worst and simply taking the beating as it came. Laurence didn't expect the best though. And when it showed, it showed.

"Usually yes, on both accounts. But some lucky little bastards get two of them. In my case Basker is more for mobility while Turner is more for emotional support and making sure I take care of myself. And if their owner is telling you to touch them, go right on ahead." She'd smile back at him, looking him up and down. "Fidelity, Fiddle for short. Who are you, handsome?"

He followed her words with intrigue and interest, right up until she unveiled her name. Fiddle. A nice nickname. A lovely one in fact, one that definitely held some sort of ironic meaning. Twisting it into some pretentious meaning was easy; take the instrument and forge it into a name, a playful tune that would associate itself with how she acted, how she dealt with other people and how she entertained. Everything seemed in order. A normal conversation. Her eyes, he slightly followed, but didn't quite catch their direction, right up until she dropped the final word.

He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say in response. His cheeks flushed themselves a bright pink and his voice went from clear and well-enunciated to empty and staggered. A smile battled his face for its presence, the compliment taking way more of an impact than he'd have initially imagined. Firstly, he thought that it would be such a tease, a trick given by the freshers as part of some stupid dare. Sure, he'd been called handsome before, but by passing individuals like the elderly or the guardians he had moved between. This, however, was a complete broadside, an unfair barrage of pure emotional turmoil as he'd been hit by something that could've meant anything insignificant. He dug deeper than he should have, or was he not digging deep enough? His eyes darted from the dogs to her, back to the floor, his work laptop, the dogs, and her smile. If there were ever a time of confusion over his emotions, it was that one moment.

"I...uhh..." Clearing his throat, he tried to recompose himself and adjust his seating, find a way to comfortably hide his inner anxiety over the menial compliment. "That's a very pretty name. Uhm...I'm Laurence."

Without hesitation, he stuck with his English name. It had become instinct, almost unavoidable. The true self, hidden behind a veiled lie that the university just accepted. If he didn't want to be called Laka, then so it was. He couldn't face it, so why should've anyone else have cared about it? Instead, he just sat still, his hand in his lengthy blonde hair as to give it something to do. A distraction.

"Well thank you very much." She'd sit down next to him on the bench-chair thing, prop up her bad leg on a stool. "Laurence. Handsome name for a handsome man."



Internally, he began to scream. She was being too flattering, adorable if he were to return the compliment, but his voice stuttered at the thought of even saying anything. He'd spent a lot of his time away from such beautiful tidbits in life. A drive away from love, from blossoming comforts in life, had always stagnated his very existence. A desire to not end up like his father, he couldn't tell if the situation was exciting or absolutely terrifying. In a way, that made it all the more enjoyable. As she sat beside him, he couldn't quite imagine what to say. His mind told him that it was nothing more than a need to relax her leg, nothing out of that. His face still remained as pink and crimson as before, his eyes darting from her face and looking toward his laptop whenever he could. The uncontrollable smile still toyed with his morning confusion. Surely it was a prank. Surely...

"That's...extremely endearing...coming from-" The balance of disaster or ultimate success from flirtation was interrupted by a new voice, one that came from a timid first year searching for their class. It was an opportunity for him to turn his eyes to another topic, something that he couldn't embarrass himself as much on, presumably. He stood up, courteously nodding again and trying so hard to stop smiling over the things that had been uttered from his newfound acquaintance. He barely looked at the second girl, and just pointed to a nearby desk. "Uhm...there's a small uni map on that desk! I'll be...back. I just need to get a drink of water, sorry Fidelity. I'll come back, soon." Leaving his laptop behind, he rushed away, the same smile still on his face from when he was first complimented. Without him realising, it wasn't to be the most unusual thing to occur that day.

Steadily more students filtered into the common area, whether just to pass through or to while away some time before their various classes began. Try as she might Kirsty found it tough to concentrate, and she ended up glancing around quite often to the people congregating nearby. She recognized a number of faces that she couldn't assign names, having exchanged pleasantries with them last year but never gotten the chance to know them. As more young men and women arrived they formed groups, chatting about this or that, Kirsty became more and more aware of a nagging, irritating feeling, like the itch of a bug bite.

Nobody seemed to recognize her, or else they did and felt no need to talk to her. In the midst of a number of people she more or less knew, she felt remarkably alone. Why? Not for the first time, she launched a hunt for a reason. After all, considering her outgoing and obliging nature, there had to be a reason why people didn't consider her a friend, or an approachable acquaintance. Maybe they wanted to prioritize their best friends? No, Kirsty suspected it was because she was ttoo amicable. In this impersonal day and age, someone who grew too close to people's precious personal space was a weirdo. But it wasn't like Kirsty could dial it back. If she acted as impersonally as the average person, how would she stand out? How would she set the example? She couldn't let herself be along for the ride, indifferently sliding through each day without caring for her fellow man. People were meant to be together.

So why did she end up alone?

The buzz of her phone woke her from her daze with a start. She stared at her laptop's screen for a moment, watching the little line blinking halfway through an incomplete sentence in her text document, as she extracted her phone from her bag. A glance at the caller ID did not leave her feeling any more at ease. It read 'Drew Whittney', and those words left a pit in her stomach. Nevertheless, she couldn't very well ignore a phone call, so she swiped up on her phone's surface and held the device to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, sugar!”

Kirsty winced. “Um, hi, Drew...”

A moment of expectant silence passed by. Fidgeting and quite unable to fill it, Kirsty could only wonder about her caller's intentions. Then the boy's voice reached her again. “So...do you have anything to say to me?”

Kirsty stiffened. She had nothing. Did she forget something? Did...he expect her to say something affectionate back to him? Ever since that evening at Swingers a few months ago, he seemed to consider her more than a friend. With how depressed he'd been at the time, Kirsty had wanted to try and lift his spirits, even to the point of paying for the golfing session herself. To him, though, it seemed like that tied some kind of knot between them, and ever since the trepidatious boy had gotten a lot bolder with her. She wanted to say something to set the record straight, but she didn't want to make him feel bad. Her stomach crawled. “Hello...darling?”

Drew's laughter crackled through the phone. “No, silly goose, it's my birthday! Don't tell me you forgot?”

Kirsty suffered a brief moment of silence. “...I'm sorry.”

“Hey, no worries,” Drew assured her. “Tell ya what, you can make it up for me with dinner in Sky Garden! It's the perfect romantic spot, and with school heating up again, I figured we could both take some time to enjoy ourselves!”

“That sounds...lovely, but...”

Drew continued, “And, I've been pretty low on cash lately, and I paid for us at that cafe last week, so I figured you could take this one maybe? Goes both ways, don't it? Think of it as your birthday present to me.”

Kirsty's grip on her phone tightened. “Um, sure, but didn't we both say we'd help June move flats tonight?”

“Pssh. Is that really more important than my birthday? Besides, why wouldja wanna help someone who's talkin' behind your back?”

“What?” A chill ran down Kirsty's back.

A sigh came over the line. “Look, love. I didn't want to be the one to tell ya, but June's been tellin' Erin she should kick ya outta the band. She says you're bringin' the whole thing down.”

The image of June scowling at Kirsty after the low-turnout performance in Jenning's Pub last week flashed through her mind. At the time it didn't seem like the face was directed at her, but could she have been wrong? Seen something different because it wasn't what she wanted to see? Distraught, she stammered, “I-I know I haven't been doing my best lately, but I still want to help the band succeed! June wants me out? You can't be serious.”

In the pause that ensued, Kirsty heard Drew swallow over the phone. “Well,” he said after a moment. “I'm sorry, but that's how it is. I gotta be honest with you, Kirst: everyone knows you're the weak link.”

“No...” Kirsty sank into her chair, her laptop sliding to one side, where it luckily caught on the armrest before falling to the floor. She felt like a deflated balloon. She knew it was true. “But I've been trying so hard...”

Drew quickly reassured her. “I know love, I know. You're doin' the best ya can. That's why I'm fightin' to keep ya in. Tryin' to convince 'em you're just in a slump. 'Cause you're special to me, yeah? Workin' so hard, always smilin', the nicest and prettiest girl there is.”

Kirsty felt gratitude well up inside her. Even if Drew was a little weird, he could still appreciate her, appreciate all the effort she put in to be good. Whatever the reason, she had someone in her corner. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I won't let you down. I'll show June and Erin I can get out of this slump and really pull my weight.”

“That's great!” Drew said. “So, we on for tonight?”

For a moment Kirsty considered her bank account. She didn't have the money for dinner for two in Sky Garden. But this was a special occasion, and she needed to reward the faith Drew put in her. Or he might turn against her too. “...Okay. Yeah, I think I can manage.”

She could practically hear him grinning. “Sweet! I'll see ya tonight then, sugar. Buh-bye!”

He hung up before she could say anything, and then Kirsty was alone again, sprawled like a lazy dog in one of the common room couches. Mechanically she put her phone away, then stared at the screensaver that had overtaken her laptop. Hopefully she hadn't been too loud.

Fidelity caught the discrete look up and down and returned it with one of her own, the hand not on her cane scratching under Basker's chin as she took in her fellow student. Shaggy blonde hair, loose-fitting shirt and dark jeans, he was good looking in a sort of grungy "I either don't care about my appearance or really care about looking like I don't" sort of way. Fiddle answered his question without hesitation or annoyance, so used to them that she didn't even have to stop giving him the once over to do it. Laurence. Solid name, simple without any attached gimmicks or obvious meaning behind it. Certainly nicer than the label she had been saddled with in an attempt to force her into picking up the trait.

The American didn't put much thought into her (admittedly pretty blunt) flirting. She called her new acquaintance handsome because she thought he was, sat down next to him because she wanted to rest her leg and felt like getting closer to him. There was no room in her mind to fill with worries about whether she was being too forward, the same compulsion to scream down freeways and burn through pill bottles kicking in under these much more mundane circumstances. So Fiddle made herself comfortable, shoulder just brushing against Laurence's. He was stammering now, tripping over his words in a way that made her smile sweetly. Maybe she'd be able to go to dinner or a movie or something with him instead of spending another night feeding her various addictions?

Or maybe he'd be scared off by the appearance of some blond bimbo too stupid to use a map. "Sure thing, I'm not going anywhere. Not too quickly anyway! It was self-deprecating laughter born out of a need to feel something other than annoyance, or else she was going to smack the interloper upside her thick head with her cane.

"Next time maybe look for people not in a conversation, or wait until they're finished?

She was struggling to keep her tone neutral, all sorts of colorful language barely restrained. Turner was the one thing keeping Fiddle from unleashing her true opinion about the idiot, the subtle tap-tap of her cane on the floor calling him over to rest his head in her lap. "We were kinda in the middle of something there.

Fiddle didn't actually say "You blind, deaf and dumb bitch." but it was certainly implied.

@Landaus Five-One

King Henry’s Mound, Richmond Park
Sunday Evening

‘…the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of action of any of their number, is self-protection. That the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilised community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others.’

What’s ‘harm’, though?

Alistair sighs. He swings his legs from atop the metal lattice, planting his solidly-shod feet on the ground and resting his head on the pillar of his hand and arm. Down at the book he gazes. “It’s… It’s like the pleasure machine. What’s to stop someone locking people up to prevent them from getting hurt – in the most specific sense?” He growls. “Or, in the other direction, to convince people to trust no-one in academia because they think they’re part of some nonsensical conspiracy?”

He shakes his head, lying back against the metal post. It’s just too vague. You could use this to justify anything. Then he closes his fist – the one not holding the library’s copy of Mill’s On Liberty, one of a number of texts he’d plundered and absorbed over the last few days (as opposed to engaging with most of Freshers’ Week) – and shakes his head again, leaning down to drop the text into his bag, stand and pick the whole thing up in a single, fluid motion. “Need to keep reading. Probably explains later.” Still…

His thoughts trail to a halt as he looks behind him, confirming the appearance of an elderly couple waiting patiently and a little nervously off to the side. Alistair opens his mouth slightly, then shuts it, hunching over in guilt and walking away to allow them to use the telescope. As he does so, he looks up slightly to take in the view of London, then back to the hole through the hedges to where he knows by now St Paul’s Cathedral is, crowning the City. And it doesn’t solve the main issue, either. No matter how much thought I put into rules, or how much I think I might be protecting people…

He shakes his head, turning away to begin the journey home. I could still just be hurting them.

The Parton Residence, Hounslow
Monday Morning

The clanks of spoon against bowl ring out across the Partons’ kitchen diner and into the wider flat beyond as Alistair practically gulps down his cereal and muesli. The young man’s face practically cries out with determination, focus and thought (contortions from eating aside).

“Easy there, tiger!” Steven Parton’s chuckle gives way to a yawn as he makes his way out of Alistair’s parents’ room, dressing gown-clad. “No need to get it all inside at once. You’ll give yourself indigestion if you’re not careful.”

Alistair pauses a moment and bites his upper lip. Then, giving a grudging nod, he slows the pace of his consumption. Fractionally.

“You’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today,” Steven continues. He glances out of the window, the sky still cloaked in twilight. “When’s your first lecture?”

Alistair swallows – “Ten. Planning on getting there early – picking up some books, then settling into the lecture hall for a bit –” and then continues as before.

Steven purses his lips. Then he swings round the table, sitting opposite his son to look him in the eyes. “Hey. You’re going to be fine, Alistair. Don’t worry.”

My own being fine isn’t the issue… “You don’t worry either, Dad.” Alistair musters up a smile. “You’re right, I’ll be fine.”

“Good!” Steven raises a huge smile, its infection crossing to Alistair through the hand that clasps and shakes his shoulder. “Seriously, though, you’re going to be great.”

Alistair gives a nod in answer, light in his eyes… Then his mind turns to his purpose again, to the question that paralyses him – to its enormity, to the fact that it has never been solved before. His gaze turns downwards, steely once more. I must be. There isn’t another option.

Not if I am to meet with success.

Thames’ Edge Campus

Striding away from the library – in which he had already spent three hours and from which a new haul of books weighs down his backpack – Alistair glances at his watch. Twenty to. Plenty of time to find a seat, set out belongings and obtain a proper state of mind for absorption and note-taking. He nods to himself, continuing his course through the gleaming corridors of the shining modernist buildings… Bland but efficient, though no doubt it would make life harder for those who hadn’t memorised much of the campus’ layout already.

“Uhh… Hi… How are you two doing? I-I need help finding my first class…”

Ah.

Mind catching on the voice as he passes the open doors to the common area, Alistair stops mid-stride and hesitates, eyes taking in the situation with the precision of intense practice: a blonde-haired girl – one whom he realises he recognises from the preliminary Philosophy lecture – her hunched, shrinking posture implying distinct unease, facing away from him to speak to a pair of others: one another blond, tall even for a man of his age but seemingly also nervous – and leaving – the other a shorter dark-haired girl with a cane accompanied by two dogs (Alistair’s brain takes in this fact only after some difficulty – one dog would make sense, but two?), her face the picture of pleasantness straining as hard as it possibly can to obscure indignance. Clearly, the first of the three (possibly the second too) is out of her depth.

Help.

A tidal wave of cold swamps that thought. No. You could make things worse just as easily as better. You have no way of knowing.

Standing by won’t do anything…

And that is the best that can be guaranteed beyond doubt. Study. Comprehend. Act only then. So does his creed repeat itself – and yet…

BONG.

Alistair starts as the peal of the bell rings through his mind – That’s been there the whole time, he realises, where, when did – and then there is a another BONG and a pulse and suddenly the world is shrouded and still and where the three are standing there are others superimposed, half-real, and the bell rings, and rings again, stronger, and rings again –

Closing his eyes and raising his hand as if to ward against the strain, Alistair opens them to find the world… Normal.

What… He groans softly, bringing the hand to his head. Maybe I did get up too early –

“Next time maybe look for people not in a conversation, or wait until they're finished? We were kinda in the middle of something there.”

The strident tone brings him back to the situation at hand. This time, rationality momentarily blindsided, Alistair drives forward and moves to lightly tap the blonde on the shoulder. Closing his eyes again, momentarily focussing past the quietened yet still powerful wave of cold, he forces a smile and awkwardly extends a directing finger. “First year Philosophy? Wollstonecraft Building? Headed there now, if you want to follow.”

@Landaus Five-One @Smike

---

"We could always use student mentors to help teach others how to skate! If cost is an issue, agreeing to do that will lower what you'd have to pay significantly--"

The girl wouldn't stop. Jory felt a headache coming on, only further deteriorating her mood.

"I really can't. Any cost is an issue, and not the only issue. I don't have the time."

"All our sessions are optional, you could drop by any time that works to have a bit of fun!"

Fun.

Jory's expression darkened further, her gaze snapping to meet the girl's.

"I practice with professionals for hours nearly every night of the week. I don't have--nor want to have--the time to waste on a school club," she said. "Leave me alone."

There, couldn't be any more clear.

"Are you sure? You could view it as more practice time then--"

Oh my god.

"I said fuck off."

Well, that was arguably even clearer.

The girl's bright expression finally clouded some. Though she had just met the brunette a minute ago, Jory found anything but a beaming smile unnatural on her face, even if that smile had been grating her nerves.

Jory's cheeks immediately began to burn. Not wanting to be in the situation she had created a second longer, she mumbled an apology, turned on her heels, and legged it.

---

The redhead found herself entering the community kitchen. Not really on purpose, it had just been where her steps had taken her while she had just been trying to get away.

During her escape, the heat of embarrassment relented and was partially replaced with frustration and anger at the other girl. Why had she kept pushing when, from the beginning, it should have been obvious to anyone with eyes and/or ears that Jory hadn't been interested? She had been cornered into either giving in to the pestering or acting the villain. And giving in was never a viable option.

Well... there had probably maybe likely been more than just those two choices available. Still, it was definitely completely the recruiter's fault. Even if Jory could have been... less of a bitch.

The anger was flaring up again, this time directed more towards herself. The girl bit her lip, aware she'd now be pushing herself until she retched during her practice later tonight.

Thankfully, she was distracted from the thoughts.

"So... rough start to the morning, huh?"

Jory's expression relaxed a bit as she looked up, uncertain if she was even the one being spoken to. She blinked, needing a moment to take in the sight of the large man. So he was talking to her. People really were too friendly here.

She went to open her mouth to express this sentiment but stopped herself.

Sure, she wouldn't ever have time to spend with any new friends she might make, but that didn't mean she had to purposely burn every possible bridge in such a hurry. She was capable of being nice. She was.

"Something like that. Why, you care?" Hm. It came out much less friendly than she had intended. It probably didn't help that she was still glaring by default.

Jory sighed at herself and rubbed her eyes, making the effort to soften her expression. "Sorry," she offered, this time managing to sound less like she was looking to start a fight. She glanced between the other student's plate and his imposing build.

"Are you a..." she paused another second, realizing that asking him if he was an American football player would be a bit out of place here. "You a rugby player or something?" There we go, that was the stereotypical beefcake sport this side of the planet. That was plenty friendly, right?

_{@AdmrlStalfos19}