Okay, I fixed the last chapter.

- - - - - - - - - - is same character, but different sub-chapter

And I don't own Daine or Numair. Or anything else from Tamora Pierce's books.

Daine woke in the fetal position. She gently stretched out her legs and arms, wincing as muscles, too long in one pose, came to life. It was not the first time she had slept on the floor, but it was undoubtedly the least peaceful. She had spent the night haunted by her family's faces, burned until they were hardly recognizable. Thrashing about, she had achieved knocking the leg off her coffee table.

Lord, she thought as she examined the splintered leg, Is this gonna cost something to fix. Might as well get started with the day.

Daine took a long, hot shower. She left her clothes, crumpled from being in her suitcase, dangle from hangers and the stream left then moist, but mercifully straightened. She opened the window and the door to let the steam float out as she brushed her teeth. A cool breeze, tantalizing as starry skies reflecting in dark water, wafted through, softly fluttering her sheer garments. Daine threw her head back, letting the reviving breath of air tempt her curls into a dance. Her scalp tingled with the chill.

All too soon, her neck began to ache. She tilted her head forward, and, after a still moment, let her towel fall and got dressed.

Daine put on a pair of pale-rosy cargo Capri's and a loose white top that did not quite meet the waistline of her Capri's. The neckline of her shirt fell five finger-widths below the hollow of her throat and the sleeves started at the corner of her shoulders and were three finger-widths. All in all, when paired with a hemp necklace, colorful multi-strand beaded bracelets and numerous silver rings, Daine hoped her appearance suggested the artistic talent she possessed, along with the interesting personality that might get her hired. She tucked the splintered leg into her corduroy bag and headed off, heart full of confidence.

Numair aroused after a short night of sleep, feeling worse for the wear. He stretched out his long form and fell out of bed.

This does not look for a very good day, he thought.

Numair stepped into a cold shower and loudly swore. Over the length of the summer, he forgot that the college's hot water tank only held so much, and that many of the other professors's also enjoyed long, hot showers.

As fast as he could, while still managing to be clean, Numair stepped out of the shower, directly into a cold breeze that blasted through the open window. With blue toes, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped of the terrycloth mat onto the frosty tiles of his bathroom floor.

Through the extent of his wardrobe, all that was clean was a loose white shirt with a collar from the age of Keats and Shelley: cross-laced neck and outspread-Byron collar, a pair of dark blue jeans, and the "necessities." Grumbling to himself, he pulled the attire on. Checking in the mirror, he moaned aloud. He simply could not step out into public looking like he just returned from a poetry reading. He pulled a dark trench coat over everything. That changed the effect of his outfit to something that suited him a bit more.

But there is no way I am walking through the halls in front of students-to-be dressed like this, he thought. He gathered his clothes into a laundry bag, thinking of some way to get off campus and to the Laundromat. A plan began to form in his mind.

Five minutes later

Numair could not help but grin to himself as he strolled behind the buildings on campus. It was a juvenile plan, to climb out the window using a rope of sheets, but it worked. He had even made sure to lock the door so that no maids would enter and clean. And the rope . . . ? He had tied to so a chair and thrown in back inside through the open window.

Of all the days to be full! Numair could not help but feel that the day would be like a roller coaster ride; full of ups and downs.

"Hm, dearie, by th'looks of things, this place'll clear out in a few hours or so. Now, honey, you jus' leave yo' bags wi' me, I'll take care of 'em,"

Numair obliged and walked out the door, a stormy look on his face.

He wandered around for a few minutes, frequently checking in at the Laundromat. The clerk's patience wore to a point so thin, so fine, that she shouted at him.

"Listen hear! If you stop by once more afore an hour's up, I burn yo' clothes! I'll burn 'em, sure as hellfire!"

He swiftly left the building.

Since some of you were saying the chapters should be longer (and I really do appreciate the "constuctive criticism") I thought that I would give you two, COUNT 'EM, yes, two chapters at once! But that means it may be a bit of a longer wait for the next ones. Thank you all for your support! YOU GUYS ARE WICKED!