Oh! I recall seeing that in the recent posts a number of times. I shall certainly inform you when I finish getting through it, sir!
A good cloth is nice. Something a bit thick with a higher friction to collect enough of the dust and dirt. Special types of glasses-cleaning cloth exist for this on the market, but depending on time and location you have to make do with what is present. If I am at school or at a party when I am not wearing an expensive tie, I typically use that as the cloth usually is excellent in collecting the dust and other things due to its electrostatic properties. Shirts are also sufficient when the time calls for them. If necessary one can use special cleaning fluid but water also works fine, albeit you must be careful with streaking on the lens.
Oh, I certainly would not mind. I assume it is in the Writer's Nook?
That is excellent! It is very good when people can wake up in such a way. I have been alright. Just very busy, alas.
Worry not. In the future, transactions will be made digitally and we will not need to worry about fumbling around and dropping metal coins all over the floor.
Questions from Moshi! She wished for me to post them on behalf of her.
Olivia's Diary Entry | xxx « When lay of hopeless love, or glory won,Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. » [/url] SMASH. The feathers of metal and hydraulic fluid stung her hand, but with a single well-placed jab, the terrible mechanically-voiced robotic assailant fell with a great hole through the motherboard. It crackled and snapped sparks, and soullessly dropped to the ground with a loud thud that echoed through the white room. Olivia breathed deeply. A few drops of blood fell to the ground from the cut on her cheek. Ah ... her dress was ruined, stained with her own blood and all sorts of these weird compounds that these horrifying faceless androids seemed to contain. She grit her teeth, spitting out some more blood onto the once-pristine white floor. Her face was dead set and her hands were lacerated. Her dress was ripped in places, and her hair was a tumbled mess. She looked as if she had been in a blizzard of metallic cuts. Stay ... stay calm, Olivia. No imbecilic ass shall dare kidnap you like this. Where was she? How long had she been strapped to the table behind her? So much for sneaking out calmly. How many of those robotic nincompoops had tried to murder her already? She was not out of breath yet. She needed to get home. Get out of here. They had Viola. They had Viola. She knew it. They had her little baby. They had Viola. Olivia would show no mercy. Play the cards of negotiation only when the opponent folds. Let your soprano sing and reverberate among the metallic walls that bind you ... She licked her lips, a sly smile on her face. You had control. The lights in the room were dim, casting shadows around the cubic box. No windows. No vents. Only a door that seemed as easy as it was to get out than it was to get in. And that door? That door contained the familiar logo that had haunted her -- and some say, much of Brookridge -- for a while now. She clenched her fist tightly, the harsh sting of her cuts almost causing her to wince. Almost. Were there any more of these terrible robots? She would ready herself, and exit quickly. Quickly now. Not that much evidence -- that is -- that is, if she could stop the cuts quickly-- The door opened, and ... Spoiler There was no robot. It was just-- just an empty passageway. What? ... Surely, surely, they were expecting something here. But Olivia had no choice. Even when playing into the hands of fate, she would need to find the right move in time and space to get herself out. Quickly, quickly now. She stepped out of the room, running on a bit of a limp. A--ack, the pain-- it, it was-- she hadn't experienced pain like this in a while. Curses. The blood from the gash on her cheek began a steadier flow. She stopped, between the light of the room and the dark of the hallway, and ripped off some cloth from the sleeve of her dress. Bundling it into a thick gauze, she wiped away the blood. For now-- for now. As she entered the hallway, the darkness overtook her. The air grew stagnant and voiceless. Dry. No sustenance. The smell of metal, oil, and acid mixed into a nauseating soup grew thick. Olivia's eyes widened. She tried to step a few inches forward. Clack. Clack. The voices of metal from her shoes. Light and airy. Was she on a catwalk? But as she moved further, something startling gripped the air of the room, as if one could suddenly sense a great beast descending upon them from behind. And in the darkness ... There was a song, a tune, long ago, that blared out a prophetic message ... A song of dissonant serenity began playing, carrying some sort of propaganda message in a language Olivia was unfamiliar with from all of the garbled speaking and the static. It made her queasy, to listen to a human voice so deterred and destroyed by technology like that. But her world turned to light. The lights above her flashed to life, and they continued flashing to life ahead of her -- a giant line of enormous halogen lamps affixed to the ceiling, revealing to her the passage and the world below. She was standing on a blackened metal catwalk that was almost a pinprick in how huge this "hall" appeared to be. It was almost perfectly cylindrical -- like a missile silo, or the Large Hadron Collider, but the opposing walls of this gigantic structure were probably hundreds of meters apart. And here was Olivia, a tattered mess, standing on the puny little catwalk smack dab in the middle, where she could look down and fall to a computerized, industrial death anytime. The walls were lined with pipes and screens and lights and wires and all sorts of strange technology in technicolour that led to passageways deeper beyond this single hallway. There were blinking reds, blues, and greens, and in the deeper holes of this enormous hall lay -- further in the distance -- objects that seemed to Olivia like flashing, stacked Tetris pieces. But it was hard to see, and even as Olivia stood on her tip toes, gazing out over the flimsy railing to gander at the mysteries that lay within those capillary halls, it seemed as if a fog or mist of her own perception was blocking her like this. Ah ... Olivia's legs shook and she gripped the railing tightly. What the heck was all of this? Where in the world was she? Stinging pins shot and jabbed her hands, and she instantly let go. You had good endurance, Olivia, but you couldn't go on like this forever, ugh ... Another drop of blood fell to the floor. Just-- just get it over with. She slowly limped back to the middle of the catwalk, and without having any other alternatives, moved as quickly as she could to the other end of this structure. Her legs were going to give way soon. Why was this happening to her? ... | | | No. There had been no cameras. None that she could see, anyway. Did they really know she was here, breaking up the place? ... Ha. Ahahahaha ... She dislaunched another chunk of metal from her delicate shoe, kicking it aside to lay to rest with the other robots. Her hands, feet, and even parts of her face were covered with some of the strange oil. Some of it mixed on the floor with her own blood. She felt nauseous. Her eyes were wide and slightly crazed, tinged with lines of desperation. Her expression was solemn and judgmental, like a strict teacher close to scowling darkly at her students. Her hands were white and red from a permanent clench. She felt little of the pain now. Her teeth were grit and set in stone, hidden by her pursed lips, and the beautiful fluffy silver of her hair was tarnished by her messy conflicts. The only thing that stayed true to her was her eyes -- her scintillating eyes, that seemed to capture the colourful light of her surroundings. But right now? Right now, they shone only with the white-hot sparks of calm, contained ferocity. She-- she probably looked like a murderer. Ahahaha ... With wide eyes, she turned her attention to the large door that was in front of her. Pristine white. Stained by Olivia's little fights and conflicts. The logo of the Industrial Light and Power Corporation, so high above her -- so mighty, and pristine -- seemed to gaze at her with only a marred and mocking attitude. The lightbulb gave off no life, and its voice was remitted to silence. On the lower parts of the door, the oil and hydraulic fluids of the robotic guard were splattered across the bottom like a bloodstain. Her left hand felt like it had been fractured a bit. The voice of propaganda and its cheery, hopeful music, continued to blare off in the distance. Olivia, with the feelings and emotions of a hundred thousand worlds contained within her consciousness -- the fear, the despair, the anger, the passion -- did not say a word, as she brought a trembling hand towards the bloodstained door. She pressed the tips of her finger gently to the smooth white metal, and -- like the other doors she had visited -- a small chime played and a blue light around the door jumped to life as it opened up. Olivia walked inside. The fate of the youngest generation rested in the hands of those who would control the world ... Computer terminals. Huge ranks and files of them, standing, like black monoliths; like black idols, in the room. The door shut behind her, trapping her in this strange room. The large black machines seemed to emanate a low hum, and others seemed to produce noises that reminded her very much of an arcade. What-- what were these terminals doing here? What even were they? Olivia felt a tremor move down her spine. For once, she felt uncertain -- almost actively fearful? As if-- as if she was about to discover something she wasn't supposed to know. Clack. Clack. Clack. Her footsteps echoed in the small white room as she limped very slowly among the forest of black monoliths. All of them were embossed with the familiar Industrial Light and Power logo -- that lightbulb all over Coy City that was slowly invading Brookridge. Much of the monoliths were unadorned. The only feature that differentiated some of them were the enormous vertical lights at the very front of the structures. Some were glowing bright green, and some were a faded red. But there was something very off about this. Very off. Olivia could sense this. In the middle of the forest of monoliths, she came across a single computer terminal. An old, 1980s CRT monitor, with faded colours and a flickering line moving from the bottom to the top as if it were an old television. It was a login screen. HTML: terminal code : _ password : _ Olivia sat down in front of the monitor. A small lightbulb icon hovered off to the bottom left. She grasped the mouse firmly in her sore hand, and moved the pointer over to the icon. It immediately changed into a black question mark. Click. A window popped up. Olivia bit her lip. What ... She scrolled down. She stopped, widening her eyes for a moment. Bellhurst ... Board of Education? The blizzard? What-- what exactly were these terminals? What?! Wait. Wait-- this-- this wasn't-- was-- where was-- was this really all. What was going on here, exactly? Olivia could not stop reading. She felt like placing her head in her hands and stopping. What-- she-- For once, she was at a loss of words. For once, she couldn't stay very calm ... It ended there. ... Olivia shot up from her chair, rushing towards some of the terminals. There were a few at the far end. She hadn't checked those ones yet. Her mind began rushing at a mile a minute. These terminals seemed a bit separate from the others. There were about eight of them, most of which possessed the bright green vertical light. Two of them, however, possessed the red one. She scampered, like a mouse, around these terminals, looking for any sign of what they could mean. Any sign, any sign ... ... It-- it was at a green one. One with a green light. She looked closely, down to the very bottom corners, where the terminals seemed to meld into the white floor. The blinking made her dizzy, and the humming made her sleepy. But there it was. Engraved, in small block letters, were the words: Her eyes widened, and her hands, upon the terminal, began shaking. What-- what was-- She stood up and looked at the other green terminals. The one off in the corner was her own. ... She fell to the floor, and pressed her hand against the cold black metal. Where-- where was Viola? For once, Olivia could not think properly. Her calmness had failed her. She wanted to punch the damn terminal. But ... but she felt that would not be a good idea. Wait. If these terminals seemed to assign themselves to-- to the Academy students, then where were Miss Sario and Ben? She inched over to the other two red terminals. Viola! Viola, she-- she was there. In front of Ben's terminal, inactive-- But-- No ... No. Nonononononono. That-- she-- she was-- These were red terminals. Red lights. They were faded. Her lip trembled. A tear-- was that a tear? So salty. It was going to ruin her make up. Ahaha. Hahahaha! She was on her knees, quivering, unable to keep calm. She breathed deeply. For there were words in the faded lights, for the front of both terminals. They-- They were ... BANG. The lights suddenly shut off. Olivia was shrouded in darkness. And the familiar tune began playing. It was her message. The one in the red letter, playing again, through whatever intercom system seemed to exist. She-- she had not even seen one ... After the music and familiar message died down, she heard footsteps in the darkness, coming closer and closer to the door ... Olivia quickly hid behind Ben's terminal and took out her phone. There was connection.
terminal code : _ password : _
Pronouncing anything in French is the world's last greatest mystery that baffles even the mightiest of scholars.
Aaah I apologize! School work bundling up is quite annoying at times. How are you doing?
Shhh. Schoolwork is busy busy. Tomorrow, when all of the things that are due are finally off my plate, I can make a giant post for Hello Newbie...
A lightsaber with a length of 85 miles? We are certainly crossing into dangerous fanfiction territory here, sir.
It is no wonder that the English possess the crown jewels.
I see this is what Llave's shadow calls himself. I hope you are happy that your true self is a firebender with amazing perception skills.
You have kept an old pizza for as long as you can remember? Dear lord, I hope it did not evolve its own unique fungal ecosystem at this point.
[/url] TUMBLRxxx LOGICxxx VECTOR TIMExxx INTERACTIONxxx MENTAL HEALTH MEMORY library | cantor's bookshelf xxxxx xxxxxThe smell of nutmeg permeated the night air. The atmosphere was rich with silence, broken only by small taps on wooden desks; footsteps on stairs; raps on balconies; the crinkly turning of pages as students sat away lounging about the library on a silent night. Cherno felt ... he felt-- at ease? Oh. It was surprisingly clean. Looking up, the ceiling was adorned with all sorts of doohickey architecture-mabobs. Rustic. Baroque. It screamed "money". How ... fitting, for a place like the Academy. It was getting late. Perhaps he could just grab a book and lounge here for a moment before returning to his room. Right, right ... Cherno yawned. Snow ... Snow ... He looked outside at one of the enormous, arched windows. Flurries flew around in the windy air. Blizzard soon. The warm lights among the towers of labyrinthine bookshelves relaxed Cherno's soul. For many minutes, he simply wandered around, gazing at the delightful collection. Philosophy. Poetry. Science. All sorts of fiction and non-fiction. They even had James Joyce. So much James Joyce! He would blush. He would feel elated. He drifted, like a ghost, among the bookshelves, and as the students slowly began to file away, he felt at home. How long had it been since he-- Since he-- Oh. He reached the very corner of the library. Lit barely and dimly by the nearby lights, it was at the very edge of the uppermost floor, close enough to the windows and close enough to the balcony. A perfect view. A view that saw all below, and all outside of the universe enclosed by this little library. A bean seat lay resting by a table. On the table lay a book, a torn red letter, and a white feather. Who had been here? Ugh. They-- they left such a goddamn mess. Cherno walked over to the book. The Girl in Watercolours. He slumped down onto the bean chair and opened-- op-- oh-- oh FUCKING HELL. There-- there was blood on this book. His eyes widened. More blood. More-- more blood on the torn red letter in front of him. He-- He just-- He looked outside. The snow. So much snow. That ... that snow. He felt so sleepy. The snow made him sleepy. Why did it make him so sleepy ... He slowly, lethargically, grasped the torn red letter in his hand, his fingers shaking from the presence of the blood. Ugh. How-- how dirty. He needed to relax. Maybe just some time to rest. He would get out of here later. Sure. Sure thing ... Cherno closed his eyes. Snow ... Snow ...
Snow ... snow ... Cherno lazily twiddled a pen around his fingers and whistled a tune in the empty hallway, ready to leave the Faculty of Science. Day one -- rather, his day one -- of classes had finished. The kids of this place were ... something. Snobby. Uptight. Friendly too, at times. They meant well but they definitely weren't fond of the Bellhurst kids so quickly, were they? Shame shame. They were all pretty okay. It's like the Bellhurst kids were separated from the prestigious Academy dunderhyperbolas like with a mask. He didn't see any familiar faces in many of his classes, really -- who else took triple sciences and double maths? Dear god. His steps echoed in silence as he began his walk back towards his dorm. He was curious about how the others' days had been. How long had it been since he talked with any of them? So long. Much too long. To the others, it was almost as if he disappeared. Snow ... snow ... The forecast said a blizzard would be coming soon. Damn. Reminded him of his biology class. Mr. Fishblair was a tough cookie. Cherno snapped his fingers at the mere idea of reliving those memories in discontent. Oh ... oh, how embarrassing, having to stand in front of the class like that. Damn. Cherno's legs were shaking back then. He didn't even want to think about it. He whistled a tune, pushing away the thoughts, and walked out into the courtyard. Students were rushing to and fro, some heading to their devices, others simply out for a stroll. It was calm. Leisurely. These places -- these gardens of Eden, almost made him forget about the lingering song of death that lay like a fog upon his life, and the life of the other students. And yet, he did not see many people he recognized. What was with it? It was as if he seemed to have terrible luck. He had asked the teachers about Eleanora, but they barely seemed to even recognize the name. Such a bother ... Snow ... snow ... It was cold. Cherno placed his pen back in his pocket, and pulled his coat closer to himself. He did not feel well. Was it the new school, or the fact that he was continuing to forsake a promise to a young girl every second that he lived? Ugh. He approached a sign. LIBRARY WEST STABLES EAST And whistled. Snow ... snow ...
[/url] TUMBLRxxx LOGICxxx VECTOR TIMExxx INTERACTIONxxx MENTAL HEALTH MEMORY | x x A I R S H I P x x | x x O R P H E U S x x | xxxxx xxxxxCherno was never really a fan of economics. He didn't take classes. He barely read much about the theories. Macro? Micro? S'all a bit silly to him. People moving in and out. Okay. Sure thing. Sounded like society was taking a sledgehammer to itself with all of the fights over property. Adam Smith was an asshole. Cherno used to think that. But he didn't believe in luck either. That is to say, he never really understood either. In these few weeks though, he had learned his own very important economics lesson. The plan had been simple. Disappear for a week under the guise Orpheus after visiting the graves with Quin. Dandy and flyin'-high. Cherno felt that he would lose his powers soon, so bang. He kept the disguise and decided to take his own advice -- to use his money wisely. This was for the sake of everyone ... Cherno You had the computer equipment, and you had the intelligence. You just needed luck. First all. Your little bro didn't seem to follow through with your request. Damn, sucker. Cherno would snap his fingers like a beat poet at that. You collected info. Enough info. Got sound clips of everyone from the phones of the people you were in contact with. They didn't expect a thing, of course. Cherno would snicker at this, behind backs -- of course, masquerading a double-life would need to result in some deal-up rewards ... Be smart about the declarations, Cherno. Changing the game so early, when you knew so little about it, would be a terrible idea. Learn more. Protect everyone. Understand the true nature of this game. Cherno tapped his foot to the beat of the music. Cherno never liked economics, that was right. But he knew a bit about investing. Industrial Light and Power ... Industrial Light and Power ... Bang. Skip any New Years' Festivities. Sorry Quin. You hoped the present of a hundred thousand was good enough. The Coy City-Brookridge Stock Market -- more a stock palace, really, seemed like a giant capitalist symbol to Cherno. Eugh. At least it was pretty clean and bright. They had good taste. Use your money wisely, Cherno, use your money wisely ... This was for the ones who had saved you. Cherno tapped his foot to the beat of the music. He adjusted the silly little fox mask on his face that he bought from a stand in the French Quarter. Orpheus ... Orpheus ... Aha! Bingo, jackpot! The stocks went up, the stocks went up! He was a veritable billionaire by now! That was the key! Cherno was about to freak. Fifty billion, and more incoming. Industrial Light and Power was a good investment up here in the east. Damn. This money would be useful for everything he would need. Keep playing... more coming ... Cherno tapped his foot to the beat of the music. Anderson Laboratories. Bang. Good investment. More money incoming ... more money incoming. Were the feds gonna be after this famous "Orpheus", making a name for himself like this? Aha! The aerogel and the carbon fibres would be useful ... Read the list. Read the list. "With this structural combination, vehicles shall be fully resistant to 99.999% of formidable forces." Perfect. Cherno would bite his lip. That 00.001%. Sure thing. The magic that the demoness would try to shoot them all down with. He would need to accept that his creation and his life was something that were all fallible, at a low percentage, maybe. He would need to play his cards right. Keep things interesting. Three copies of the airship. Three copies, the Labs said. The 3D printer they had was a real godsend. He would have to re-do all of the computers and decor if the first damn thing broke apart though ... Sorry, Quin ... no party tonight. He was hitting it big. Cherno tapped his foot to the beat of the music. The dawn of a new year reached the sunlight. Cherno didn't dislike economics as much anymore. He kept his promises. He was able to. And the orphanges needed money ... donate donate donate. He ruffled a kid's hair. How he missed Anthony and the others, but this mask was like something that distance him from everything ... Keep the money incoming. The stocks would fall sometimes. Sometimes Cherno would get losses. Sure thing. Bang. Things would get back up. Economics was a wave and he was going to ride it. Thus luck wasn't going to last forever ... He would think these things as he adjusted the computer parts, their odds and ends, bits and pieces, and turned the great white blimp into something special. Cherno tapped his foot to the beat of the music. Stand by the tree, your yukata blowing in the winds. Your Mask of Orpheus looking towards the sun. Thank god the Host Club lent him these clothes. There it is, the great white blimp. Close by. He brought his watch close to his face, and rose a finger. Beep. And like that, Cherno blinked, appearing not by the tree anymore, but inside the airship. All limbs intact. All computers intact. Lights appeared on the windows -- indicators, heads-up displays, of everything from news in red, to stocks in green, and everything in between. By the far off windows were the locations and apparent statuses of a number of his friends. How terrible. How strange. But he needed to do this for all of them. They would find out well enough. And he needed to get the others. Voice tracking technology across wireless waves was truly a revolutionary product ... Cherno tapped his foot to the beat of the music. This had set him back more money than the GDP of a handful of countries, that was for sure. The money was trickling to a slow. He would pay some of it back with the Benefactor, and try his hand at investing. Real smooth, Cherno. Everything seemed complete, just in time for school, but you needed a test ride ... Cherno tapped his foot to the beat of the music, and rose from the bar counter as he saw the ship descend. This was only temporary, but he hoped it would help. Economics was a fickle thing. The glasses among the alcohol and soft drinks behind him rattled. Everything was clean and pristine, and the elegantly modern, boxy furniture by the steering seemed to be a minimalistic contrast to the heads-up displays appearing on the window. He stopped tapping, and walked away from the counter, picking up his coat and bundle of clothes lying lazily on the black granite. Appearing by the controls, he gripped the grey switch on the dashboard, and slowly began pulling it down. Descend, descend slowly to the hills ... ... There, good. Cherno pressed the button on his watch, and whispered quietly: "Audentis Crestatia iuvat." With a striking jerk on the back of his head, his scene shifted from the elegant inside of the airship to right in front of it. The cold night air pressed like heavy weights against his bare hands, and forced itself against his mask. Cherno took off the mask, casting his bright golden eyes to the great airship in front of him, slowly lowering like an enormous monster upon the hills. The grass and trees around him were close to prostration, if not from the cold winds but from the god-like airship. He rose his watch and pressed a second button. Beeeeeeep. In a quick second, the airship condensed in on itself, like a three-dimensional hole -- a tight sphere of carbon fibres, that seemed virtually indestructible. It fell to the floor quickly, creating a small crater of impact, and like a heavy shot put ball rolled down the hill and towards Cherno's feet. Cherno lowered and picked up the tight sphere, surprisingly light due to its constructive materials, tossed it in the air, and tried to be cool catching it but instead it hit his foot-- Ow fuck. Carbon fibres and aerogel still hurt. Real smooth, Cherno. He lowered and picked up the ball again, a small smile on his face. Oh, how investments in science and engineering firms can help ... ... Funny. He could use all of this money for things like this, but his memory was still rusty ... He felt that this tight sphere was something that could only temporary fill the void in his heart. The empty void. Things were still so shaky, and the world still seemed so grey ... It went to show that not all problems could be solved by mere declaration. Cherno turned the ball around in his hand, shifting it like someone checking an orange for dark spots, and stopped as he saw the engraving "O R P H E U S" in the tight sphere. He traced his cold index finger along its letters. He should get to sleep soon. He skipped the first day just to test out this airship for the future. What a delinquent. Squeezing the hard sphere tightly, he moved behind the tree and changed back into his old clothes. Carrying his disguise with him, he set off to his dorm. Where had Eleanora been? She must have forgotten about him by now. The one promise he had yet to keep. He hoped dearly that she was doing well. Fucking Cherno. How stupid have you been lately? First thing, tomorrow morning. The little bro, too. Upon reaching it, he moved through the darkness and laid down on his bed, keeping the small sphere close to him. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep. And he had dreams about his experience in the graveyard ... In his sleep, one could hear, among the crawlings and scratches of a dark Academy night; among the cascade of shadows that danced waltzes in the darkness of the hallways; among the brightly lit stars and the twinkling foothills of the nearby mountains, the words "Te-- Tem ... per ... ance ..."
Olivia's Diary Entry | xxx « Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon,Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd. » [/url] bookkastel : : i libri These first days reminded her very much of when she had visited the Academy for the first time. Oh, how long that had been ... Olivia shrunk deeper into the comfortable bean chair in the corner of the library. A large book sat resting upon her lap, flipped open mid-page, while she lounged, arms outstretched, and looked out towards the darkening windows. Towers of books and shelves strung themselves up from the balconies, and the entire place seemed like a veritable maze, broken here and there only by a few high-arched windows. The smell of nutmeg and cinnamon pervaded the air, and tickled Olivia's noise. Soft waltz music played from the very atmosphere itself, and seemed to dance a thrilling allemande with the soft, dimming candle-like electric lights that were suspended from the ceilings and by the shelves. It was a place of relaxation and peace, but to Olivia, it was a time of stress. It had been a few many days since she had seen Viola, and even her efforts at the Astronomy Tower did not seem to garner any sort of hope. The sadness seemed to slowly well up inside her, as if a cup was very gently being filled with a bitter, pungent tea. Olivia looked up at the elegant Baroque ceiling of the structure, high above her head like a far away heaven, and traced the tip of her gentle finger in the air. Her previously calm expression had been one of worry and slight fear, but she tried her best to hide it. Lorinda. Lorinda. The headmaster. Related to Miss Lein, it was definite, Olivia would chuckle, how similar those two were at times. The conversation still rung through her head. Wait out the first day and skip classes to go look for Viola. Olivia was trying her best not to break down right in front of her long-time friend. Oh, what in the world would she think if she had done that? But the past week had been much too stressful. How-- how dare the malchik give her such a present, even if it was the only one she received ... It was true, Olivia. You were still a young girl at heart, weren't you? The soft music of the library waltz into her ears, and her eyes grew tired. She glanced out the late night window, and from her position saw the twinkling lights of the Ashvale dorm. Should she leave soon? She glanced down, a bit dimly, at the book open on her lap. She wanted to rest. She just wanted to rest, and try and muster up whatever confidence she had to face her school children again tomorrow ... Alright, Olivia. Breathe. Remember to always stay calm. What were the words the useless malchik said ... How was Miss Lein doing? Or her friend? What of the other Bellhurst children? Ah -- it hurt her. Miss Sario and Ben had disappeared. Where had they gone? They had been gone for the entire rest of the break. No Viola. Olivia felt alone. Alone. They would be back tomorrow, yes? Of course they would, Olivia. Stay happy. No more sadness, Olivia. Olivia moved gentle fingers to delicately pick out her phone from the silken pocket of her dress, and picked out her phone. She bit her lip, feeling the sting through her mouth as nothing in comparison to the thorns that seemed to have grasped at her heart for the past few weeks. You received a hundred thousand, Olivia, come on, goodness! A Christmas present from a mysterious stranger whose voice trailed the winds, and disappeared with a snap. The smell of nutmeg was enticing, and made Olivia sleepy. She began writing a text message to the only two Brookridge children she had been cordially associated with. Olivia stopped. What-- What was this? She felt something warm on her face. A feeling that she had not felt in a while. She brought a finger to her cheek, and felt the wet warmth of ... tears? What? No! No, no, nobody was seeing, right? Right? Ah-- she-- right, she quickly grabbed the handkerchief in her pocket and wiped away the rotten tears from her face. How ugly they were. How they would ruin her makeup! Nobody had seen. Nobody was visiting this part of the library regardless. No, no! Olivia, you fool! Foolish fool! Worse than malchik! Keep yourself together! Olivia breathed in. Why did she feel so ... empty? Was it simply because Viola was not here? She inhaled the nutmeg air deeply, and continued with her message. Sent. Her fingers trembled. She wanted to send a text to malchik. So badly. She had never thanked him for the present. But bah. Why would she thank him? There was no reason to thank him for something so useless. What sort of dance-breaking head-clasping dunce of a buffooning chicken-faced goose did he think he was for sending her such a terrible, terrible present? Fool. Her present to him was a hundred times superior and fitting of the terrible tastes he had. So why did she wish to send a text to malchik so badly? Olivia clutched her phone tightly. She should ... she should just sleep, for now. A new day tomorrow. She would start classes. People would still remember her. ... Right? School elections were coming up soon. Olivia mused to herself about whether or not the Bellhurst dancers would attempt to gain a position. Pahaha. Regardless of whether or not she was on the council in some years, her influence on the less face-full students seemed ... always present, like a phantom. It was the best case in having such beautiful negotiation skills and a friendship with the faculty. Olivia giggled to herself, alone, sitting among towers of books, away from all that would pay attention to her, as she waded in her very own irony. At the back of her head, Olivia chuckled not at her status, but at the very fact that despite being on good terms with so many people, the sea of loneliness continued to strike its tides against her soul. Her lips trembled, on the precipice of a frown, as she continued to stare out the window. Viola ... Was she running away from school by looking for you, Viola? She did not wish to run away anymore ... no more. No more running away, and yet she couldn't help it. She vowed to only run away from the police. But it always seem to get at her that she was running away from everything else ... Bing. Oh. Was there a new text message? Olivia glanced back at her phone. One text message. It was an automated reception message stating that she had a roommate. Roommate! A--ah. She would have to meet them tomorrow. She was much too tired to even return to the Ashvale. She would have to get up early to change into her uniform in her room. And-- she looked down at her book-- What? She-- What-- There was-- There was a red letter in front of her, directly upon the pages on her lap, as if someone had just placed it there. Olivia's eyes widened, and she began to shiver as she gazed upon the logo printed on the letter. No. No, it couldn't be-- She thought she had the stocks well off-- She opened it. The famous well-known jingle of that corporation began, with a robotic voice that seemed to prod at her mind like Antilum scientific equipment. Ugh. Terrible. As the voice droned on and on, Olivia began trembling, to shaking violently. Oh ... She would-- she would need to solve this later. She quickly slammed the book closed on the letter, and forcibly closed her eyes tightly, trying her best to doze off to the soft sounds of the library and its nutmeg smell. Alone.
I saw Star last night myself. The fact that the tornadoes are travelling all the way here must be some sort of Global Warming sign.
Olivia woke up, back in her room. Viola ... Viola, where was Viola? Her puppeteer decided to edit and elaborate on this post and Cherno's when he returned from the party because it was a busy day today.
