(Sup! I hope you don't mind me and Quentin popping in! This indeed is my first post and yadda yaddaI hope this is the way things roll here, just popping in and stuff. English ain't my native language either so forgive me and please shout at me if i'm pooping around! Just to give you some direction, Quentin is a tall-ish kid in his late teens, dark hair reaching to his shoulders with a narrow, bony face, dark eyes and dull, grey, uneven and uncool clothing. Okay. *bows and recedes to the backstage* )
'Oh wow', the dispassionate thought passed Quentin's mind when he heard the furious screaming of an unknown male ahead as he was making his way from the cafeteria to have his lunch outdoors. Sun provided vitamin D, you see - it was good to be outside on a day like this. Even though the boy only used health as an excuse to make himself feel good about his habits - what he truly enjoyed about outdoors was the strange emotional connection he had with the Sun. The homestar had a special meaning for the astronomy major to the extent that basking in its light was near to a religious experience to Quentin. From the corner of his eye the tall boy saw other students turn their head in shock at the scene, but Quentin's eyes were locked at the small splotch of filth splattered from some other dish onto his daily bottle of Coca Cola. He kept his gaze on it even as he turned to search for a spot to eat in, not in fear of having to meet anyone else's eyes, but out of a comfortable numbness; a stillness of mind; a perfect lack of any kind of curiosity for his surroundings. People were shifting away from the emerging scene of violence, some uttering in dismay, some whistling provocatively, some sounding frightened. Quenting only thought, staring at his tray, that he sure ate way too much sugar for a person of his IQ - a thought that emerged every time he ate, a thought once consisting of guilt, shame and doubt of one's own intelligence, now with no impact, repeating. Coca Cola and a bar of chocolate and a corner of a toast topped with apricot marmalade, that's what he always had.
Quentin passed the frantic boy and cared to lift his eyes to check who was it that got beaten up. He should have recognized the voice - Dominic, the cultural history major. He barely knew the kid, they had shared one course together, and, in fact, Quentin had never taken much notice of him. Well, perhaps he had deserved what he just got - if not, Quentin didn't care. He decided to play a game - a game he would have been terrified of a few years back, just as any social situtation. A game that he nowadays practiced a lot. A game that was sure to arouse irritation and disrespect in many a friend of his, but any connections he had had had just dwindled away. No one to impress, no one to keep a status for. The game was a game of roles. Quentin would craft himself a persona or take a point of view other than his own, and go with it, talk to strangers, show it off and let it evolve. A new Quentin was born at every interaction. It had formed a habit for him, and to it he owned his today's ability to talk to strangers with no fear. And majoring in such an irrational and unscientific cargo cult science as cultural science was as good a reason as any for Quentin to be able to mock a person.
"Well wow" , Quentin said to the male with no distinct emotion in his tone of voice as he slowed his pace, "Good going, the kid's an ass."
Quentin had though of only passing the couple with this witty remark, but he now stopped at them and looked ahead in terrified stupor. The sunny weather had driven the students out to lunch, he didn't see a free place to have his lunch at. Well, there was this one tree that could be climbed on - and that he had done several times before - but not with a tray. Did social code now dictate he now had to stay and chat? Converse? A debate would lift his moods - but with a temperamental, territorial, aggressive brute and a wimp of a girl who couldn't protect herself? Quentin froze and looked as impassive as ever.
