Dawin had made it through two classes before realizing that his most important and beloved possession was missing from his bag. He'd had to actually take notes, today, which meant no fervent scribbling in the tan leather journal. Only in the third [easy] had he realized that DDDD #23 was missing, and he had no idea where it had disappeared to.

The evening had been spent in a furious search, his room transformed from a tidy mess to disorganized insanity, all the journals piled on the unmade monster that was his bed. No sign of it, and now it was approaching lights out and he hadn't even started on his coursework.

Instead of sneaking out and risking trouble, he spent the night in bed, staring hopelessly up at the ceiling. Morning classes spent in an exhausted haze, worried enough that Dawin might actually have drawn attention to himself. He asked for the hall pass in his second class but was given a scornful look and denied.

It meant that lunch was the only time he could retrace his steps. One class, another, and he finally ended up in the bathroom, sitting on the closed lid of a toilet with his head in his hands. Hungry and battered and tired and frantic. What if someone had found it?

Angus did not notice Dawin in the cubicle beside his, he was far too busy thinking of his own imminent business. He snagged his largely empty book satchel on the hook on the cubicle door and had been about to carry on when he caught sight of a book. It was hiding but it was still there.

"Hello, hello." Angus mumbled to himself, not so desperate that he couldn't look at the book first.

He caught sight of the many warnings on the front and decided to check the inside cover for a name. There was none. There was, however, part of a very swash-buckly story about air pirates. Angus smiled widely, a small chuckle escaping his throat. Whoever had written it must have had a clock of a sense of humour.

He realised that he really, really did need to relieve himself. He popped the book in his bag and proceeded to do so. A short while later he was in front of the sinks and washing his hands. He looked about, glancing, wondering if anyone had seen the owner of the book he had found.

He ducked his head to see if he could see shoes in the stalls.

"Heeeyyy?" He asked, sounding vaguely interested. "You seen anybody come in here with a little leather book that says 'keep out' and so on?"

There were shoes, oh yes; big and battered and, the second Angus came close and crouched to look, they disappeared up off the floor and propped against the door, instead. Made it pretty obvious that Dawin wasn't using the stall the way it was intended. Even trying to hide, though, and halfway holding his breath, there was a shift and a shuffle that made it obvious that he was in there. And nervous.

The question was greeted with about three seconds of silence before he cleared his throat and rummaged for a suitable reply. There was the very beginning of a squeak, ruining the intended nonchalance of his reply. "...I, uh."

He cleared his throat, but still came off jittery instead of casual and helpful. His feet lowering back down to the ground. "...I might know a guy."

Angus looked at the disappearing and reappearing shoes with some small amount of confusion. It seemed a slightly odd response to him. Angus shrugged the feeling off. Whoever had written the book probably wanted it back, it was a fairly whacky piece of writing in Angus' mind.

"Can you tell me who it is? I should return it." Angus said, flipping the book open again, about halfway through and reading some more.

He kind of wanted to read it from the beginning, it wasn't the first volume if the cover was to be believed.

((SFSR))

((NEVER BE SORRY.))

There was another of those awkward pauses, and then Dawin leaned out -- slowly -- to unhook the door and push it open. He was sitting on the throne, sure, but not in its intended way. Bag on his knees and arms wrapped awkwardly around it, he watched Angus read in obvious horror, eyes too big and a flush on his cheeks.

"..uh. Uh, here, I can just..." One hand outstretched, he wiggled fingers at Angus. "I can take care of it, how's that sound?"

Angus gave Dawin a dry look, one eyebrow raised. He couldn't just give the book away to any old person. He had to return it to its rightful owner.

"On my honour as a galdor, I cannot simply relinquish the book to any man that comes along." He said, looking sort of manly and righteous and perhaps a bit full of himself. "I shall return it to its owner, otherwise anybody could come along and circulate it. It wouldn't be right."

Angus was aware that he'd broken his own rule by reading the thing but in his defence, he had just wanted to see if there was a name inside and it was quite a funny book. Angus had his shoulders back now and he snapped the book shut with an air of finality.

"I'm not going to give him any trouble or anything." Angus said, trying to sound reassuring. "It's pretty good stuff, it's funny. Never read a novel quite like this one."

Angus was...well, Angus was something. And he had a point. In Dawin's eyes, he was very much the epitome of the sort of hero he was trying to write in these epic stories. Obviously strong enough to hold his own, with a true and good moral compass. All Angus had to do now was show himself to have a streak of rebellion and disregard for other peoples' rules...

Dawin's expression had gone a little glazed as Angus talked, considering story possibilities, and it took him a moment to register that the older boy had finished speaking. He cleared his throat, floundering for a moment, and hauled himself up to stand.

"...it's mine." He meant for it to come out serious, maybe kind of proud but...instead, he squeaked.

Angus' face lost it's manly pique, replaced by a much more personable look of delight. He smiled widely, eyes focused attentively on Dawin's face. He'd never met a real author before. His parents had never run in those circles and he tended not to now. He spent time with other sporty people... and Naul.

"Yours?" He asked, sounding slightly disbelieving. "You wrote this?"

He looked from the book to Dawin. He looked like a literary type, from what little Angus could tell.

"Who's the main character then? The swashbuckling one." He asked, thinking he should at least be careful, Angus was often too trusting a bean. "I quite like him, very debonair fellow, I thought."

Dawin was just too used to teasing. There was a very long pause, his eyes wide on Angus, trying to determine if his was serious or joking and, if so, if it was a light-hearted sort of joking or the cruel kind: at his expense.

Eventually, he seemed to decide that it was the former. Angus just had a good sort of face, didn't he? Open and...and kind of dim, to be honest, but the kind of dim that seemed to show he was incapable of the cruel mockery other boys pulled off so effortlessly. All the same, his voice came out in that same fragile little squeak, "D-david..."

And he reached out again, carefully, toward the book. Tempted to snatch it and run, except that Angus was bigger than him. "Uhm. Might be...late for class...?"

"Ohhh, it is yours! Alright then." Angus said, now extending his hand.



Angus froze, hands still tight around the book. His eyebrows rose in silent horror. On time... For class?

"And your point is?" He asked, voice trailing off.

Angus was rarely on time for class if he could help it. He was ridiculously early to Harper Moore's lectures but otherwise he was a moment to a few minutes late. Class was just so boring, he tried to minimise the time he spent there so he had more hours free to do productive things. Like play sports or go for a run or catch up with friends.

"I have a better idea." Angus said reasonably. "How about we ditch class altogether and you show me some more of these books. Think of it as an exercise in vocational learning. It'll be good for you. Like taking a run!"

Angus smiled as winningly as he knew how, which was about as winningly as his usual smile since he never bothered to turn the charm down. Some people contributed to the world by curing diseases or keeping the law all nice and settled. Angus liked to help bring people out of their shells. Unfortunately he also encouraged bad behaviour but that was more a consequence than an actual purposeful act of badness.

"D-ditch class?" Judging from the shock tinging both his voice and his expression, Dawin had never done that before. Looking at him, it wasn't hard to believe; he looked so clean-cut, quiet and obedient, like the sort who always handed all his assignments in on time and was generally...well, ignored. And he liked it that way.

The shock, however, faded out and away to something more like delight when the rest of Angus's statement really hit him. He wanted to read more of them? Really and truly? Dawin had never considered them something to be shared, before, but the idea now was entirely thrilling.

"...but won't we get reprimanded for it?" All Angus had to do was push. Dawin would believe him if he said 'no', if only because he wanted to believe it.

"Just say you were sick!" Angus said, raising his hands in the air jubilantly. "The classes are so full that they can't tell anyway. I never get any hassle... Usually."

Why lie? Angus was known for his habit of occasional truancy. Perhaps more than occasional... At least he got his assignments done on time. Angus ran a hand through his artfully tousled hair and breathed out deeply. He couldn't be arsed going to class and he couldn't be sure he'd find the young man afterwards...

"I haven't even asked you name, have I?" Said Angus, looking a bit surprised at himself, he bowed a little to try to repent. "How rude of me! I'm Angus, pleased to meet you, let's go."

Angus's feet were already pointing towards the door.

"Angus?" There was a twitch to that, a little bit of a frown, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. He'd heard the name, certainly; he could almost hear it echoed in the chattering voices of the two trendy girls who sat behind him in class and sometimes passed notes up through him. He couldn't remember what they had said, not exactly, but he could probably guess at it, staring at the older boy now.

"Uh. Angus. Right." He echoed the bow, but in a twitchy, jerky, too-fast manner than all but left his head swimming. "I'm Dawin."

He straightened almost as abruptly, looking to the door and then his book and quickly dragging his bag up over his shoulder. "You're sure I won't be in trouble? I've never..."

"Dawin, good strong name, come on." Angus said, jovially impatient, like a beagle that wanted to go for a walk.



Angus finally decided that it was time to force the issue. He put an arm on Dawin's shoulder and began pulling him, gently mind, towards the door.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle." Angus replied, aware of the innuendo and running with it anyway because he was a teenage boy. "No harm shall come to you, I promise, now let's walk. Those books won't read themselves. I say, do you like football?"

Angus was a master of the chaotic topic change. Hopefully they'd be at least half way across the grounds before Dawin started to get sick of Angus' prattle and by then it would be too late. Angus would have won, gotten his way and been set up reading pirate stories.

The arm around his shoulders cinched the deal. Dawin wouldn't be so rude, or so daring, as to shrug Angus off -- plus it was reassuring. If Angus said there wouldn't be trouble, there wouldn't be. He was older, wiser, and certainly had done this more often.

So he just slouched into the grasp, innuendo flying a mile over his head, and let Angus steer him toward the door. After that he would, presumably have to take the lead, as Angus had no clue where his room was.

"Football?" Musing, pondering and uneasy, with sideways looks shot to Angus. "...ah. I don't...not really. I'm not opposed to it in theory, mind, I'm just...built wrong?"

"Hmm, perhaps you're more a track and field man. I go jogging in my spare time, perhaps you'd care to join me?" Angus asked, speedily leading Dawin across the grounds and into the dorms, his stride about as enthusiastic as the rest of him.

He only paused when they reached the stairs that lead to the different forms' dormitories. His arm was still loose on Dawin's shoulder, directing him. This was, truthfully, highly improper. Angus just didn't give a shit. He was tactile.

"What form are you in?" Angus asked, looking a bit confused, perhaps annoyed that he did not know. "I haven't seen you in class, are you in seventh? You're too tall to be any younger, surely?"

Dawin, at least, didn't seem too worried about the social niceties of galdor-galdor contact. He flushed, maybe, and slouched so that he and Angus were the same height, but didn't call the older boy out or wriggle away. In fact, he seemed only too-willing to be guided: it meant he could keep shooting looks away for mindful teachers about to scold them for heading in the wrong direction...

"Ah, n-no, I'm in sixth. And you don't want me, um, slowing you down." Embarrassed about this, too. He lead the way easily enough, moving quickly primarily to avoid risking getting caught. He only slowed, hesitated, once they were outside of his door, shooting a look up at Angus.

"Just wait here one minute, yes?" He didn't wait for a reply; cracked the door just enough so that he could wriggle inside while still hiding the contents of his room, and set to tidying up. The airships, those could stay. Airships were cool, after all. But drawings, some of the books, and a handful of journal pages, were all shoved into a drawer before he opened the door again to let Angus in.

Angus waited patiently enough, slouched artfully against the wall facing Dawin's door. He smiled when Dawin finally let him in.

"Thank you, Dawin. I appreciate your hospitality." Angus said, again bowing slightly, almost jokingly. "Now let's see those notebooks!"

Angus didn't pay a lot of attention to the contents of Dawin's room, he thought snooping was a bit rude. What he saw indicated what he'd suspected anyway. Dawin was a real galdor and not a pod person, like he sometimes suspected Naul might be. He loved Naul anyway, just, well, pod person.

Angus looked about for a chair and then decided instead to perch on Dawin's bed.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" He asked, bouncing up and down a little, to get comfortable.

Dawin's bed was a rumpled mess, blankets crumpled toward one corner and a pair of pajamas halfway shoved under the bed, not quite hidden. It was, however, comfortable enough under Angus's rear, and Dawin nodded dumbly -- still blushing -- that Angus could stay there just fine. He hadn't insulted the airships, and that meant he was alright in Dawin's book. Better if he'd complimented them, but there was still time, maybe...

He went immediately for his bookshelf, shoving several textbooks aside to reveal a huge stack of matching notebooks. He kept his head down as he fished out the older looking ones, leather cracked on several, and curled them against his chest. Dawin should, perhaps, have dropped down next to Angus, but he wasn't quite comfortable with that. Instead he hooked a chair with his ankle and hauled it over.

"N-now, you have to be aware," His tone was genuinely worried, shooting a wide look up at Angus. "I was...I was ten, um, when I started writing these. Yes?"

"Got to start sometime, I guess." Angus said congenially, reaching for the first book.

The standard in writing was about what he was expecting. Good for a ten year old but, well. Slightly purple. If prose could have a colour. Seemed to be a lot of focus on shirt fronts.

"Not bad for ten, you've gotten a lot better since." Angus continued, believing he should be honest since he didn't want to offend the other boy with fake praise. "You should try publishing some of the newer ones, you know, with some of the background you started with."

Angus flicked through the book lazily, glancing up and seeing Dawin's worried expression.

"You doing well there, Dawin?" He asked. "You look a bit peaked."

He looked worse, now, with the prospect of being published. It left him dark around the edges, eyes wide enough to show all the white around the yellow of his irises, staring at Angus like he was a madman. The compliments left him warm, maybe, but not enough to thaw away the chill that idea gave him.

"Oh, no. I mean -- oh, yes, but --" Dawin shook his head, once, hooking both ankles in around the legs of his chair and pulling his shoulders up. A natural slouch that succeeded less in making him seem shorter than he was and more in making him seem awkward and young.

"No one's ever read them before. Not even my da." Which was actually probably a good thing. Who knew how Humphrey might have reacted.

Angus thought on this. He told his parents most things, unless they involved his romantic life or his boozing... So he didn't tell his parents a lot of things either. That was fine.

"You could publish anonymously." He volunteered. "Get an idea for whether there's an audience for your work. Might even get some reviews that would help your writing."

Angus ran a hand through his hair, flicking a lock from his eyes.

"I guess you could keep it to yourself, if you wanted to." Angus was one of life's natural competitors, he didn't understand why Dawin would make such a choice. "I just think you should try to make a career out of it. Most of us end up doing something truly boring. Why not avoid being a paper pusher?"

Angus reached for the next book and began flicking again. Already Dawin's writing was starting to gain more coherence and a bit of the flair it had in his more current tome. Angus looked up at Dawin again, to see what he was doing.

A fidget, a wriggle, ankles unhooked. Instead, now he sat with one knee hugged in against his chest and his face pressed in against it, watching Angus over the cloth of his pants in that same wide way. Almost fascinated, now. No, no one had ever read it, and no, he'd never expected it to be well-received. He loved his own creations, sure, but mostly because they were his...

"You know how to publish anonymously?" The words came slowly, but it was a start. He raised thick eyebrows, lifting his head just a little as he did. "D-do I need an editor? How much's it cost, because I don't. Ah. We don't...my mom...um."

More embarrassment, and he shrugged the last of that off. "I don't know how I could get the money to...to rent the presses, or whatever it might be."

Dawin was cute in his own way, Angus thought. It was the big eyes peeking out from behind his protective barrier of knee. The nervous author thing was quite charming. Angus decided he was going to help Dawin out. Clearly the man wasn't going to go for it himself.

"It shouldn't be too hard. You can get a quote before you go worrying about asking your mother for the coin." Angus was sure he could help him out if he needed to, what was money when compared to patronising the arts? "I'm sure she wouldn't mind putting a little money into your future career. Who else will care for her in her frail dottage?"

Angus was sure he could convince her. He was very convincing.

"Could I borrow some of the later ones or do you prefer to keep them here?" Angus asked, wanting to have some bedtime reading that he'd actually have fun with.

Angus was very convincing. Extremely convincing, even. He put Dawin more at ease than usual, even if 'more at ease' meant that he still looked like a panicked deer, peering across the room at him with those wide eyes. "My ma...I don't know..."

But as for the request, he was already pushing himself up to stand and reach into that hidden part of the bookcase to fish out some volumes in the late teens for lucky Angus. He had nervous fingers, long and shaky, quickly shuffling the books back into order as he crossed to Angus.

This time, he did drop down to sit beside him on the bed, flicking a quick look up. "...though, she might listen to you." Which might have been a way of saying that Angus was right about her tastes.