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Post by caden baynham on Aug 8, 2010 17:10:06 GMT -8
If Caden had been at all skilled at forward thinking, he would have brought with him a chair that morning. Where he was currently located, it was obvious that the makers of the school hadn't gone to great lengths to ensure that every corner and every surface of the buildings' insides were comfortable for sitting. He was on the floor, leaned back halfway against the wall, halfway against a door, but feeling, most prominently, the imprint the doorframe was leaving down his spine. He'd slid forward the longer he'd been seated on the hard floor that did nothing to cushion his bum, and had even pushed himself forward a little bit in an effort to make his seating arrangement more comfortable, which had resulted in the exact opposite scenario. Instead of increasing comfort, it had landed his back in the awkward position of being sharply curved in the upper-mid section, with his head pushed forward enough to very nearly make the tip of his chin touch his chest. In this position, breathing was something of a chore, requiring deep inhales and heavy exhales, forced through his curved and pressured throat, and yet, he hadn't made the slightest effort to move since he landed himself in the position, nor to ensure that he wouldn't slide further down, thus landing him in an even more uncomfortable seating arrangement. Effort was not his strong suit, nor did he want it to be; he was comfortable in his discomfort, with his arms on his stomach, rising and falling with the filling and emptying of his lungs.
It had occurred to him that the hallways in this portion of the school were empty, despite being lined with doors leading into various classrooms. The one he was leaning against now did not, which, he'd concluded after three point four seconds of intense consideration, put him at lesser risk of having to move should an opposing force decide to try to break out from the inside of whatever the door lead into. Every now and then, footsteps sounding from somewhere in the near vicinity would tickle the edge of his interest for a few seconds, but never enough to cause him to look around, and certainly not enough to cause him to sit up. He was much too content in his uncomfortable position, soothed by the whirring and buzzing sound of an air vent above his head, elegantly disguised amidst wooden panelling, which showed every sign of not working as it should. For one, despite its constant production of sound, he hadn't felt even the faintest indication of a breeze coming from it, and thought he could detect, at the edge of consciousness, that the air in this particular portion of hallway was just a tad stale. Uncomfortable position, irritating sounds, stuffy air, difficulty of breathing, and when you put all the elements of his experience together, staying put was still far preferable to the alternative of moving his arse, as his sister would put it with a light kick and a snorted laugh.
He had no more classes today. In fact, he was lucky enough to have no more classes until noon the following day, when he'd have to - unfortunately - rouse himself from apathy and drag his feet to the classrooms. For now, however, and until that time, he was off, and free to do whatever he pleased - which happened to be leaning against a wall in a hallway at school, under a broken air vent, blocking an unidentified door. If there was nothing to do outside of school, it was just as easy to stay inside of school, and since the day offered him nothing but sun, sun, sun, as far as the eye could each, it was safe to say that it was best to stay indoors. He much preferred the artificial lighting of these hallways - despite the faint flickering of the third light to his right, which also seemed to be making a soft humming sound - especially when his choice of clothing wasn't entirely ideal for a warm summer's day. He'd gone for a plaid shirt, simply because his hand closed around it when he'd reached into the closet, and a pair of dark jeans, which comprised most of the lower-body attire available in his closet. It hadn't been a shocking outcome, but was one that proved to be a bit too warm when the sun hit his dark jeans and started warming his body. The shirt was fine, as its sleeves were rolled up and he had nothing underneath, because he, in a moment of indifference, hadn't cared that the fourth button was missing and might create a slip in his shirt, through which his chest would be visible. It was now, the shirt being slightly bunched in the front, creating more of a gap than a slip, at the bottom edge of which a thumb rested, occasionally tugging absent-mindedly at the fifth, and intact, button.
His back's hold on the door gave way, causing him to slip another inch and a half, the movement causing his plaid shirt to get yanked up a little bit, now landing its hem directly below the waistline of his jeans, and further pressing his chin towards his chest and causing it now to touch it. He released a faint groan, and his hands slid off his abdomen, landing on the floor and pressing his palms into it. For a moment, he really thought that he was going to push off and lift himself into a more comfortable position, but when the time came to gather strength and make the effort, his willingness had evaporated. His shoulders lowered, relaxing again after the suspicion of effort to be made, and his arms relaxed with them, hands now overturned and landing his knuckles on the wooden floor. He drew a wheezing breath and released it slowly, staring down at the gaping hole between the third and fifth button in his shirt. A window to his chest. He released a silent scoff and closed his eyes, listening to the whirring of the non-functional air vent. Strangely soothing. After a moment, he barely registered that the sound was even there.
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Post by eli barrows on Aug 19, 2010 22:58:57 GMT -8
Eli rolled the cuffs of his white button-down past his elbows. Turning the rust speckled doorknob, he entered the drafty corner of what was known as the janitor closet. The name itself – janitorial – had never been an attractive name. He had always preferred the name stamped in a faded black on tarnished metal outside the door – gardien. Like he was the guardian of these halls, and their stories. As the students passed by the doors, oblivious to what was held inside of them. Eli existed in those in-between moments - the jangling set of old keys at his side unlocking rooms that had remained hidden for years. Every eight years, the faculty decreed that all the rooms in the chateau be cleaned. This year was the eighth year marker, and there was over a hundred rooms - a quarter of them never used in the past eight years. A guardian he may be, but today he felt more like a janitor.
Before reaching for his mop and bucket, he sat down on an abiding crate and stared at the room around him. It was a strangely shaped room, one that narrowed at the door but burgeoned, as it grew closer to the window. He wasn’t quite sure what it had been used for originally, as if they had forgotten a room and decided to squeeze one in where they could. He decided he never really wanted to know, the curiosity giving it more of an enchanting quality that it probably did not deserve.
Sunlight punctured through clear streaks amidst the grimy circular window. Dust filtered in the golden light, giving the room a hazy aura. A moth suddenly fluttered in one corner, beating its downy wings against the stained glass, seeking the light. After a moment, it gave up the fight and settled along the bow of the window ledge. A beam of light had pierced the back of his hand, the pale of his skin appearing honeyed in the warm light. He gripped his fingers into a fist as blue veins webbed across white tendons. Sighing he released his grasp, and fell back into the shadowed room. Standing up, he grabbed his mop and bucket and left the room in its familiar silence.
He made his way to one of the more unused rooms in the castle. It had been a classroom once, but for some reason or another it had not been updated when the east wing had been, and it was left to time and cobwebs. As he rounded the corner, he suddenly saw a collapsed form of limbs. ”You’ve got to be kidding me…” Eli muttered quietly. He never liked interaction with any of the students. It always proved to be awkward and strangely affirming that he was not meant to be one of them. He nudged further until he was near the enfolded figure. He had hoped the student would have moved as he showed his intent for getting through that door, but they had not budged. He waited a moment for the seemingly sleeping student to realize of Eli’s presence, but no such movement was made. He nudged his foot against the student’s leg, though it didn’t seem to register. ”You’re gonna have to move.” He realized he recognized the student – a young man, perhaps around his age, that he often saw solitary, wandering through the hallways as if strolling through the park. He stiffened a sigh and thought back to that flittering moth, beating mercilessly against the light that pierced through its fragile wings.
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Post by caden baynham on Sept 3, 2010 16:39:29 GMT -8
Footsteps at the edge of consciousness. They were impossible to miss, because of their refusal to fade and their increasing volume, a clear sign of approach. He kept his eyes closed, tightly squeezing them shut for a moment as he proceeded to ignore the presence in the same hallway as him, concluding that whoever it was, this person was probably of no significance to him. But the footsteps came closer and became a more urgent matter, and finally, stopped. Stopped when they reached him, when he could practically feel a human figure looming over him, quiet and waiting. He didn't react, didn't move, didn't open his eyes or even alter his rhythm of breathing, nothing to indicate that this other presence was noticed and acknowledged. As far as he was concerned, it didn't yet exist.
A nudge against his leg made it more difficult to ignore, but he still didn't move. His breathing hitched for a second, resulting in an alteration of his breathing pattern that soon became his standard. Another moment passed, and a voice sounded, notifying him that the human presence was male, and the human presence had a request. A passing frown passed over his features, landing like a cloud on his eyebrows for a moment, before it lifted again, suddenly evaporating. "Thank you, Captain Obvious, you're quite right; at some point or another, I will, indeed, have to move." His voice was even and low, somewhat coarse in his current position, with his throat bunched up and dry, out of use and still caught in the calm of silence. "Can't stay here forever, or so they say." He continued, and his fingers tapped lightly on his abdomen, a quick, rhythmical display that only lasted a handful of moments before he felt its usefulness was void.
"But are you," his hand lifted, one finger extending in what he believed was the man's direction judging from where his foot had nudged Caden's leg, and where the man's voice seemed to be sounding from. After a second of pointing, his left eyelid slid open, allowing a blue eye to peer through the slight slit between the folds of skin and eye the other man with something akin to suspicion. His other eyelid followed suite, opening slowly and lazily to allow him the full visual of "el janitor" - it was stuck between the realm of nonsense and comprehension, that term, lacking language due to a complicated (or quite simple, really) mixture, and thus appealed to his sense of careless satisfaction - though some minor tilting of his head to one side, leaning away from the janitor so he could turn his head and lift his chin away from his chest, was required for optimal viewing-delight. Or rather, simple viewing-accessibility, as Caden decided there was nothing delightful about a man who was attempting to prompt him to move, of all things. "Trying to tell me that I need to move right now?"
What an absurd notion, he thought to himself, and quirked a drowsy brow to communicate this opinion of his to the other man - if the quirked brow didn't suffice to communicate said opinion, he would make no further effort, as effort was a sorry thing to waste, and he would already have wasted what little went into aforementioned quirked brow, which was really more than enough - further tilting his head up and to the side, upper back twisting a bit in the direction of facing the man as he did so. He slid ever-so slightly to the side, but his shoulder bone caught on the doorframe in a somewhat uncomfortable way - maybe even bordering on faintly painful, but only for a quickly passing moment - and he stayed put in this new position, slightly curved to the side.
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