(no subject)
Who: John Tracey (Kaa) and Adrian McMillan (Shere Khan).
What: Tale-mates meet for the first time.
When: The afternoon of Monday, April 21, 2008.
Where: North campus of the City College of New York.
Rating: TBD.
For a wonder, the sun was still shining when John finally fought his way free of the day's schedule and emerged, tired but triumphant, from the North Academic Building. Crowned in spires delicate and ornate against the fair sky, the gorgeous pile of neo-Gothic stone brooded heavily at Shepard Hall's rounder, sleeker bulk across the traffic running up and down Convent Avenue. Traffic was doing pretty well here on foot, too, as afternoon declined toward evening: he had to dodge an oncoming pack of students obviously late for something, blowing up the building steps and through the doors in a breathless, chattering rush.
Maybe going to see that guest speaker, he thought vaguely as he hitched his backpack (heavy with books, papers, and laptop, better for hauling than the satchel today) higher on his shoulder for the walk to the subway station and then home. He hadn't caught the name of the visitor or when his talk was supposed to be - was it already over? - in passing an excited conversation near the economics department's offices this morning, but it was obviously someone important or at least interesting. He supposed anyone who could make economics interesting was important - in these troubled times, certainly.
Nothing to do with him, anyway. He started down the steps in turn and turned over navigation to long habit. Accordingly, his direct attention only lightly surfed his surroundings while he thought ahead to the night's workload and tried not to feel too bogged down. Finals were just a few weeks away, and then . . . summer. Finally.
What: Tale-mates meet for the first time.
When: The afternoon of Monday, April 21, 2008.
Where: North campus of the City College of New York.
Rating: TBD.
For a wonder, the sun was still shining when John finally fought his way free of the day's schedule and emerged, tired but triumphant, from the North Academic Building. Crowned in spires delicate and ornate against the fair sky, the gorgeous pile of neo-Gothic stone brooded heavily at Shepard Hall's rounder, sleeker bulk across the traffic running up and down Convent Avenue. Traffic was doing pretty well here on foot, too, as afternoon declined toward evening: he had to dodge an oncoming pack of students obviously late for something, blowing up the building steps and through the doors in a breathless, chattering rush.
Maybe going to see that guest speaker, he thought vaguely as he hitched his backpack (heavy with books, papers, and laptop, better for hauling than the satchel today) higher on his shoulder for the walk to the subway station and then home. He hadn't caught the name of the visitor or when his talk was supposed to be - was it already over? - in passing an excited conversation near the economics department's offices this morning, but it was obviously someone important or at least interesting. He supposed anyone who could make economics interesting was important - in these troubled times, certainly.
Nothing to do with him, anyway. He started down the steps in turn and turned over navigation to long habit. Accordingly, his direct attention only lightly surfed his surroundings while he thought ahead to the night's workload and tried not to feel too bogged down. Finals were just a few weeks away, and then . . . summer. Finally.