#marco1

There was something strangely nostalgic about being in the castle's music room for Gwyn, a fond little echo of those bright years spent learning at his sire's hip -- music and manners both. He entertained away his own impatience with those memories as he waited, plucking out a little fragment of one such tune at one of the pianos, something quick and jaunting to occupy his nimble fingers as a smile of satisfaction played at his lips. Gwyn had nearly focused enough on the notes not to notice when he was no longer alone, his guest for the afternoon hovering in the doorway where the guards had clearly abandoned the poor thing. It just took a quick glance over his shoulder, running his eyes once up and down the slight form of the waiting blond, to confirm they had delivered him the proper cherub.

"There you are, darling." Gwyn called, cheerful and familiar as he turned back to the keys, patting the bench beside him. "Rumor has it you're also one for song. Why don't you come over here and give me a little ditty? Whatever first comes to your mind."

Sammie paced the room, his red and gold cape trailing behind him. With every passing minute he could feel the anxiety in the room rise as pledges anticipated their first task more and more. Finally, as the clock struck midnight, he turned to the line of boys before him and grinned. It was time.

“You stand before me now as boys,” he began, his voice booming. “By the end of the night, should you complete the tasks presented to you, you will return as men.” Sammie paused briefly, eyeing the lot over. “Each and everyone one of you has potential. But will that be enough to become apart of the great Kappa Alpha Psi? This is your chance to show us,” here, he motioned around him at his fellow brothers, “that you have what it takes. Now.” Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a slip of paper and unfolded it, squinting down at the name. “Marco Greene. Our first pledge of the night. You may step forward.”

It was almost nearing curfew. The dark sun started to set over the Black Lake, and the stark colour set fire to its usually bland shade of white. The breeze was much colder now that the warmth started wane, and Quinn tightened the fold over his chest. He blew an icy breath. He'd been down by the Black Lake everyday since the news. Normally, it was a hideout for him and Linton where they could just waste time, skip rocks, and entertain the Giant Squid whenever it decided to show. Now if felt like the only place he could be without going out of his mind. His energies were usually split between classes, duelling, and prefect duties, but now none of that felt like it was worth anything anymore. He found himself more and more restless. And when he was restless, he was also reckless.

After the train wreck that had been their last day out, a day at the zoo was certainly far calmer a situation than Canada. For which Georgia was thankful for. She was enjoying Australia far more already. There had been no massive shakeups. There had been some mischief and some mayhem, and whilst Georgia could have wished things had happened in another way, she didn't take it back. Nor was she going too. A day with animals could not go wrong. And, she had been right. Relatively speaking, nothing had gone badly. Mainly because Georgia had gone to the zoo with the idea of fun, and had not taken any of her usual supplies, ie alcohol. Now though, after the easy day, she had the mine field of the BBQ to get through. And that...that was the hard part.

She'd avoided the majority of the potential bombs, by going in, grabbing food and relaxing, now though, sitting on the sand, her stomach warmed with the heat of the alcohol that had been on offer, Georgia could finally see the beauty of their location, with the bouncing colors  it truly was a wonderland. Hearing footsteps behind her, Georgia looked up, taken from her quiet reflection to turn and smile.

The sudden influx of new people joining them in Canada had been totally over whelming. So many people, so many new names to learn, and regretfully, she'd forgotten half of them. One name she hadn't forgot. Marco. He, Italian, as she fondly called him, had stuck in her mind, simply because of the fact that he'd been around after she'd hit a real low the night before. He'd shared a cigarette with her, there'd been laughs, banter and even nicknames. And, he seemed like a genuinely nice person, someone who wouldn't turn on her in a week or so and slam her to the ground, like other people had to her before. And so, when she had time to kill, and wasn't in the mood to go out and splash the town red with Georgia Rae sass and laughs, he seemed the most logical person to go to - on another note, he owed her chocolate, and she owed him a roll up.