http://not-a-mused.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] not-a-mused.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] fandomhighdorms2008-06-22 07:59 pm

Fourth Floor Common Room; Early Sunday Evening.

Once upon a time, when something happened, as guns were firing and windows shattering throughout Detroit's 12th Street, there was a small Greek-American girl riding her bicycle through it all, followed by (or, perhaps, to the observing eye, leading) tanks of the National Guard, all because she knew her father was there at the diner, and she wanted to make sure he was okay.

But her father was dead, she was now a he, and that was nine years ago. Cal really wasn't sure what he could have done to help, anyway, especially when so many other of his classmates now were better equipped for this sort of thing. No one else would ride in to see Milton; here, he was sure they had a whole calvary marching in to take care of the monsters, the ghosts, the missing people. But he felt so restless and hopeless in his room; he drifted into the common room, taking a moment to cover the extra precaution of salting all the entrances, and then sat on the couch.

And that was it. He stared blankly ahead. It was the same thing he'd been doing in his own room all day, but, this way, maybe someone who was just as ordinary (in this sort of thing, anyway) as he was was feeling just as useless and bored and would come join him.

Although, really, a part of him was feeling that feeling utterly normal was nice for a change, in a certain way.


[[ open! Because my schedule only clears up after all the fun *POUTY FACE* ]]

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