Quentin Frasier Radford
The boy's elbow rested on the windowpane as he examined the scenery, uninterested. The Bentley Mulsanne stopped at a particular red light, giving Quentin the chance to watch a pretty girl jog past. His half-lidded eyes followed the curve of her impressive chest, her hips, the grace inserted into each step, how her long blonde hair galloped along her back within the allotted pace. His green irises clung onto the girl until she completely disappeared from his view. A grin then crept onto his face, amused by his own thoughts. Not bad. Of course, he had picked up better looking specimens during his youth, but he still still found a considerable pleasure in checking out girls when idle. It was an exceptionally favourited pastime of his during car journeys, where time positively dragged out. At last, he felt the car underneath him shift into motion until the girl was now behind them. He watched as she turned into a corner of the pavement while the car continued to drive straight ahead, the distance between them increasing by the second until she had been replaced by a building and several new faces.
Quentin was uncertain where they were heading or what they planned to do once they got there. He had not been given any information whatsoever this morning, not the slightest of hints. His father had woken him earlier than usual and, with the most flattest of pokerfaces, had told him to get up and change into his best suit. The boy reluctantly agreed and dragged himself out of bed, albeit not without a mumbled complain or two. During breakfast, he was told that all necessary luggage was already waiting in the car and that old Wadsworth would drive him there. Now, here he was - in the back seat of an expensive Bentley, with the loyal family butler driving upfront. Quentin was dressed in a formal set, both his blazer and trousers were of an identical shade of soft brown. Underneath he wore a light blue shirt with delicately embedded stripes. A patterned tie was wrapped around his neck and a suede pair of thick-soled dress shoes encased his feet. The boy had said he was fine with wearing a sweater and jeans, but his father vehemently disagreed with this. I said your best suit, did you not hear me? he had said. No-one disobeyed his father; his own son was no exception so Quentin had nodded in reply and returned to his room.
He sighed; he shouldn't have even be awake at this time. He could've still been in bed, his fingers reminiscent of the party last night. Quentin couldn't quite recall what had happened yesterday, but he assumed it had been good. The boy was just glad that he hadn't brought some drunken girl back home. He resisted imagining the scene of his father discovering the pair in bed. A tangle of limbs among the wrinkled folds of a duvet, one body identified as his son while the other was a naked girl he had never laid his eyes on before. A shiver ran down his spine and Quentin thanked his lucky stars that he had yet to experience such a horrific predicament.
A persistent thought remained in the back of his head; still wondering about this "surprise" they were driving to. He turned his head from the glass and shifted his focus towards the driver.
"Do you know where we're going, Wadsworth?" He asked.
The old man chuckled, "You will know soon enough, sir. Soon enough."
Quentin's unenthusiastic expression did not change as he kissed his teeth in reply. Everybody had been extremely vague about the entire situation this morning, this irritated him immensely. Quentin had attempted to ask a few people if they knew where he was going but it never resulted in a straight answer. The boy had asked a few servants walking through the hall as he made his way towards the kitchen, they had only smiled back and shook their heads. It had been futile to ask Wadsworth, he didn't know why he had even bothered asking. He remained silent for the rest of the journey, switching his attention between the people walking along the pavement and the buildings that towered above them. He was hoping to notice the destination before Wadsworth would.
"We're here, Mr. Radford." The butler said, before getting out of the car and walking around the vehicle in order to pull open the car door in front of Quentin.
He looked disheartened as he stepped out. He knew it - no wonder the household had been so quiet recently. The boy had expected for a punishment to suddenly surface, he just wasn't expecting it to come in the shape of a new school. He was not as angry as he should've been, it had only dampened his mood slightly. Quentin found himself rather tired despite just waking up a few hours ago. An all-boys school above all things. Quentin exhaled in frustration as he dragged out two guitar cases from the back seat. One was a rectangular black case while the other was made of a vintage leather and imitated the shape of the instrument inside. He strapped the latter onto his back and held the case in his left hand. He shuffled to the Bentley's trunk and heaved out an amplifier with his right hand. Wadsworth then, in turn, grabbed the duffel bag and backpack that had nestled on either side. Once the duo was comfortable with what they were holding, they strode through the gates and towards the school entrance.
Quentin allowed Wadsworth to open the door - as he was the only one with a free hand - and entered the lobby. He whistled, impressed, before making his way towards the desk.
"Um, yeah, I'm Quentin? Quentin Radford?" He said, addressing the secretary.
She glanced up at him briefly, before burying her brunette head in the computer screen in front of her.
“Ah, yes. You’re a first year, right?” She murmured.
The woman, once more, flicked her view up towards the male before returning to her original position. Her head bent, she rummaged through a few folders within the cabinet underneath her before brandishing a leaflet, an ID card and keys.
“Here you go.”
Her occupied hand reached out towards the boy. He then jerked his head sideways, in the direction of Wadsworth. She blinked in confusion for a moment before quickly nodding in understanding and moved her arm in front of the man.
“Thank you, from the both of us.” The butler said apologetically, the glint of his glasses concealing the sheepish look in his eyes.
Wadsworth pocketed the card and keys, choosing to focus on the leaflet first. With a whip of his hand, it opened out to reveal a map and a small column of information on the side.
“Now, where is One C...?” The old man breathed, more to himself rather than to his counterpart.
“What? Lemme see.”
Quentin inched closer and tilted his head over in order to get a better view. They stood there for a good few seconds or so, scanning the paper - looking for the dormitory among the several other buildings within the school. The boy could not deny just how vast the faculties were. How fancy.
“Aha!” The butler exclaimed.
“Good, you’ve found it. Let’s go.” Quentin said flatly.
He raised his head just in time to see the glimpse of the secretary’s stare before she dropped her head, a flush of colour emerging into her cheeks. This caused the edge of his lip to twitch upwards. It was always the piercings, always. Strangers never looked at anything else; Quentin was accustomed to this movement and had developed the skill of feigning ignorance while walking on the streets. It gave him a certain thrill, knowing there was at least one person drinking in his unusual appearance.
A smile still apparent on his face, he strolled out of the building; Wadsworth closely behind.
With the twist of a lock, Quentin burst through the door using the push of a kick – shortly after Wadsworth had turned the handle. With a sigh, the old man followed suit. It was clear that another person had been in this room before as his belongings were strewn on the bed. However, no other presence was within the vicinity. Maybe he’s gone travelling? Quentin had judged from the map, that there was more than plenty to be travelled. He claimed the remaining bed by carefully placing his amplifier and guitar case in front of it. He rolled his exhausted shoulders in relief. Never underestimate the weight of an amplifier, ever again. The boy then slipped his arms out of the leather case and positioned it beside his other luggage.
He then leapt onto the mattress, not bothering to remove his shoes. The thick blanket felt so thick and fluffy underneath him, Quentin was tempted to go to sleep right there and then. He lifted his head slightly and watched Wadsworth already starting on the unpacking.
“You want me to help you or something?” He asked.
“No thank you, sir. I wouldn’t expect you to help anyway.” The speckled man replied, fishing out a pile of folded t-shirts.
“You know me too well, Wadsworth.”
The task was done quickly, and his given wardrobe had been filled within a few minutes. Even the bathroom now contained his personal toiletries. The selection of garments that had been chosen to come with him to school was meagre compared to the collection back at home. However, he was glad that the maids were attentive, as most of it was clothes he wore more often. Unfortunately, the boy had been quick to notice that a few formal suits had also been packed which must’ve been his father’s doing.
“Will you be alright here, Mr. Radford?”
“You know me, Wadsworth. Of course I will.”
“If you insist. Your father said you are welcome to call him if a problem arises.”
“I would rather call Mitt Romney, Wadsworth. My father is the last person I would ever want to call at the moment.”
It was true; his father was a harsh, stubborn man. He controlled the family with his iron first. His word was rule, no matter what stupidity was uttered from his mouth. Perhaps the success had just sunken into his brain for far too long. In most cases, Quentin was convinced that Wadsworth acted more of a fatherly figure. It was obvious that he and his father weren’t exactly close - the fact that it was him who had set this up, strengthened this disconnection by a large margin.
The butler hesitated in replying immediately; although he found difficulty in maintaining a straight face. He chose not to comment, hoping a pause would express what he had planned to say.
“Now that everything has been done and said, I must be on my way.” He edged towards the door.
Quentin had remained sprawled across the bed with a peaceful look washed across his face, his arms outstretched to either side.
“Okay, bye. Tell mum I said hi.” The boy muttered while looking at the plain, unforgiving stretch of white that was the ceiling. He then heard the thud of a few objects being dropped onto his desk, presumably the ID card, keys and leaflet. He did not shift his focus until he heard the faint click of the door closing.
[WHERE AM I?] In Dorm C1.
[WHO AM I WITH?] No-one.
[WHAT’S ON MY MIND?] “Father, you insolent prick.”
[OOC] It’s longer than what I usually do, much longer, so you may find that I may have waffled at times. Especially near the end, where I was starting to not know what to put next. I got increasingly tired the closer I got to finishing it. I may proofread it tomorrow. =w= HOLY CRAP AFTER LOOKING AT THIS AGAIN IT LOOKS SO GODDAMN MASSIVE WTFHOWDIDITYPETHISMUCHGDFGDFGFG