Post by Deleted on Jan 6, 2014 14:36:04 GMT -8
This was a bad habit.
Luke already knew it was; he saw it in the way the other students looked at him as they passed. His bookishness typically earned little judgment, save times like this. He meandered awkwardly, pacing in front of the door, fidgeting, leaning against the cold stone, playing with the torn sleeve of his robe, pacing again. At the start of term he would pretend to be making rounds, waiting for a friend, or be tending to some other business, but his glances at the door of the classroom would inevitably betray him. There was no hiding it: he was waiting for marks to be posted.
It wasn't just any class that could make him this frantic. No, Luke had been working on calming his nerves for a good six years. Finals week still drew out his old, anxious quirks, but he felt more confident in his facade of normalcy now that his study routines had been finessed and polished to the point of shine. However, this one class brought out that same anxiety he had felt his first year.
Why this class? Perhaps it was that it was likely the class that would be most relevant to his future career as a lawmaker (should all go well). Perhaps it was that this class was legitimately interesting, and especially difficult, to him. Perhaps it was that he was at the top of the class and wanted desperately to maintain his standing. Perhaps it was that he would be at the top of the class, were it not for his greatest academic competition and fellow Prefect combating him at every turn.
He needed to keep reminding himself that, at the core, it didn't really matter. Luke had great marks, so what if he didn't end up at the absolute top of his class? Why did it matter so much?
Luke actually allowed himself to sit. The corridor was near-empty at this hour, but the occasional group of students passed as they headed from one of the castle's many turrets down to the Great Hall for a late dinner. He pressed his folded hands to his lips in a familiar gesture of suppression. Perhaps he should just abandon his post and head to the dinner with his peers. It wouldn't change his grade to find out any sooner what it was. The struggle was essentially fruitless. Of course, Luke knew himself.
He would sleep here if he had to.
Luke already knew it was; he saw it in the way the other students looked at him as they passed. His bookishness typically earned little judgment, save times like this. He meandered awkwardly, pacing in front of the door, fidgeting, leaning against the cold stone, playing with the torn sleeve of his robe, pacing again. At the start of term he would pretend to be making rounds, waiting for a friend, or be tending to some other business, but his glances at the door of the classroom would inevitably betray him. There was no hiding it: he was waiting for marks to be posted.
It wasn't just any class that could make him this frantic. No, Luke had been working on calming his nerves for a good six years. Finals week still drew out his old, anxious quirks, but he felt more confident in his facade of normalcy now that his study routines had been finessed and polished to the point of shine. However, this one class brought out that same anxiety he had felt his first year.
Why this class? Perhaps it was that it was likely the class that would be most relevant to his future career as a lawmaker (should all go well). Perhaps it was that this class was legitimately interesting, and especially difficult, to him. Perhaps it was that he was at the top of the class and wanted desperately to maintain his standing. Perhaps it was that he would be at the top of the class, were it not for his greatest academic competition and fellow Prefect combating him at every turn.
He needed to keep reminding himself that, at the core, it didn't really matter. Luke had great marks, so what if he didn't end up at the absolute top of his class? Why did it matter so much?
Luke actually allowed himself to sit. The corridor was near-empty at this hour, but the occasional group of students passed as they headed from one of the castle's many turrets down to the Great Hall for a late dinner. He pressed his folded hands to his lips in a familiar gesture of suppression. Perhaps he should just abandon his post and head to the dinner with his peers. It wouldn't change his grade to find out any sooner what it was. The struggle was essentially fruitless. Of course, Luke knew himself.
He would sleep here if he had to.