Authors Note: Alex may seem out of character at first but all will eventually be explained. Hope I don't go too far and make him unbelievable. It will be largely focused on him.
Disclaimer: Tomb Raider and its characters are the property of Simon West, Paramount Pictures and Eidos Interactive. This story is strictly for my own personal pleasure. Any similarities between this story's plot and any others is purely coincidental. No plagiarism is intended.
Chapter Two: Incertitude.
Alex's features were stoic as Lara approached. He had refrained from initiating any contact with her after she had icily told him in no uncertain terms that he was a pariah, and was no longer welcome to use the term 'friend' in conjunction with her name. This happened after getting off the chinook just outside Venice. She had cornered him and, knife to his throat, threatened him in a way far more effective then any restraining order. It was a far cry from the almost amicable conversation they had shared on the chinook. He didn't think randomly bumping into her in Boothby's Auction House counted as breaking their agreement, but her pursed lips and tense jaw seemed to indicate otherwise. An analogy came to mind: Achelous, a river god, who changed into a snake and a bull while fighting Hercules, was defeated when Hercules broke off one of his horns. Alex felt like he had been destroyed when Lara broke off all contact with him, ostracized the snake who only caused trouble. Poor Bryce looked troubled at the thought of going home with such an irate Lara.
Alex hadn't smiled in months, nor had he socialized. He knew that this was a bad idea. He had suffered from agoraphobia as a teen and had rarely left his room. Ironic how it was Lara who had helped him over come that fear, and now she had become the slow acting catalyst leading towards a relapse. Lack of desire to leave his flat was the first step. A few more months and it would be full blown. Being an archaeologist, that could be bad for business. Alex knew he should stuck to the research side of the field.
"Alex," Lara was now standing directly in front of him, and he was glad of the height difference. Putting on his never failing arrogant façade, he leaned against the railing and waited for her to continue. "I thought you were on a dig?"
"Trying to avoid me? Lara, I always thought you met your problems head on?", seeing her expression sour further, he quickly changed tact. "Who said I was on a dig?"
"You haven't been seen in awhile. Rumour was you were on an extended dig somewhere in the Mesopotamian region. Shame." She looked around, as if searching for an excuse to end this conversation and escape. Alex shifted so he blocked more of her peripheral view, and surreptitiously clutched the inner lining of his suit pocket.
"So how have you been?" his voiced had dropped an octave, trying to ignore the receptionist still staring at him with an air of contempt. She had obviously decided that he was not here for business purposes and had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on him. Alex felt an almost undeniable urge to give her the finger. He focused his attentions again on Lara as it appeared she was making to move away from him.
"I don't think that's any of your business, Alex. Now if you'll excuse me…." and with that she was gone, all trace of her merged with the crowd. Damn. The curse now had another layer of meaning asAlex checked his watch, realizing he was now forty-six minutes late, and hurried to his meeting with one of the auctioneers. On his way he waved cheerily at the receptionist, and suppressed a laugh as he heard her tut behind him.
Essex, 1991.
The school was situated eighteen miles off the M11, near Great Waltham. It was a tall, Romanesque building, built in the nineteenth century. It was designed largely after the Foundations Abbey, in Yorkshire. The walls weren't as thick as the original style in the tenth and eleventh centuries due to improvement in architecture, but the windows and doors with the rounded top remained. A long gravel driveway led up to the main building and divided into two roads encircling the construction until they joined again in a large open car park at the back.
The large school grounds catered for everything those of the aristocracy tend to enjoy: polo; rugby; swimming and equestrian activities, among others. Large, gently sloping lawns dotted with trees, shrubs and many different kinds of flowers flowed around the building, the moderate breeze giving the grass the appearance of waves. Behind the building where the swimming pool was situated, a place of serene quiet was located. Intricate wooden benches designed with floral carvings surrounded a pond fifteen metres wide at its widest point. A large tree with drooping branches that created a kind of skirt lightly brushed the water. Many couples had meandered there way there at one point or another. All conversation seemed to cease as one neared this tranquil area, everyone seeming to treat it as something sacred. In the world of today, any area with a simple beauty and peace seemed to be hallowed. An oasis in the middle of a centre for learning. Hushed voices and the soft turning of pages, mingled with the singing of birds and the soothing noise of moving air on water soothed the pupils minds and allowed them a moment to breathe. In contrast, at the other end of the grounds a band of orchestral musicians played The Four Seasons.
Inside, many marble columns lined the great hall at the entrance to the school. The floor was a clean tan tile. Numerous corridors leading to classrooms and dormitories tapered off at every angle, some lined with lockers. Immediately to the left was the reception desk where visitors signed in and any students wishing to leave the grounds had to first report. The uniform consisted of dark grey slacks or a green and navy chequered skirt- optional- a blue shirt, and a navy tie and jumper. The navy blazers were rarely worn during the summer term. At ten to nine, the building was stuffed with people hurrying to class, loitering in the hallways or trying to jam in some last minute study.
Class 4A: Classical Studies. The room sloped upwards towards the back, allowing the students an equal view of the large white-board on the right as one enters the door. Rows of single desks lined the floor, but the walls were almost barren of life, apart from the occasional graffiti on its lower half. It seems even those of the higher class don't escape the drudgery of vandalism, even if it is mostly on a smaller scale. The noise in the classroom grew more subdued as the long hand on the clock above the board edged closer to twelve.
The sixteen year old Lara Croft had her feet propped up on the desk- a habit she had already acquired- her hair was in a simple pony tail, and she had chosen the option of slacks. She looked up from her book on ancient Hellenistic rituals when she felt a new presence beside her. A blonde haired boy pulled out the normally empty seat next to her at the front of class, dropping his over stuffed backpack beside him. Without sparing a glance around the room, he pulled out the course book and began to flick through it. He was wearing the blazer and his collar button was done, she noticed. Most of the students in the school wouldn't suffer to have that button done, Lara included- far too uncomfortable. He had an austere expression. It seemed no one else had noticed him yet. Usually a new student was surrounded by over-eager class mates, with the class representative trying to squeeze in through the crowd in order to formally welcome the person to the school.
The bell indicating the start of class finally rang, and the class-rep called out for silence as there was a universal dive into backpacks for books and copies. A middle-aged man with receding red hair and a tweed suit entered the room. He was of average height and build, and placing his leather briefcase on the large oak desk in front of the board, class was in session.
First item on the agenda was role-call, a curse of every English school. Last name on the list was West, Alexander, to which the boy beside Lara replied. Noticing where the new student was sitting, he couldn't help making plans concerning the other teachers as to how long he could stand the seating location. Not that Lara was a bad student, au contraire, but since her father had died nine years ago she had become almost insufferable to the other students, demanding they do things for before finally giving them the proverbial cold-shoulder. Being at the top of a lot of her classes didn't help with her acceptance among her peers. When all the students in the class looked over at the boy, he shifted anxiously and shyly stared down at his desk. Nope, he wouldn't stand a chance with Lara.
At ten o'clock the bell rang, and there was a mad dash for the front of the room. Lara got up and left for her next class, leaving Mr.West to fend off the avalanche of questions bombarding him from every angle. He had taken the sullen option and sat staring at the desk silently. Another minute went by until the teacher finished shuffling his papers and made to disperse the class. West bolted out the door at the first opportunity, and, ignoring the aid of the class-rep, pulled out a map of the school and hurried down the many hallways to the supposed location of his next class. He glanced at the door. Class 2D: Literature.
Entering, the only face he recognized was that of his neighbour from his previous class, sitting in the same position- second from the wall. Taking the same seat, he nervously ran a hand through his hair as he felt several pairs of eyes on him, then hurriedly tried to sort out the mess he'd made of it. First impressions, and all that, he thought idly as the class began to settle down, finally taking off the blazer as the sun shone directly on his back through the floor-to-ceiling windows. When the teacher didn't show for several minutes the noise decibel began to rise steadily once more.
Taking Peter F. Hamilton's Fallen Dragon out of his backpack, Alex tried to read over the commotion around him, a skill he had developed in a noisy home. The only problem was that the person next to her was tapping her foot against the edge of his table, jarring him each time. After the fleeting thought on her beauty- don't start with that shit, he sternly scolded himself- he cleared his throat. When no answer was forthcoming he tried to ignore her, rather than put himself in an awkward position. A third way through the class with still no sign of the teacher, Alex took a deep breath and attempted to get her attention,
"Um, excuse me?" tap-tap. "Hey, do you mind?" She finally turned towards him and looked down to where he was indicating.
"Move, then," and she turned back to her book, which he realised he had read.
"You know there is a more update version of that book now? Half of what's in your one has been proven wrong," tap-tap. Sighing, he went back to his book just as the now-twenty-five-minutes-late teacher finally arrived and started class. Everyone took out a copy of John Steinbeck's Of Mice And Men.
Boothby's, the present.
Alex finally left the meeting with a lighter briefcase and furrowed brows. How was he going to get Lara to talk to him? Better yet, how was he going to get her to stay in the same room as him far more than a few moments? He knew what he had done was wrong, but it wasn't bad enough to deserve this treatment, surely? Why had she taken it to heart so much?
He was contemplating this when his cell phone vibrated. A text message showed up on screen. From Lara. Telling him to meet her at his apartment at seven thirty. He tried to reply, but she had switched her phone off. This was the point when he realised he had moved flats. shit.
Authors Note: I know Peter F. Hamilton's book was not out in 1991, but it seemed like something Alex would read. If any one has read it, then you would know there is a lot more in it than just sci-fi. Thank you for reading.
Kai.