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Pippin
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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
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Astrid almost felt self-satisfied, as Mel too seemed to be concerned at Maxim’s abrupt exit. At least the omni-present smile on her face had disappeared, which was a sure-fire sign that something was up with her. And why wouldn’t there be? It HAD been rude for the guy to just get up and bolt after causing so much commotion. Sure, maybe he was shy. Big deal. Didn’t stop him from making a gesture of farewell or something.

She tried not to feel too satisfied though. Didn’t exactly feel great having a similar view to a girl who shoved a half-eaten banana back into her bag.

But then Mel started going on some weird little spiel about people leaving her or something, and Astrid’s eyes narrowed. Was she missing out on some sort of joke here? That wouldn’t be too unlikely; there was always some stupid joke or reference floating around the student body that she couldn’t care less about.

Then all of a sudden, Mel herself abruptly stood up and started walking towards the exit, taking her bag with her, and suddenly the meaning behind her words became very clear. Astrid was now stuck in the incredibly unfavourable position on being conflicted about Mel leaving. On the one hand, it meant that she was now out of her hair, something that never came about this easily. On the other hand, Mel had just left in the exact same way as Maxim had, immediately after Astrid had made it very clear exactly how rude that was. So all that happened was that she was left bubbling with confusion, glaring at Mel’s retreating back.

Of course, Mel’s true intentions were almost immediately deciphered. The girl baffled Astrid. She wasn’t exactly a complicated girl, truth be told, and yet it seemed every single thing she did was meticulously designed to vex Astrid, and the worst part was that it worked. No doubt Mel had enjoyed the look of confusion and indignation on her face as she’d turned back around, and was probably enjoying the death glare she was receiving right now.

Astrid let out a deep sigh, turning back to her books, flipping through the pages of the one lying on top to try and find her place again. It wasn’t like she could just get up and go somewhere else; the chances of Mel following her wherever she went like a stray puppy were about 99.9%.

“It’s history stuff.” Astrid muttered curtly. “The late 1100s, Richard the Lionheart and the Third Crusade, that general area. Lot of misconceptions about him.”

Astrid was sorely tempted to add a ‘I don’t expect you to understand it,’ but she just knew that, somehow, Mel would find a way to spin it around to further aggravate her.
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The Dynamo of Volition · Beale Library