Sol sat hunched over his notebook, his broad shoulders curled around in an almost defensive posture, despite the fact that he was at the utmost rear of the class and had no reason to expect anyone might be behind him. He looked absurd in his desk, being that even though he was not a tall man, from his thick neck to his powerful physique which was further emphasized by the form fitting blazer, waist-coat and shirt of his tailored uniform, he looked very out of place crammed into a school desk, which was again further exacerbated by his awkward attempts to scribbled into the notebook with his left hand. Anyone who had spent more than a minute observing the bulky youth would have known that his right hand, currently covered by a white glove and the sleeve of his blazer as it dangled over the edge of his desk, was his dominant hand, and why he would insist on writing with his left, despite the very obvious frustration, identified by the vein that bulged above his temple on an otherwise stony visage, it was causing him, was a complete mystery to anyone who had not personally followed the much publicized events that had wound him up at Syne in the first place.
A thunderous crash shook the class room and Sol lurched to his feet, tearing the board off the top of his desk as he did so, and gripping the separated section of wood so tightly in his right hand that his fingertips were buried up to the first knuckle in the grain. Wide-eyed, in an expression that would have been a cry of outright shock on a less tempered individual, he scanned the room for the source of the disturbance, and in his head he rehearsed two ways to flee the premise, and at least one to disable all of the other students if one of them proved to be that who had suddenly taken it into their head to begin vandalizing the school grounds, before his gaze fell upon to culprit, visible through a recently opened hole yawning in the wall.
It was one of his roommates, though Sol had not bothered to ask the guy's name, despite having spent at least two nights sharing a room with him, and if at any point he'd given one, Sol did not remember it. For someone who weighed half what he himself did, and probably been snapped like a twig with one hand, the foppish violinist was surprisingly strong to have put a whole training dummy through a reinforced interior wall, not to mention careless, unacceptably careless. What if that fool had hurt someone? Bloody idiot.
The liberated section his desk required the use of his other hand to free from the fingertips of his right, and it fell to the floor with a clatter, as Sol strode up to the small group that had gathered and volunteered to participate in a hunt. Unlike the others, he did not introduce himself, nor did he announce his intentions to tag along other than to nod to the instructor.
Someone had to keep an eye on the lot, after all.
