The hot water poured over his violet and turquoise scales and in that moment of refreshment, Randall finally felt relaxed enough to close his eyes. He tilted his head back, savoring the feeling of the water splashing over his face, a relief to the array of angry spots beginning to increase in number on his face. Randall usually enjoyed having a refractory period of thought in the shower. However now, with the discomfort in being in a new place and the promise of a beautiful black cup of joe outside the shower, he decided to leave his sanctuary earlier than usual.

He dried himself and used the bathroom, before leaving and softly closing the door behind him. He looked towards the kitchen, hearing the pat of his sisters feet and decided to look inside his room first. Clasping his hands in anxiety again, he entered quietly so as not to alert her of his presence.

It was a pretty little room. Not to his usual taste and nothing like his old dorm room. But he was happy to be out of there and here. He pushed a tentative hand down on the bed. It was rather soft, but slightly creaky. The lack of pillows at first made him grimace but then he remembered his suitcase and his own collection of them.

"I was beginning to worry whether you had fell in the toilet or something!" Vivienne joked to him when he entered the living area. Randall tried a smile. It felt foreign on his face at the moment so he quickly dropped it. She held out his steaming hot mug to him and he took it. She showed him to the couch where he sat. She took one of the armchairs off to the right.

Randall felt the friendly liquid trickle down his throat and felt the burden of his decision lift some. The warmth seemed to extend fully along his long spine and to the tips of all twelve of his toes. Once again, he closed his eyes, and stretched backwards, his head diving into the material.

Vivenne felt the butterflies of worry hit her stomach. Randall looked terrible; a rather shy former monster to the one she had known. He even looked a paler violet. Sick. It made her back appendages stand on end. Whatever he had been through had shook him up pretty badly. Biting her lip, she wondered what she could say. If she could get him to talk. After a few minutes of watching Randall sip, she mustered the words.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, her face a sketch of seriousness.

Randall opened his eyes again and looked fearful. He ran a hand through his fronds which scattered above his head. Nerves pricked his scales.

"I can't go back there Vivienne." Randall declared. "I'm finished."

"What could possibly have gone so wrong? You were always so determined at high scho-."

"-I just fell in with the wrong crowd. Believed they liked me. Believed they valued me. I did mess up and made myself look a laughing stock in front of the entire university." He sighed a heavy sigh. Each breath eased his pain slightly. "…But they didn't want me then. They showed their true colours; they only used me to get to someone else."

"Then they weren't worth it." Vivenne stared at him, the caring manner of an older sibling returning to her character. "You should have talked to me before you know. If something was bothering you. Maybe then it wouldn't have come to this."

"Maybe it wouldn't have…" Randall put his chin on his upper hand. His eyes were wetting again. "Either way, it's done now. No more big scarer job for me."

Vivenne raised an eye. "Surely that wasn't the only reason you were doing that major for right?"

"Well no, of course not. I did want it enough." Randall turned to her, eyes suddenly showing a glint of flame; defensiveness. "It just happens to be one of the best jobs in the monster world. Forgive me if I'm a little upset about losing that opportunity."

"Look, don't get your tail in a twist Randy. There are other opportunities out there!"

"Please don't call me that"

Vivenne looked puzzled. "What?"

"Randy. At least. Not again yet."

Vivenne took a sip of her coffee, suddenly losing her voice. She had not noticed that it had already been a few minutes and the hot drink was already losing heat. She groaned to herself.

"I suppose our parents don't know anything about this yet…" She then wondered whether she had spoke of this too soon and cursed herself silently.

"Oh… shit… I hadn't thought of that." Randall suddenly stood up too fast, shaking the television on the stand. "Hardsrabble must have told them! Oh shit, shit shit…"

"Randall calm down. They'll get over it." Trying to calm him, she stood up too, and grabbed his shoulders. "Whilst me and them aren't exactly on great speaking terms right now, they respected my decision. And they WILL respect yours."

He tried to slow his quickening breaths and looked up at her. "You think so?" he asked, childlike.

"If not, I'll make them." She told him seriously. She placed a hand on her chest "Hand on heart, I promise it'll be okay." Randall said nothing, he just nodded. Vivienne finally let go of his shoulders, feeling slightly awkward again.

"So uh… want to watch some television?"

"Sure."

So they sat back down and wasted some hours in front of the box, one trying to put that day's events behind them, the other secretly happy to be spending time with her brother again.

Randall turned in early that night without an appetite for dinner. He had to unpack anyway. Lying under the duvet amongst his pillows and comforter, he listened to the distant hum of the television as Vivenne stayed up longer. She had said goodnight quietly, but told him that her work schedule meant she probably would not see him again until tomorrow evening. When he heard that, he felt a pang of guilt. All he had talked about that night was him. He had to admit he was interested in what his sister had been doing these past two years. He had barely spoke a word to her since she left and he needed to make the time up.

Despite Vivenne's efforts to console him, anxiety still remained over the subject of calling his parents. No doubt they would probably be worried, but he feared that worry would be masked by a scowl of disappointment and anger at his 'selfishness'. He was not sure on how well he could cope with a response of that caliber. For once in his life, he wished he could be cathartic.

Gradually he tired and drifted off.