New Routine

Date/Timing: 28 October 2005
Setting: UoM; Manchester, England, United Kingdom
.
Nearby chirping—greenfinch and blackbird.
Hermann fumbles his mobile from beside his pillow without lifting his head, thumbs off the squawking, groans.
Nearby chirping—robin and starling.
"Dammit," he grumbles, turning off the alarm, pushes up on his elbows, wings beating through wide, lazy strokes.
The air tickles the vanes, but the follicles itch.
"Bloody fuckin' moult."
He shoves himself over to sitting, eases his feet to the floor, pushes off, carefully tests his weight on his knee.
It holds well enough that he flexes his wings and shuffles to the washroom cane-free.
He reaches into the shower, twists the water all the way to hot, then strips off his pajama bottoms and underwear, relieves himself, and steps into the steam-filled shower.
He soaps up all the bits he can reach, avoiding his feathers as much as possible—no time to deal with those today, much as they could use it—sluices off. Next, he lathers his hair, rinses it. He turns off the water with a sigh, drags himself out onto the mat.
The comparatively chill air has him shivering, so he grabs his towel and dries himself thoroughly, shaking condensation—and loose feathers, dammit—from his wings as he goes.
Towel wrapped around his waist, he runs his fingers through his hair, flosses and brushes his teeth. Brings out the razor, gives his chin a quick once-over. Satisfied, he picks his way to the dresser.
He digs out a full ensemble, drops the towel on the desk chair, armours up with pants, trousers, binder as tightly fastened as possible, t-shirt, button-up shirt, and jumper. Drapes the towel over his shoulder.
Another deep sigh and he crouches, gathers up shed feathers, grumps back along the trail of them to the washroom—even the sopping ones on the shower tiles, stuffs the handful into the biohazard container hidden in a storage box on the shelf, just as Father ordered.
A last check of his hair in the mirror, grimaces, pokes at the stupid bloody cowlick to no avail.
He rolls his shoulders, limps to the desk on his stiffening knee, tugs his rucksack to the edge, inspects its contents.
Everything for the first part of the day's there, so he hobbles across to the door, drops it while he climbs into his coat. He settles the bag over his shoulders, picks up his cane, and heads out, double-checking the door is locked behind him.
It's a mercifully brief, head-down shamble to the dining hall.
"Good—"
Hermann startles.
"—morning~!" sings Reid, materializing beside him. "You headed to breakfast?"
Hermann forces his shoulders down. "For what other reason would I be here?"
Reid shrugs. "Some people work better with kitchen clatter?"
Hermann sniffs, pushes by and into the serving area, seizes a tray.
"Can I help?"
"I can handle it."
"But would you /like help?"
"No." Hermann loads up with a banana and an orange, stomps over to the pot of oatmeal.
"Isn't it normal for, uh, students with mobility—"
"I dismissed my 'helper' after the first week," snaps Hermann. "I am /more than capable of taking care of myself." Slams a bowl on his tray, aggressively scoops oatmeal.
Reid gestures for calm. "O-of course. I didn't—" Runs a hand through already mussed hair—
Hermann idly wonders (again) what colour that hair is, silently chastises himself.
—and ducks his head. "I'm pretty sure Rhys and Iggy already have a table claimed and we'd love it if you'd join us."
"I'll think about it."
Reid glows. "Thanks for that, mate." He skips off to the hot food line.
Hermann shakes his head, shuffles to the coffee station, fills a mug and leaves it black. He tests his hold on the heavy tray, heads to the seating area.
A hand waves above a table a short distance away, Reid grinning beneath it.
Hermann's heart does a traitorous little flip, so he puts on a mild frown, plods over, and slides into the nearest empty place, next to Reid.
Dammit.
"Good morning! Again!"
"'mornin'," greets Vigsai.
Rhys waves.
"Good morning," says Hermann, dropping his rucksack between his feet.
"You ready for Munro's quiz today?"
Hermann shrugs, picks up his spoon and stirs his oatmeal.
"It shouldn't be /too bad. I mean, this unit seems pretty straightforward."
Hermann grunts around a mouthful, queues up another.
"Let the poor bloke eat, Gingersnap," chides Rhys. "It looks like he needs it."
"Almost as much as you do," adds Vigsai.
Reid gestures with his toast. "I can't gain weight, no matter how much I eat. Ask my mum." Punctuates with a bite.
"I'm, ah, the same way," murmurs Hermann.
Reid's happy glow increases by an order of magnitude.
Hermann bends, fishes about in his rucksack, tries to ignore the way his ears seem to be on fire, comes back up with his pill organizer. He tips the morning's into his hand, swallows them with a gulp of coffee.
In his peripheral vision, Reid watches carefully.
Hermann shoots him a look.
Reid immediately finds his breakfast /fascinating.
Hermann feels ... guilty, covers it with more coffee and "I suspect today's quiz will be a relatively easy one. You're right about the latest material."
"So I'm not just overconfident."
"Not if your marks are as high as they are in cosmology."
"Well ... they're not /quite as high. Maths're kinda my weak spot."
"Oh good, he's talking science—oi!"
Vigsai smiles, shifts as she retracts her foot.
"You've made a poor choice of programme if you struggle with maths."
Reid dims, mumbles, "I muddle through a-and it's worth all the work to get a better look at the stars, yea?"
The guilt returns.
Hermann offers a weak smile. "The stars are worth nearly anything."
"/Finally," smiles Reid, "someone who /understands."
Category:Ficlet
Category:Manchester (setting)
Category:Hermann
Category:Hermann's POV
Category:Hermann (ficlet)
Category:Hermann has wings
Category:Hermann loves stars
Category:Edan
Category:Edan (ficlet)
Category:Lars (mention)
Category:Rhys
Category:Rhys (ficlet)
Category:Vigsai
Category:Vigsai (ficlet)
Category:Ficlets with images
2005 10 28
Category:Pages with comments
Category:Celestial Mechanics