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[Goose]

The sun was rising in a beautful hazy sky. John had been up all night with gladys, but now he was dozing in a chair with his plant in his arms. The world hadn't really woken up yet, but there was the occasional sucker who was up to go to the gym in a state of yawniness.

The war. Well. About that. It was a non-event. Because soon the numness of having to actually focus on schoolwork made all but the exceptionally talented with no free time to hate other people with. People were having to contend with phsysics papers and exams that appear out of nowhere. So the students got busy writing, and the teachers were busy trying to break down an barriers that existed in the learning environment, and trying to plead with their students to not write their papers under the influence of alcahole, because even the papers were amusing, it made the proffessors look bad when their smartest students had trouble spelling medicine, after their third year of study.

John had scared his roommate off. The fact that the kid had thrown a towl on gladys had forced the man to spread a vine out of his hand and curl it around the boys body until he nearlly suffocated to get his point across, and ever since then the boy just tended to cry at night if he even bothered to come home at all.


So yes. Splendour. it was all around. John had found something that he was awesome at, and his horticulture proffessor understanded him. She tended to talk to plants too. He thought the idea was nutty, and he liked to gossip to gladys how insane the lady was. But she taught him things that surprised him. Like how to grow a wine that would intoxicate a person after just a sip. And how to grow not so legal things disguised as very legal things. They were going to help him throughout his college life, he was sure.


But then. It happened. People were crying. The whole campus started mourning. A Bomb. Planted by a student. Blew up a building. With people inside it. A lot of dead. The whole place went into shock. The police came, and started to try to work out who would do such a horrible thing.

And yet, nobody had been found. Everybody was a suspect. Nobody trusted Anybody. LAville was no longer a nice place to be.

[Ken the Wandering Soul]

For Matthew, the experience of settling into the university was one of little time. He maintained a strict regimen. To his disapointment, he had little time to do much flying. While he had taken classes in aeronautics, most of his time had been spent in books and research. He had also been trying to attain a better tactical knowledge of university. He had been making his own custom maps of the university, making details about various nooks and cranies which serve as resting spots when he finally did take greater flights all over. The little flying he did accomplish was at night when the noise was reduced to a few pockets of parties.

The recient bomb attack had left the university in a state of hightened alert, and everyone suspicious of everyone else. Matthew felt sorry for those who lost good friends, but in the end, that was just how he could feel--sorry. Detached. Perhaps it was better that way. Matthew looked on at the people who were interviewed by the news, and those who had lost dear friends seemed to be mere pieces of what they once were.

But life had move on, Matthew knew that. The world could not stop becuase people died.

Matthew soon found, however, that he could not distance himself from the public as much as he would have. He needed internet access to work on one of his assignments, but the internet at his dorm was not working. He was then given a suggestion which he would have prefered not to do, but had to follow up on. Matthew soon found himself in a coffee shop trying to order the cheapest possible coffee so he could use the free wi-fi access. When he found himself frustrated with the shop's rather convulated ordering system, he just told the employee at the register to "surprise" him.

And so, Matthew was soon sitting alone at a table with his laptop powered on. A drink made more of cream, foam, and flavoring than coffee sat on the table, untouched.