Heather hums as she does something that few would do in Februry turn a small clearing into a camp site. Pine needles and cones become the tinder-heart for a small fire. Heather settles in to stare at the flickering flame.
Sir Quiran sits at the head of the the oval conference table, furthest from the door. On the whiteboard behind him, the words "Equestrian Club" are written in black marker. Before him sits a legal pad and pens. Slightly to one side is a rather thick packet held together with paperclips and staples. He calmly pages through a few pages of notes he's written in the yellow pad, forcing himself to not look at the clock.
**And who will show, I wonder, if any? Perhaps a dreamer, worthy of the name? Some fellow Kithain who share my enthusiasm for horses? The one Gallain, Heather, seemed to be the outdoor type. And that's something of an understatement, come to think of it. Ah well. Even if there is but one person who comes, I shall take joy in that. And if not? There is nothing to stop me from seeking my own entertainment.**
Collin cuts through the parking lot, chewing on his lower lip as he walks. Taking out a hefty ring of keys, Collin opens the door of an old, beat-up car of no discernible make or model. Sitting in the car, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a toy tribble and a large rubber band. Twisting a few knots in the band and looping it around the rear view mirror, Collin turns the toy into an ornament.
"Well, Guinea, I have no idea what this is, but it will be living with you for the next little while."
Sitting back for a moment, an unaccustomed smile grows on Collin's face.
((I believe that this short scene, due to a flaw I took, costs me a temporary Will Power. How often are they regained?))
Breaking between classes, Jonathan scurries back to his dorm room to pick up his violin and flute, and then jogs down to the music practice room to make use of them.
The room is, at the time of his arrival, otherwise empty, and being mostly soundproofed, very little sound escapes, except through the door into the adjoining hallway as he starts playing.
Thomas lies stretched out on his bed, surrounded by his stacks and piles of books. He had been reading quietly for some time. Lying open all about the young brown haired man are books: the sonnets of Shakespeare, Cabell's Jurgen, Cyranno de Bergerac, romantic comedies, romantic tragedies, bodice rippers and harlequin romance novels... Now the musty smell of the pages is comforting as he studies the white ceiling of the dorm room. Within the room, shadows are long and dark; the only sources of light are Thomas' small reading light by his bed and the glow of Carver's desk light.
He sighs slightly to himself and glances to the right where Carver's side of the room is. Being horizontal and his library in the way, he can't see if his roommate has gone to sleep. **Hope he's not asleep yet. Heck, I hope he doesn't think I'm nuts!**
"Hey... Carver? You still awake?"