#langston.start

when  restlessness  clawed  beneath  his  skin  like  an  itch  he  couldn’t  scratch,  maximo  slipped  quietly  out  of  the  dorms  and  made  his  way  to  the  solarium.  a  half-smoked  blunt,  swiped  from  the  communal  stash  he  shared  with  delilah,  usually  keeping  him  company.  he  rarely  ventured  there  during  the  day.  there  was  something  sacred  about  the  stillness  that  came  only  after  midnight.  the  halls  felt  like  a  different  world  at  night,  stripped  of  noise  and  eyes,  wrapped  in  a  soft  hush  that  allowed  the  rotating  art  installations  to  shimmer  under  the  gentle  caress  of  moonlight.  it  was  his  hideaway.  a  secret  space  tucked  between  steel  beams  and  glass  walls  where  he  could  be  alone  with  his  thoughts,  uninterrupted  save  for  the  occasional  passing  janitor  or  the  night  security  guard  who  had  long  since  stopped  trying  to  chase  him  off. on  occasion  max  would  strike  up  conversations  with  them.  half-stoned  musings  or  lazy  debates  about  whether  a  piece  hanging  in  the  atrium  was  actually  good  or  just  pretentious.  but  not  tonight.  tonight,  he  wanted  the  silence.  craved  it.  he  didn’t  know  how  long  he’d  been  meandering  through  the  space—maybe  an  hour,  possibly  two.  time  felt  hazy,  stretched  thin  like  honey.  the  soft  scent  of  weed  clung  to  his  hoodie  as  he  paused  before  a  new  piece,  exhaling  slow  and  steady.  that’s  when  he  heard  it.  footsteps.  not  the  muffled  shuffle  of  a  tired  janitor.  nor  the  familiar  rhythm  of  callum’s  boots  rushing  to  warn  maximo  he  needed  to  leave  soon  before  the  morning  crew  arrived.  max  didn’t  startle.  he  just  turned,  blinking  at  the  figure  now  standing  in  the  archway.  brows  furrowed.  the  haze  around  his  thoughts  clearing  just  enough  for  surprise  to  creep  in.  "  i've  either  overstayed  too  late  or  you're  here  way  too  early.  which  one  is  it?  "

he squints at the painting in front of him — “untitled” in all caps, emotionally vague — and then gestures lazily toward it, that trademark adrien beaumont smirk already forming. “they call this ‘untitled.’ i call it ‘emotional damage in oil paint.’ what’s your critique, art student number seven?” he tilts his head without looking over, lifting the edge of his sunglasses just enough to lock eyes with whoever’s unlucky or curious enough to be standing nearby. “be honest. is it the painting that’s making me dizzy, or the fact that i may or may not still be drunk?” he doesn’t wait for an answer. instead, he lets the sunglasses fall back into place and mutters, mostly to himself now: “looks like heartbreak and tax evasion had a baby.”

"jesus fucking christ-" ella couldn't help but laugh at her coffee going on her laptop after something had made her jump. she could more than afford a new one, maybe even an upgrade but that wasn't the point. "-and i've got no inspiration. it's not like i'm even mourning the loss of my work because all of it is not usable. i don't want to become victoria beckham - her designs are just overpriced debenhams! and what if all i've got is boring debenhams standard designs. perhaps they could lump me in with stella mccartney if i'm lucky." perhaps she'd being partying too much, thinking about her father too much but she appeared to be crumbling during her second year, just as she'd finally found her footing. ella was usually confident, maybe even overconfident to hide her securities but it was one of those days where she couldn't lie to herself. reaching down with some napkins, she tried to wipe the coffee off. "now i'm going to have sticky keys! should have just brough the ipad but laptops look better in coffee shops... fuck!"

“CORE BLIMEY INNIT — ” faux british accent is only strained by the lack of actual britishness in his voice, ilyas laying flat against the grassy outskirts of the inner gardens. the hangover sucks. what do they put in the drinks here? he feels ill – like he got electrocuted or something, entirely wiped out and maybe like he could fall asleep here for a solid two or three days. water bottle not even opened, he reaches a hand out to a passer - by. like a zombie trying to resurrect itself, catch a human to eat. or something like that. “y'got any tylenol?" do they have that here? or is it called something else — like tummy - better or pinkitydoo? “if not, i'm gonna need you to call someone … anyone. i'm withering away. i can't be seen like this, you know?” coughs into his elbow like a gentleman, thank you very much. “will you make sure they put me in my fittest nike's before they put me in the casket?”

initially  arin  had  found  …  whatever  it  is  that  man  in  there  is  talking  about,  halfway  interesting.  if  for  no  other  reason  than  the  pure  entertainment  value  of  the  theatrics  and  the  british  looking  absolutely  miserable  about  it.  even  so,  there's  only  so  long  he  can  sit  still  for.  the  people  seated  nearby  were  starting  to  look  annoyed  by  his  incessant  leg  bouncing,  and  as  much  as  he  usually  loves  a  good  courtyard  fight,  he  doesn't  really  want  to  be  dodging  punches  on  day  one.  so  excusing  himself,  allegedly  to  find  a  bathroom,  it  is.  he's  pacing  back  and  forth  near  the  door,  earbuds  in,  and  running  a  tech  deck  along  the  wall  and  making  godawful  racket  about  it.  with  no  idea  he's  no  longer  alone  under  he  happens  to  catch  sight  of  them  mid-turn.  makes  him  jump  —  as  if  encountering  other  people  is  abnormal  in  public  ??  —  miniature  skateboard  clattering  to  the  ground  in  the  process.  “jesus  fuckin'-  would  it  kill  you  to  make  a  little  noise  next  time?”  maybe  they  did,  arin.  you  can't  hear  anything  but  fall  out  boy  on  full  volume.

"i feel like i've learned more fun facts about palladin in the last week or so than i did when i applied, or even my own orientation," she laughed as she sipped from the drink in front of her. the waiter had brought her the drink long before she started the conversation, someone had sent it to her. she couldn't really tell what it was but it certainly didn't taste enough like juice for her. "have you been surviving this week? it feels like a shit show, but a loving one."

" oh yeah , that's so interesting . " head nodded enthusiastically , eyes wide like that would help them absorb all of the information . quickly , their expression melted away , revealing the truth underneath as coreen leaned back against the stone wall , straightening out the wrinkles in their picnic blanket . hand moved up to examine their cuticles as they scoffed at the other . " and where'd you learn that ? a quick little wikipedia search to make yourself sound smarter ? you sound like you're just regurgitating an ai overview . it's just so ... " a deep sigh and coreen's eyes moved up to meet theirs . all faux enthusiasm was gone and there was nothing left there but a cold , stone wall . " boring . " lips pressed together and head tilted to the side as they shrugged in pity .