#lethestart

Christine had been prepping for this constantly since she got the invitation. She could handle this, this was her key out of the rut she’d been stuck in. The Lethe House, a secret society created for only the elites of the the school, those who had the most to offer, the most potential. If she impressed here, things could really turn around. A party. An extremely important party was still a party.

She’d arrived five minutes early, entering as soon as it was possible, and beginning her circuit around the room, eyeing each of her compatriots- competition? They looked interesting enough. Some were actually rather good looking, she thought, before one in particular caught her eye. 

This biting self-awareness combined with her crippling shyness reduced her to a silent figure near the dessert bar. She munched on pastries as she watched the other attendees mingle and dance. Her quiet snacking had been disturbed when she felt another figure close to her. She almost dropped her pastry in shock. “O-oh, hello there! I’m Sunny,” her introduction seemed rushed but it was paired with a bright smile to make up for it. “Their danish blueberry is really good, you should try it.”

Vince observed the scene from the sidelines, fading into the background like he always had. It didn’t go past him that most of the people here were younger, by a few years at least. Nothing about the setup of the room gave them a clue as to why they were here. Someone approached him, on purpose or unintentionally, he couldn’t tell in the light. He straightened himself casually, readying himself to brush off yet another conversation. The other said something interesting, though, and Vince was curious. “What do you think this is for?” His question only barely suggested that he was anything but excited to be here. Vince masked his doubts with a sip of his champagne. He gave away nothing.

The whole night surrounding the Lethe House initiation had been confusing and alarming. What Eleanor had thought to be the perfect opportunity to create a name for herself and find some guidance turned out to be a direct hit into the life she’s been running from for the past years. For a moment she thought it was a joke, someone who had infiltrated their initiation and decided to hand out something this cruel and horrible, but that wasn’t the case. The tape she had found was certainly for her to find. 

Eleanor had been feeling sick since that night and today was moving day. She figured looking good could make up for something. She could spend all her energies moving her shit around and organizing everything. Maybe her roommate would be home but Eleanor kind of wanted some peace and quiet... 

With her bags sprawled all over the hallway, she didn’t care there was other people walking around. She was taking her sweet time, -- even took a selfie -- making sure everything was handled with care. Her designer bags held her precious clothes-- her precious cargo. Eleanor was the kind of person who would rather kill her arms with all the bags than to keep making multiple trips. 

Mari got up early to curl her hair and put on enough makeup to make it look like she didn’t have any. Satisfied with how she looked, she grabbed her messenger bag and made her way downstairs to where she parked her new bike. It was a pretty thing - pastel yellow with a wicker basket. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she started to make her way to her first class.

The cycle lane in Bonavich wasn’t the widest but it served its purpose. It wasn’t crowded this early which made it easy for her to just glide through. That was until she had to slow her pedaling when she saw someone walking in her path. She cleared her throat trying to catch their attention or at least have them move aside. After a few attempts, she was beginning to feel impatient. “You know, you’re giving me an excuse to run you over if you’re going to keep walking in the cycle lane.”

How was it, Christine wondered, that World History had somehow ended up as a GenEd requirement? She hadn’t taken a history class since her sophomore year of high school. They were always absurdly dull, and since History was, well, everything, on the rare occasions there’d be an interesting topic, it would be dropped in less than a week. The interesting topics, though, were few and far between, because everyone knew History was really just History of Wars and Laws, not History of Music, or History of Medicine or anything to do with the actual ways normal, non-soldiers lived. 

Still, she took her seat up at the front, smile plastered over her cheeks, and took out her yellow-is-for-history notebook and gel pens. Sure, she was probably the last college student on the planet not to take notes on her computer, but the color coding just added something a little nicer to what was otherwise an extremely boring exercise in extremely boring things. 

She leaned back, glancing around the room. Who did she know here...? Not a ton of people, apparently. That was good. She didn’t need her reputation to precede her in History class. Next thing she knew, she’d be doing all the work in projects, or else nobody would want to partner with her. It was really for the better that she didn’t know- 

Oh! 

Nadine hates doing laundry. Always has and always will; however, after coming to university it became necessity to do her own. So, she lugged her laundry basket down to the basement where the washers and dryers were kept. Her detergent sits on top of the clothes, along with her dryer sheets. There’s a book there too, to keep her occupied while she waits for the clothes to finish. 

It takes her a few minutes to get everything in the washer, being mindful to not stuff it too full. She closes the lid, puts her soap in, and swipes her card to get the machine going. Behind her, the door opens and clicks shut. Nadine glances over her shoulder, not quite paying attention to who walked in. “Hello,” she calls out, always polite. 

Once the machine is started she takes her book to the table set up in the corner, planning on reading her way through the next hour.