Lancelot couldn't have been more bored. A September issue of Sports Illustrated lay discarded beside him, as he had finished it some five hours previously. Boston's Logan Airport really wasn't a very fun place to hang around. Typical, that the only noreaster in the past nine months had to be on the day he was flying to London for the start of school, thought Lance. It was twenty minuets before the crackled, foreign voice said,
"We are now boarding any passengers with disabilities or small children."
"Seriously, if I had to wait another thirty seconds I might have had to kill someone." Lance's best friend Galahad stated as he launched from his chair. Lance smiled.
"Tell me about it. C'mon, lets jet." Galahad nodded and the two teenagers joined the growing queue of harassed looking passengers and slowly advanced towards the plane.
Five hours and forty-nine minuets later...
London Heathrow airport was a bear as usual. The customs office had enough people to be compared with New York on a Friday afternoon. Business men in tailored suits power walked with their heads down, leaving it up to the general public to get out of their way, while foreigners flipped hastily through their guides to the English language to read the signs. It was a clean hour and a half before Lance and Galahad could get through.
"Yeah, were here. No, no, were fine they just had delays back home... no worries, every things fine, the bus is on its way... no don't worry about us... ok, I'll talk to you then. I love you too. Bye." Lance flipped his cell phone shut and turned to Galahad. "She never shuts up. I still can't believe she actually let me come over here to play... dude, seriously, if it wasn't for your parents talking to her, I wouldn't be here at all. She still hates the idea of me being overseas, but whatever, she'll get used to it."
"Glad I could help. Here's the bus." They hurriedly grabbed their many bags and dragged them out to the waiting maroon bus, which was in fact a van. On its right side were printed the words "Hadrian's Academy. Quality Education for Quality Students." Lance and Galahad exchanged looks. How original, thought Lance, laughing inwardly.
"You ready lads?" asked the driver, fully outfitted in a valet's uniform. The two nodded and climbed into the van.
Hadrian's Academy lay about two hours outside of London in a town called Littleton. It was near the renowned Stratford Upon Avon, the birthplace of Shakespear and so on so forth. Lance and Galahad couldn't have cared less as far as that was concerned. They had come to Hadrian's Academy to play soccer. While academically it rested at around 6th highest test scores, for sports, it was number one. Half the soccer players that were now playing pro had graduated Weltall, and there was no place any aspiring sports player would rather be.
Neither boys could speak as Hadrian's came into view. Of course they had seen pictures of the rolling hills, playing fields, and the Middle Aged castle that came into view, but no one was prepared for its sheer size. The ancient building was the height of a small sky scraper and the length of several foot ball fields. On first impression it looked like the museum of Natural History in London, but its size and beauty far surpassed it's suburban counterpart. Still gaping, they said thank you to the driver and began to walk up to the oaken front doors, which were open as if to make up for the foreboding appearance of the edifice.
"Um, hi, my name is Lancelot Brewer and this is Galahad Giovanni. Is this where we find our rooming assignments?" Lance questioned the desk lady tentatively. She was old and rail thin, with severe angles to her face and one eyebrow, which, however oddly, interred into a hairy mole beside her eye.
"Mr. Brewer and Mr. Giovanni... yes, room 587, thats on the third floor. Take the stairs to your right for a while and then you'll come to a door, go in and find your room. Here's a key. Good bye." Her voice sounded like nails on a chalk board. With incredibly high pitched syllables mixed in with lows that the female voice shouldn't be able to achieve. But whatever, thought Lance at least I know where I'm going now.
"Man I'm glad we're in the same room." said Galahad.
"Yeah no kidding." Lance replied. They'd gone up the stairs and through the door. Now they stood in a long oak paneled hallway, the doors of which had little silver numbers starting with 584. "Right. I think it should be that way..." Lance said, gesturing towards the right hand corridor.
"Yeah, that looks about right." Galahad added as he began to walk that way. And sure enough within a few minuets they found there door. Opening it, they stepped inside to find four beds, all of which seemingly occupied. One of the occupants stood up.
"Hello, I'm Arthur, this is my roommate Tristan, and my friends who live next door, Gawain, Bors, and Dagonet."
