Post by demos on Nov 13, 2012 13:10:29 GMT -5
nobody else can take me higher
Alisander was not a deliquent. He wasn’t the sort to cause trouble, to draw attention to himself at all. He went through life with his head down, not out of shyness or some misplaced timidity. Rather simply so he would be left alone. He wasn’t particularly conversational. He tended to be too serious, to enjoy the moments of solitude. His life was consumed by his own work. Indeed, one of the first things he’d done upon moving in at the Academy was to pin up his investigation of sorts. The entire back wall of his closet, the side walls, even the doors, were covered with a complex map. He had pinned up newspaper clippings, photographs, anything. He had all recorded drownings, background history on Zachary Rothschild, everything he possibly could. And every day it grew, by just a little bit. But no matter how it grew, no matter how much work he did, he never seemed to understand anything new. It never seemed any closer. It slapped him in the face, each morning as he awoke anew to stare at his work. He’d achieved nothing. In three years, he’d discovered nothing. But he had hope, a hope some would call delusional. But this was the only way he knew how to survive.
He leaned back, glancing out the window. For the moment, the Detention Hal l was abandoned. And that was precisely why he’d chosen such a place. There would be no one to glance over his shoulder, to look at him with pity or confusion. There would be no one to interrupt him. He had covered the closest desks with his books and assorted materials. He pushed them together, creating one massive desk. Not all of it was his personal investigation. Some of it was, yes, but not all. He was a student after all, and he had work do to. There was some calculus, an English paper due, a lab for his assorted science classes. This he would complete first, so as to give his undivided attention to other pursuits. He folded his arms over his chest, staring vacantly out the window. His lips quirked, neither a frown nor a smile. His brows knitted together, lost somewhere deep in thought. The absolute solitude got lonely at times, rare times. He missed the company of his parents, his older sister, both of his older sisters really. But he’d been largely unable to form close relationships.
He had relationships, casual friends and such. He’d been there for two years, it was impossible to have remained a complete pariah. The simple truth of the matter was that his friendships were limited. He had no trouble hanging with the guys, though he never talked all that much. He had people to sit with, to eat with, if he wished. It was simply that most of the time – he didn’t wish it. And a majority of his friends were older than himself. He tended to attract mature company. And each year, as was inevitable, his friends graduated – moved on. The pool of available associates became smaller and smaller and smaller. A part of him was looking forward to the day when he too would leave, though he hadn’t a clue where it was he would flee too. He wouldn’t go home, there was too much there. Perhaps he would spend some time simply wandering, adventuring. It was an alluring idea. But he would always be tied, relatively, to this place. He would be tied to Phillipa. A part of him longed for the day when he could let her go, another part feared this eventuality. But that was it, it was precisely an eventuality.