Note: Decided to radically change Randall's past; I've got a general idea in my head of all the events that turned him into who he is today. Wondering if I should add in the Romance element so I can make this a pseudo-submission for the Meta-contest, but then I might as well go with the Stray-and-normal-Human story of A Tapestry Unbound.
The interior of the limousine was plush, of the sort that was more for show than comfort, such was its design. The boy who was its sole passenger stared out the tinted windows at the featureless fields which sped by them, the incessant classical music which played from the speakers around him boring a hole in his mind.
Randall Kayne was sullen.
From what he'd read of Pebbleton in the months he'd had before today, it was a sleepy town born of the retirement dreams of a select number of high-rollers; including among them Messrs. Dalton, Aios and Fukami. Those days, though, were long gone, and while Pebbleton remained known only for its world-class school, to the best of his knowledge it remained in as shabby a state as could be expected of any other small town.
And yet he was going there to school. MVD Private High was a renowned institution, to be sure; while it was exclusive enough not to be listed in most public rankings, it had earned its reputation nonetheless as the premier establishment for the privileged. Yet from what little he'd read of Pebbleton, he instantly dismissed the town around the school as mere periphery. The sleepy seaside town seemed more the type for geriatrics seeking some fresh air than the cities he was used to.
Randall Kayne wouldn't have been the type to consider himself overqualified despite the Kayne family's knack for learning (in every sense of the word), but even with such diverse recommendations, he had to wonder at the provenance of his sources from the dull view which extended beyond the bulletproof glass of the vehicle.
As the limousine cleared the last of the sparse forest and exited the highway, the boy got his first look at the town that was to be his prison until he'd finished his education. The roads here seemed hardly ever used: not a good sign, he noted to himself. In vain he searched for the hallmarks of the city he was used to: the single lone spire of what he recognized as Materion Towers was perhaps the only bastion of commerce he recognized among its shorter, more stunted cousins. His mind abuzz with statistical details of the town's demographic, he found his convictions only strengthened at every turn.
This was going to be a dull few years.
Randall: Into the Fold
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Sentrovasi
- Posts: 163
- Joined: Sun Aug 29, 2010 12:55 am
Re: Randall: Into the Fold
Note: It's meant to get interesting at some point. Don't judge me :<
Mars Victor Dalton's student accommodations were a surprise given the precedent Pebbleton had set for him on his way down. In a sense, the situation mimicked the state of the town itself: the old clashing with the new; the gleaming glass facades beside the worn mortar – now that investors were starting to turn towards the town's prospects as a port, the scales were beginning to tip.
As he stepped out of the vehicle and into the foyer, he could see those very signs for himself. Few looked in his direction, in fact, as he stepped into the air-conditioned lobby, his three suitcases already being carried in for him by his chauffeur. Perhaps it was a little late in the year to begin lessons, but he was all too aware of the social stigma afforded those who appeared a little too nosy. The atmosphere was here, too, heavy with words too fragile to speak honestly.
Nothing he wasn't used to, then.
The reception was swift, since arrangements had been made several months before. In moments he had been given a brief of all the facilities available to him, his lesson schedule, and an idea of the places to avoid if he had any intention of going about town. The last, though, didn't seem to him to be very pertinent considering the first two; lessons aside, the boarding house was fairly self-contained, which was just as well. Entering the room that was to be his for the next few years, he began to understand why some others chose to stay in the hostel than return home during their breaks.
When the last of his things had been packed neatly away and he heard the audible hum of the limousine's engine, he knew that he was entirely alone. For perhaps only the third time in his life, no one he knew would be around. Not that he wouldn't recognize anyone: high society made that impossible; undoubtedly having been transplanted to a small town would do little to change that. And as he recognized others, so would they recognize him.
He absentmindedly stared at the tailor-made uniform lying neatly on his bed. He was by himself, yes. But he knew he could hardly be his own person. And he was fine with that.
As he inspected the sound system, he realized that its playlist consisted of only classical tracks. But he was fine with that, too.
Mars Victor Dalton's student accommodations were a surprise given the precedent Pebbleton had set for him on his way down. In a sense, the situation mimicked the state of the town itself: the old clashing with the new; the gleaming glass facades beside the worn mortar – now that investors were starting to turn towards the town's prospects as a port, the scales were beginning to tip.
As he stepped out of the vehicle and into the foyer, he could see those very signs for himself. Few looked in his direction, in fact, as he stepped into the air-conditioned lobby, his three suitcases already being carried in for him by his chauffeur. Perhaps it was a little late in the year to begin lessons, but he was all too aware of the social stigma afforded those who appeared a little too nosy. The atmosphere was here, too, heavy with words too fragile to speak honestly.
Nothing he wasn't used to, then.
The reception was swift, since arrangements had been made several months before. In moments he had been given a brief of all the facilities available to him, his lesson schedule, and an idea of the places to avoid if he had any intention of going about town. The last, though, didn't seem to him to be very pertinent considering the first two; lessons aside, the boarding house was fairly self-contained, which was just as well. Entering the room that was to be his for the next few years, he began to understand why some others chose to stay in the hostel than return home during their breaks.
When the last of his things had been packed neatly away and he heard the audible hum of the limousine's engine, he knew that he was entirely alone. For perhaps only the third time in his life, no one he knew would be around. Not that he wouldn't recognize anyone: high society made that impossible; undoubtedly having been transplanted to a small town would do little to change that. And as he recognized others, so would they recognize him.
He absentmindedly stared at the tailor-made uniform lying neatly on his bed. He was by himself, yes. But he knew he could hardly be his own person. And he was fine with that.
As he inspected the sound system, he realized that its playlist consisted of only classical tracks. But he was fine with that, too.