Timothy Vernil - Tim's Monday Morning
Tim supposed that what amounted to a good day was awfully subjective at the best of times. Today may certainly have been a good day, objectively speaking. Nice and sunny and fairly warm, but not too hot. Enough of a breeze to prevent roasting. It certainly probably a good day, but Tim wasn't enjoying it.
Maybe what makes a good day was what happened in it. Tim thought.
If that was true, he was having quite the bad day.
Cooped up in a corner, curled protectively around MJ, his silver basketball, desperately trying to keep his breakfast where it belonged; in his stomach, not his throat. Things certainly weren't ideal for Tim, were they? If he'd expected this, he could've been better prepared for it. He didn't expect the ride to take so long. On reflection, it should've been obvious that it'd be a long trip, though he didn't know what to expect. He'd only been in a vehicle... what, 5 times? He didn't know to expect hours on hours of flying.
Tim sat in a small corner of the airship, hoping no one would notice him. Mostly out of habit, admittedly, but he was sure no one really needed to talk to him, and if they did, he might just throw up on them. There was nothing Tim could really do except for sit there and wait out the nausea until they arrived.
Tim was pulled out of his delirious musings when he felt the ship slow down. Tim's stomach churned as the ship descended, eventually slowing to a crawl before finally touching down. The ship gave Tim one last tap in the guts, shuddering before its doors opened, revealing the sunlit day outside.
As the new students rushed ahead, Tim stayed behind to leave time for his poor stomach to recover. Once it'd settled to the point where he wouldn't throw up, he carefully rose to his feet. The world spun for a few seconds as he balanced himself, but quickly went back to normal. Tim tried a few tentative steps. His stomach feebly tried to claw up his throat but was, for the most part, settled. Tim slowly walked out of the airship and into the day ahead.
Tim walked past people grabbing their bags hugging his ball to his stomach; half out of self-consciousness and half out of still feeling sick. MJ was like a safety blanket of sorts, since he always had it around. The cold silver sphere was reassuring in its sturdiness, which Tim felt helped him feel better.
Tim spotted his relatively small backpack amongst the sea luggage and stealthily inched around the crowd to grab it. He slowly picked it up and slung it onto his back, hoping no one noticed him. He was also hoping that no one would try to talk to him. A punding headache was making it hard to focus, and he might just throw up for real. As he staggered along, he was sure that his appearance would ward people off. Anyone would think twice about messing around with someone who looks sick as all hell, walking around with a silver basketball in his hand.
Tim took a quick look around at the people around him, noting with some degree of satisfaction that almost everyone there was, at the very least, objectively somewhat more interesting than him. He may have been wrapped up in more layers than any sane person would dare attempt in this kind of weather and had a silver basketball, but everyone else at least had something
cooler. Just looking around, he could see a girl with weird dark stuff "sheathed" at her waist, a pirate, a big tattooed bald guy (Tim was a bit confused at that one) and a few other interesting people of note, including a short person even more covered up than him. He was sure that, despite being pretty weird, he wouldn't exactly be called out or anything.
Well, that covers that aspect of things. Tim thought to himself, following the crowd a little down the courtyard.
And if this headache wears off, it'd actually be a good day.Yes, today was actually supposed to be quite a nice day. Objectively, it was good. It would be an important point in his life, since after it, his life would never be the same.
Tim stopped in the middle of the courtyard, closed his eyes and sighed, simply stopping to clear his head, ball nestled in his sternum. Yes, today was an important day. A good day, for him and his family. It should be a good day, and if his headache would go away, it'd be alright at the very least.
"Maybe it'll clear up when introductions are over." He said out loud. Quietly, but out loud.
He was hoping that it would, because he could see that he should enjoy today.
Tim's Monday Evening - Balleroom
He'd told himself it'd be good. He knew that he should probably be happy that he was even there. But there was something that he'd forgotten to factor in, something very important which was making him regret choosing to become a hunter at all.
Social interaction.
Tim simply lay there, on his sleeping bag. He lay, clutching MJ, not moving a muscle. In the ballroom, people chatted away with each other, but he just stared at the ceiling. His coat, scarf and shoes lay next to his sleeping bag and he was simply wearing his shirt and pants. He wanted to sleep but the cacophony didn't let him. There was nothing he could do but lay there as the thing he dreaded the most occurred around him.
It wasn't as if he didn't want friends, but he just couldn't make them on his own. His tendency to ramble and his odd attachment to MJ put off most people and he hadn't made any real friends since he was 8 years old. He had no idea how to talk to people, though he was sure he had very little to talk about with them either. He could see the class difference between him and the majority of the new students, and that also put him off quite a bit. Tim thought it'd be difficult to relate to Tim as he'd come to beacon mostly to provide for his family, and it'd be hard for Tim to relate to them because he didn't know any other reasons to go here. It was that and social awkwardness that left Tim trying to sleep in a rowdy ballroom, just laying there, staring at the ceiling like he was lost in thought. And he was, sort of.
The heck are we doing tomorrow? He wondered.
While Tim had recovered by the time Ozpin began his speech, it had contained no hints of their activities tomorrow, and he was unsure of what to do when the time came, but he felt as if something was going to happen.
We're going to be hunters. Tim thought.
A hunter needs to be strong, now more than ever. They'll surely make us work for this...Tim experienced a familiar churning in his gut, one that he always felt when he was nervous. He sighed, trying to release the tension in his body and got up. The room was still quite rowdy, though it was settling down somewhat. He needed something to take his mind off of the next day. Something to distract him. Tim reached to his left for his coat and fished around in one of the numerous inner pockets, retrieving his prize: A little used scroll serving as a parting gift from his parents. He'd never had one before since his family were too poor to afford such luxuries, but they'd said he'd need it soon.
Tim held the small rectangular white device, wondering how it worked. Pressing the diamond in the middle elicited a response. The white rectangle suddenly came loose and expanded in Tim's hands, turning into a screen.
"What?" Tim wondered quietly.
Seemingly random shapes came up on the screen with text under it, though he had no idea what they meant. Pressing buttons at random, he was quickly met with a portrait of himself, with a green bar underneath. Now Tim was really confused.
Fiddling with it for a few more minutes brought more confusing results, so Tim simply closed the scroll and stowed it back into his coat before leaning back onto his sleeping bag once again.
I'll figure it out tomorrow. Tim decided.
It's not like I need it right now, anyway.The ballroom was now mercifully quiet, though the low hum of conversations was still present. Tim was far enough away from most people for it not to matter and he found that the noise was at least bearable. Thankfully, no one was close by to him so he could sleep in relative security. He was always nervouse around other people, after all. Even if there was a ballroom full of people right now, he was spared from having someone really close to him, which made it somewhat safer for him. Somewhat.
Tim wormed his way into his sleeping bag and dozed off, MJ nestled on his stomach. He listened to the snatches of conversation before finally drifting into sleep.
The following (Tuesday) morning - Balleroom
Tim was having a dream. Quite the nice dream, in fact. He was home, eating dinner, with his brother, mother and father. The entire family was there, smiling and having tasty food. It was a good atmosphere, and Tim relished the moment. But then he woke up.
Tim groaned quietly and slowly got up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. MJ, the ever watchful protector, sat on his lap still in the sleeping bag. He took stock of the various sleeping bodies around him and wondered what time it was. Remembering from last night's escapades that his scroll had a clock function, he fished around in his coat to find it and retrieved the device. It lit up as he pressed the diamond and revealed the time. It was 4:00 AM. He certainly had slept very early, but that shouldn't warrant this early of an awakening.
There were people though, which did put him on edge. Maybe that's why he woke up so early.
Tim slowly rose to his feet, joints creaking in protest. He was quite sore from yesterday, between the travelling, travelling sickness and social nervousness that ruled his life yesterday. He stretched a little, but he was mindful that people were still sleeping. He carefully put his coat and scarf on, since it was a little cold, and grabbed his shoes and MJ. Thankfully, he was quite close to the courtyard door, so he tiptoed outside. Putting on his shoes, he quietly walked out into the cold morning with MJ tucked under his arm.