Chapter Two: Firstday
October 18th, 2006
I never minded riding on the bus before today.
The ride from my apartment to the University is forty-five minutes. Usually I spend is catching up on my readings or listening to music, or sneaking in a nap. Normally, the time passes quickly.
Today I felt every excruciating minute.
Eyes darted between my face, the Black Swept hilt of the Racketeur Rapier that lay in it's leather sheath against my thigh, and back again, then down and away.
I liked my Nuit Noire Rapier - I had lifted it from a highwayman that had attempted to rob me in the late 1700s and enjoyed the balance of the hilt so much that I had made a point of keeping it in good repair. "Prenez votre vie, prenez votre bourse, acune matiere, prise juste cela tout," he had hissed at me, and I never forgot that motto.
"Take your purse, take your life, take anything, so long as it's everything."
I tried to live my life like that - of course, without the crime and murder it implied. I had no desire to take up brigandry, despite my rather melodramatic looking weapon.
At it's full length the rapier had measured roughly forty-four inches long, although I had it shortened to a more manageable thirty five when I inherited it. My arms were not as long as the highwayman's had been, and I found it too cumbersome to fight with. I was a short young woman, after all - I had died at age twenty two.
Normally I liked my sword.
Today I wished it didn't exist.
Eyes followed me off the bus and I attempted to wrap my long coat around me in such away as to disguise the bouncing of the weapon against my leg as I scuttled into the school and towards the Tim Horton's kiosk. I always had coffee before class.
Today I stood in line and got open-mouthed stares.
I changed my mind about the coffee.
I went straight to the lecture hall. The longer I lingered in the hallways, the more stares I got. It was making me uncomfortable and I could feel my face burning. There were a few other students in the room already, gathered around the podium at the bottom of the hall, talking to the professor.
While their backs were turned, I quickly stripped my belt off, trying to minimize the clinking metal sound of the heavy buckles that kept the thick leather straps wrapped around my waist and upper thigh. It was hard with shaking hands.
I intended to sling the whole thing over the back of the chair and cover it with my coat so it could not be seen, but it slipped off the smooth grey plastic and clattered loudly against the cement floor. The group of students all looked at me and, my face bright red, I bent and retrieve my sword.
"Sorry," I whispered and managed to hang it properly this time. I threw my coat over top of it, mortified.
"Ms. Deidre?"
I winced and looked up, fingers curling around the hilt. "Yes, Professor Martin?"
He had a small scowl and a furrow between his eyebrows. That meant he was thinking about something particularly hard. I'd had him for three years of English History already. "May I see you after class?"
I winced again. "Yes."
He nodded and resumed his conversation with the other students, yanking their gawking stares from me and back to himself. When class started I just buried my nose in my notebook and prayed that I would wake up and this would be a nightmare.
I had never wished so much that someone would show up asking after my head.
~~~
Author's Note:
These chapters are short, I know. I'm still feeling out the idea, so any advice or feedback would be especially welcome.
--Vega
October 18th, 2006
I never minded riding on the bus before today.
The ride from my apartment to the University is forty-five minutes. Usually I spend is catching up on my readings or listening to music, or sneaking in a nap. Normally, the time passes quickly.
Today I felt every excruciating minute.
Eyes darted between my face, the Black Swept hilt of the Racketeur Rapier that lay in it's leather sheath against my thigh, and back again, then down and away.
I liked my Nuit Noire Rapier - I had lifted it from a highwayman that had attempted to rob me in the late 1700s and enjoyed the balance of the hilt so much that I had made a point of keeping it in good repair. "Prenez votre vie, prenez votre bourse, acune matiere, prise juste cela tout," he had hissed at me, and I never forgot that motto.
"Take your purse, take your life, take anything, so long as it's everything."
I tried to live my life like that - of course, without the crime and murder it implied. I had no desire to take up brigandry, despite my rather melodramatic looking weapon.
At it's full length the rapier had measured roughly forty-four inches long, although I had it shortened to a more manageable thirty five when I inherited it. My arms were not as long as the highwayman's had been, and I found it too cumbersome to fight with. I was a short young woman, after all - I had died at age twenty two.
Normally I liked my sword.
Today I wished it didn't exist.
Eyes followed me off the bus and I attempted to wrap my long coat around me in such away as to disguise the bouncing of the weapon against my leg as I scuttled into the school and towards the Tim Horton's kiosk. I always had coffee before class.
Today I stood in line and got open-mouthed stares.
I changed my mind about the coffee.
I went straight to the lecture hall. The longer I lingered in the hallways, the more stares I got. It was making me uncomfortable and I could feel my face burning. There were a few other students in the room already, gathered around the podium at the bottom of the hall, talking to the professor.
While their backs were turned, I quickly stripped my belt off, trying to minimize the clinking metal sound of the heavy buckles that kept the thick leather straps wrapped around my waist and upper thigh. It was hard with shaking hands.
I intended to sling the whole thing over the back of the chair and cover it with my coat so it could not be seen, but it slipped off the smooth grey plastic and clattered loudly against the cement floor. The group of students all looked at me and, my face bright red, I bent and retrieve my sword.
"Sorry," I whispered and managed to hang it properly this time. I threw my coat over top of it, mortified.
"Ms. Deidre?"
I winced and looked up, fingers curling around the hilt. "Yes, Professor Martin?"
He had a small scowl and a furrow between his eyebrows. That meant he was thinking about something particularly hard. I'd had him for three years of English History already. "May I see you after class?"
I winced again. "Yes."
He nodded and resumed his conversation with the other students, yanking their gawking stares from me and back to himself. When class started I just buried my nose in my notebook and prayed that I would wake up and this would be a nightmare.
I had never wished so much that someone would show up asking after my head.
~~~
Author's Note:
These chapters are short, I know. I'm still feeling out the idea, so any advice or feedback would be especially welcome.
--Vega