The Amaryllis Project [ Chapter Six ]
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
It was satisfying in a way to have a game of scrabble with four peers, especially in an area where you're essentially a stranger. They were wonderfully outgoing, except perhaps Val - who was restrained and very careful - and Reisa whose reasons were obvious, and they never seemed to mind the fact the Iriel kept shooting them suspicious looks. They were friendly, they were tolerant and were remarkably restrained given for the proven fact that they were all very talkative women. Throughout the entirety of the clock they spent on that traditional word game, Iriel was surprised to note that even though neither of the four odd girls didn't mention a single topic that included other people and was "nasty", and even then, he never yawned once. Sure, there wee the long moments of silence that were almost awkward, but one of them - usually Xenia, with an airhead remark - would always break the tension before it got to serious. Iriel honestly wouldn't mind spending time with them again, they may be a ring of women who didn't fit his preferred stereotype, but they were fun and that was what really mattered when he had several hours to while away.
Thus, he was unfazed when he checked the clock at the end of their seventh round to find that two whole solid hours had flown by while he had been enjoying the company of four relaxed, entertaining and - he dare say - friends. It was a crazy amount of time, even for someone who was horribly inept at keeping check of time, and when he looked back, it proved to be less Scrabble and more individuals. Like Xenia with her random remarks, shamelessly exclaiming how she would absolutely love to have a purple moose as her next birthday present as she pieced out the word "moose" with the ending alphabet of "purple"; Shiroi scratching her head and studying the board with long periods of time and even resorting to spelling the words out loud as she tried to fit it in; Reisa with her disdainful sniffs and snappy comebacks when someone pointed out her often ridiculous, but thankfully infrequent, spelling mistakes; Val with her carelessness, knocking over the board, misplacing her tiles or mistakenly taking Shiroi's... They were a whole whirlwind of fun on their own. And of course, there was the matter with the cat, who after deciding that his lap was getting uncomfortable simply hopped to the next lap in sight: Reisa.
Iriel never heard someone scream, drop a whole stack of Scrabble tiles and upend the board so loud and so fast before. The cat however, upon realizing that this was That Girl, simply looked as affronted as it and Reisa collectively could, and settled comfortably on Xenia's lap with a contented purring while glaring at the blond with beady, silted yellow eyes. Iriel had to snicker uncontrollably when Windlee stretched luxuriously in her direction, extending all of her claws at the poor frazzled girl who squeaked and ducked for cover. He was slapped in the shoulder and snapped at in return, but it was a scene he would love to watch again: the idea of Reisa, in all her made-up, hairsprayed and narcissitic self get scared the hell out of by an extremely lovable, very cuddly and domestic cat was an epitome of all the sights to behold.
In fact, he only decided it was time to go when Xenia looked up at the chunky alarm clock on her table and noted, "Hey Iri," she had stated, passingly, not one bit shaken by the idea of addressing someone she was introduced to only a few hours before so informally, "I think the library should be open by now. Lunch break should be over by now. Long long over." And he had started a little, but when he looked up to check the clock, it was true. He excused himself graciously, leaning over to rub the cat gently between the ears to thank it for the fun it'd provided for the time, and thanked them all politely out of habit. They had simply smiled at him and waved goodbye, with Xenia waving exceptionally exuberantly and exclaiming, "Our door's always open for you! Just get the key from us if you need to!" Upon which Reisa took it upon herself to break the embarrassing pause that ensued by giving her a good solid whack over Xenia's head, bouncy black curls and all. Iriel laughed, joining in the good-natured and openly amused chuckles appreciatively before biding them goodbye with all seriousness and a not-very-straight face. Reisa had even got up to see him out, politely opening the door and giving his a polite kiss on the cheek before pointing him out.
And he had. He stepped out, glanced left and right, and decided to head back. What could the library have to offer that he didn't already bring, accidentally or not? And the idea of cramming into a musty shelf-lined room with surgically good lighting and intense cleanliness, complete with a pervasive smell of disinfectant, was really a big turn-off. Whether or not it was really like this, he would not know, since he was timely distracted by very loud shouts floating up from the lower levels of the building. Half-curious, Iriel leaned over the railing to take a look.
What had previously been a pair of empty field and court was now filled with people, all chasing or dribbling after either a black and white, monochrome, object that was steadily getting muddier, or an obnoxious, ugly orange excuse of a basketball. He paused, hovering by the railing and studying the bunch of guys all chasing after the little round balls like they had a madman running after them with flame throwers and knives, cheering and shrieking after a goal or a dunk, hugging each other and doing atrociously dumb things like mimicking celebrity players. Especially those muddy soccer guys, what with them pulling their shirts off and throwing them haphazardly, everywhere and getting muddier and filthier by the minute. The kind of rationale his mind was pulling up was a weird, surreal kind, especially when he himself was the type that would jerk around like them little midgets down there. The fact that they looked like ants from his three-storey vantage point probably helped to detach him from those people he would have normally felt like he could connect to. Or maybe it was the fact that he was feeling so lazy and languid that the idea of any sort of sport seemed irredeemably taxing for him to want to even begin to comprehend their presence.
But, just to give himself a chance at being stupid again, he decided it would be alright to take a trip down and have a look around. Make a few friends, maybe, join in the game and get a kick or two scoring a couple of goals then come right back up and back to Musty Dorm Room with Boring Books. Trademark included. With that in mind, he had skipped off and slouched his way down the tiled corridor, passing down the nine same doors with the pane of clear glass set in them for whichever poor fellow on night patrol that night, and he was just going past his own dorm room when he noticed something. It was jarringly amiss actually, not just strange like maybe a slight change in the grains and eyes in the wood, or the slightly off-centred-ness of the clear two-way glass that should have been neatly centralized, but glaring with big yellow eyes. Or in this case, white fluorescent lights - the door had been thrown wide wide open. Surprised, caught off-guard, curious and maybe even that little bit mortified, Iriel crept into the room, as tentatively as he could manage.
What he found inside wasn't chaos: it wasn't anything he found particularly out of place, nor particularly neat either. There were no clothing thrown in a million different directions over a million different surfaces, no haphazardly yanked open cabinets and drawers, disgorging their contents over the tiled floor in an unsightly manner. There was no scene with evidence of struggle, there were absolutely no signs of struggle. Iriel was completely mortified when he saw, the smallest hint of this emotion increasing and feeding itself until it finally threw itself into the space of his body cavities and plainly either blew itself up or mated and reproduced asexually to fill them spaces up with this irrational worry that was the result of its efforts. There was nothing that was especially wrong with the room, the displaced pile of books was still where it was on his table, the windows were still shut, the sunlight filtering through the glass and the flimsy curtains, the rug was in place and so was the bed. The only thing out of place, was the sudden presence, of him.
He, was far past he (Iriel's) own age, dark haired and pretty dark skinned as well. His hair was cropped close to his head - the ends probably could not have been more than two inches from their roots - his skin was visibly burnt and tanned by the sun rather than naturally dark, and he was in his room. After the preliminary examination, Iriel took a good look at his new companion in the space of his assigned dormitory. The first thing that came to his head was a warning: Do not ever pick a brawl with this guy unless one was absolutely sure he didn't mind a black eye or losing a tooth or two. This guy was very very tall, easily five foot nine or ten, with a powerful posture and enough muscle to deter any potential assailants that were planning a head on approach. This was the kind of guy who was likely to pick someone up and throw them half-way across the room with ease, and Iriel knew that from just simply untrained judging. That was probably why his mind told him to make a quick decision: approach the bear or let him approach you? His mind even had the nerve to lay around idly, in a manner that brought the infuriating image of him leaning back in an armchair that looked undeniably comfortable, arms tucked behind his head and feet resting on a desk. This was an image completely separate from the question that his mind was asking him, one which may well become a matter of life and death if he wasn't careful.
And fate mocked him in the face when the dark-skinned individual he had been looking upon apprehensively finally noticed his presence and turn to take a look.
Lady Fate decided to stop teasing him, and brought in her sister Luck with her as well: he smiled at him, a big wide friendly grin. Well, that was danger one avoided. He was at peace.
For now.
"Hey," he'd called out to him and it was all Iriel took to realize at that very same moment that even his eyes were dark, "You're the guy who bunks at this room right? Dormitory AD03-47?" He stated it like it was a question, although there was no way he would have not known this beforehand if he even possessed the means to enter without breaking something. Still mildly stunned, Iriel nodded, conceding to his question with a muted response as he mulled over the guy's accent, how he would pronounce every single syllable in his words, like he was trying to fit them into a haiku. Or maybe some stricter version of the haiku that promised death for those who didn't fit in the syllables in the manner of 5-7-5 or some other combination that Iriel had found completely off the mark and downright idiotic. The man however, didn't falter even when faced with his startled addressed, completely helping to make up his lack of enthusiasm with his own bright responses.
"Well, glad ter know that I'm ma moved to the right room. Thee fellah downstairs would fair flip if he found ou' that I moved his precious things to the 'wrong room." Iriel was still trying to figure out his accent — it sounded fair, he wanted to guess Mexican, but he'd never actually heard a Mexican speak before... Best be to not judge first until it's confirmed — when the information finally sunk in. He, the dark figure who loomed over him like a giant bear and spoke with what Iriel finally decided to be a neo-Mexican accent, was not his room mate after all! For a moment, he was unsure whether he was supposed to laugh or cry with relief. He had been distinctly unsettled by this strange, friendly character, but his fears were unfounded and he realized that he actually had no need to continue spending time with him, or even go through any sort of proper introduction. Just to be polite anyway, he extended his hand, cautiously.
"My name's Iriel. I'm the occupant in this dormitory," it was simply, straightforward and overall self-sufficient. If there was supposed to be any introduction Iriel would later choose to be proud of, this one would certainly stand a chance. He even managed a grin that he hoped looked more realistic than how he felt. The man smiled, his lips and cheeks stretching to make space for the broadening grin that took up more space still on his tanned weather-beaten face. Reaching out, he grasped his hand into a firm handhold and gave it a good solid shake, one that threatened to tip Iriel over if he had stood any less firm.
"Miguel," he replied, with his accent doubly strong this time, "I'm the resident handy-man. The guy who helps fix the broken water heaters, light bulbs and various little knick-knacks that you little chummy ones have problems with while you're here." His grin was charmingly sincere, though a little rugged and rough, Iriel had a gut feeling that there would be many many girls that he had been acquainted to who would take to him easily. He was a nice guy, maybe a little bit too intimidating on the first impression, but a nice guy nevertheless. Tan, stock, well-built, he looked like he could hold his own on a rugby field as well, though that was just him. All he should have done to make himself more conspicuous was trade out that modest button-up shirt for a singlet, like a body builder, and everybody would be turning to take a look at this muscular figure stalking down the corridor whenever he went past.
Iriel could feel his smile twitch and relax into something far less strained and become steadily more sincere. "Ah, gotcha then Mister Miguel, if I bust a bulb or the water heater I'll definitely know who to go look for. You're always up for the job right?" The dark man gave him a nod eagerly, shaking their clasped hands, "Well then I'll definitely call for you if there be need. I promise I'll try my utter best to keep from bad damage though. You... don't mind fixing the broken windows right?"
Miguel had chuckled and told him to bring the glue and glue gun before asking him up at that kind of thing.
"Then... what about the laundry? Do you know who does the cloth related handy work?" Iriel had asked, not one bit embarrassed about his own ignorance.
"Oh, that. That be my adopted lil sis, she's got a real long name though. We all call her Inez around the area. Be nice to her though, she does have her down days, her joints are givin' a bit of trouble these days. Years catching up to her an all," he nodded as he spoke, in a manner that confirmed his own words. Iriel nodded back at him, just to be polite. When the pause that followed was stretched enough to indicate that Iriel had indeed ran out of questions, Miguel had chuckled and broke the handshake, clasping his hands behind his back. "Well, I best be going. I'll direct your roomie up here. I think he's still downstairs doin' the admin things."
Iriel glanced at the pre-installed clock, slightly apprehensively, "He said he'd come at four. Now's only three..."
Miguel shrugged as he headed for the door, "I don' know then. Think that maybe things went earlier than he expected. You know," he added as he was exiting, his voice sounding faintly echoey as he stepped out into the corridor and towards the door not once glancing back, even as Iriel tailed him all the while, trying to be polite and sending him out at least, "Usually the dorms are all full. This July the guy that always enrols in this camp came down with the flu. Came in here sneezing and coughing, talked like he had a file rubbing against his throat, nose redder than a clown's. Poor guy." The tanned man was shaking his head as he spoke, pausing by the door to pull on his clumsy dark leather boots onto his socked feet. Iriel finally noticed that he had taken out his shoes - something he himself had neglected to do.
"You mean they always do the administration work here?" Iriel queried, looking politely but otherwise very surprised, "I though they'd enrol in some academy outside in the city then attend the camp."
Now Miguel was lacing up his boots, the chunky bits of footwear was giving him some problems with its thin rope-like laces, something his own thick stumpy fingers had slight difficulty tying into delicate little bows. "'Course not. The Channings live here, you can see their houses on the far end, righ' next to the study building, whatever fancy name it is. Their daughter moves into the dormitory region only during the camping days. Usually she says in her own room at the house. Summa times she bunks out or she and her friends organize big parties in the complex, otherwise... yeah." Abruptly, Miguel straightened, running a hand through his short bristly head of stubble, with another good-natured grin. "So I be goin' now. Call me up if you want a chat or summat."
"Oh I will," Iriel assured him politely, "I'll drop by for tea if I have the time. The Channing's program sounds really tedious. Were you... ever lost when you first came here to work? Was it difficult?"
Miguel considered it for a minute, as he tugged on his laces, tightening them and looping them around his stubby digits meditatively, "You can get lost in the dormitory complex only. The study building is less crowded with things and is a new structure. Whatever that's left of that old Ammiel Boarding School is what you an' me are standing on right now. There's a lot of nice stuff in the original building, a lot of things were preserved from the refurbishment. They've some really nice rooms not found on the campus map. If you've the time, grab a flash or two and get'cher pals to go 'round with you. Then you can come get a cuppa tea from me or Inez after wards, we're always up for a good story or two." His slight frown disappeared as he finished off the laces on his boots with a flourish, and stomped on the rag to help to adjust the boots properly onto his feet before he lumbered to the still open doorway. "I be goin' now. Don't get in ter trouble now."
Iriel nodded, and saw him off. Just as another girl waved and greeted Miguel politely, "Afternoon to you Miguel!" she had trilled politely after the vague outline of the surprisingly fast moving figure of the large man, before she turned to the open doorway. "Oh hi," she started breathlessly, "My name's Francesca Noemi. I saw your door open and being held open for a really long time now, is anything wrong?"
Iriel blinked and shook his head quickly, marvelling at the quality of their service here. "Nah, just occupied having a chat with Mister Miguel, forgot to close the door after me. Nothings wrong," he added to reassure her, as Francesca Noemi continued to give him a suspicious look. She studied him for a moment, then tilted her head in a familiar fashion.
"You... Are you new? You don't look like the guy Harty used to have as his room mate," she had remarked, in a slightly brusque, off-handed manner. She tipped her head to the other side, her hazel eyes seeming to study him again, getting a new perspective from her slightly skewed vantage point, "Or are you new as I asked? I mean, I didn't really believe Mum when she said that dear Abel pulled out of the programme this year because of the flu bug. Poor chap-"
She looked like she was about to continue after that breath of air she'd taken in, and so Iriel hurried cut in. "Yes, I'm new. I'm Iriel. And, yeah I was told that the... other guy who used to stay here was down with the flu as well."
Francesca Noemi nodded pleasingly, and resumed speaking with her same strong British accent, "Oh yes I see. Iriel huh? Would you be that guy that Kichirou and Katsurou brought in? Let's see here..." She waved her clipboard at him slightly, and took a good hard look at the black figures on the white bleached paper, pinned to the startling orange backing with a shiny stainless steel clip. She stared hard at the first page then flipped it over, before introducing her right hand to trace the border of what looked like a name list with all the details of the participants written in it, "Ah, Iriel Sheltiel Azrael right?" Francesca Noemi announced, looking pleased, though she never looked up, "You're bunking with Steven Hartell, first timer here at the Amaryllis Campus eh? Mm, just enrolled yesterday..."
"Look, I'm sorry but, who are you?" Iriel asked, slightly annoyed by her random reading off lists for no reason. It would have been fine if she was just being chatty - though she was more of monologue directed at him than an actual end of a conversation - it had been fine. Now her off-handed remarks about him as though he wasn't present was starting to step on his nerves, just that tiny bit.
She, Francesca Noemi looked slightly put off, but nevertheless gather herself together. "Well, Iriel Sheltiel Azrael, I'm Francesca Noemi Channing. I'm in charge of the general well-being of all of you bunkers here for the month of July, year Kiernan since founding." Her penchant for facts was a real put-off, Iriel decided, it was a pity she was so pretty as well; strong cheekbones and facial structure, pretty auburn hair that was almost the colour of blond that Reisa had, and intelligent hazel eyes behind her medium oval glasses, perched on the high bridge of her nose. It was a sad fact that she spoke in such a manner that was so much like a show off. She looked rather affronted now by his lack of repent, "Well," she said again, "You look like you're doing fine so far. How about we both go down and help Hart get settled in?"
"Hart who?" Now it was Iriel's turn to feel like an idiot. What was this Hart character she had been mentioning all the while? And Francesca Noemi Channing was her name? Didn't that simply make her a relative of the Channings?
It was only when Francesca Noemi gave a small polite cough of what seemed to be exasperation that the light switched on in Iriel's brain. So this was that "Franny"! The fiancee Kichirou had always wanted to have when he was a tiny rug rat who didn't know any better. Not that Iriel could blame him, Francesca Noemi was pretty, though not exactly very perfect with her plus-sized figure and lacking in height, and Iriel would have thought very highly of her had she not talked the way she did, filling all the little gaps in the silence with her own chatter that was all very interrogative and slightly offensive. Maybe it was just the way she was brought up. It made him feel exposed, and he didn't like that.
"Hart is what Steven Hartell always tells people to call him. He's your room mate, a tad eccentric but quite nice. He's a big prankster though I hope you won't mind. He just doesn't think before he acts very often." She sounded like his mother, Iriel decided, even going to the extent to ask for his forgiveness and tolerance on the matter of some stranger. Francesca Noemi shrugged slightly, and offered him a cautious, slightly strained smile, "So, would you like to go meet him?"
Iriel looked down at the little midget, peering at her closely without moving from where he was at the door way. There was a pregnant pause where neither spoke, Francesca Noemi with her cautious, strained smile, Iriel with his bored calculating expression. Then, he moved his head slowly.
"I'd be delighted to, Francesca Noemi."
.xxx.
Labels: T.A.P.
about one xREDballoon
about meIt was the username that was adopted either in late August or early September of 2009. It was the combined effect of too many games on Orisinal (especially High Delivery) and also her long-time love for how the large red carnival balloons when they fly away.
about meFinalized as a digital signature only in November of the same year, it has since been used everywhere: her previous Gaia account, her account on bubbl.us, and of course every recent endeavor on web and graphic design. It was an aim of hers to use it as something of a brand. From her sketches to simple blog layouts, one xREDballoon presents is her favourite signature as of now.
about meone xREDballoon is the internet handle of a girl, born on a wet day in the early morning of late February. Although astrologically she is a Pisces, she displays many of the Aquarian traits, possibly as a result of being born near the time. She likes the concept of beauty in its most primitive classical form, ruffles layered upon each other generously for flounce or decor, detailed black lace be it crochet or woven, a whole palette of colours from turquoise to grey. She is charmed by the way an old well-read book smells on a wet rainy day, and the way the pages feel, all crinkly and wise under her fingers as she turns the page. She loves the inviting appeal of a blank notebook, and a good gel-ink pen in the colour of the sky.
about meLearn more about her in her personal blog.
about And Then She Fell
about meAndthenshe-fell@blogspot was named as such in October 09, on a whim and on a wish to match the layout that time. And Then She Fell was a lot of things back then: a roleplay layout (in bbcode), a roleplay idea (which was never developed) and also the words emblazoned in huge Ruritania upon an image which showed a falling girl. That was the beginnings of this writing blog as the all-new concept of And Then She Fell.
about meFrom the start, And Then She Fell has always been a semi-personal blog. While visitors are not unwelcomed, no particular effort is put into censoring the content or to sound polite. Just as well that the blog touches on intangible unimportant things, for if it were to talk of life and its nuances, things would sour quickly and it would become a blog of cynical views and criticism.
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