Quanta. Matters of time and space. Digits and distance. The relationship of objects. The logistics of war. What had that guy been saying at the party last night? Something about the importance of distance between artist and subject. He'd certainly seemed pretty adamant about it. He spent an awfully large quantity of time talking about it. Remi hadn't really heard much of what the guy had said. He wasn't that close to the man. At least not in terms of familiarity. Besides, he'd been a bit distracted at the time. Vivian had been occupying a lot of space in Remi's thoughts at the time.

The room Remi was in was white. Blindingly white. White, halogen lights were inset in the ceiling, their radiance reflecting off of the white tiles that covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. Remi squinted. It was impossible to get used to the room. Just when you though your eyes could adjust everything always seemed to get a bit brighter. He tried to ignore it, concentrating on the task at hand. Remi ran a gloved finger between the ends of the bow, tracing a thread of spacial, spirit stuff between the two ends, imperceptible in the glare.

'Space', she had said, 'she needed space.' That was what Vivian had told him before the party. Remi did not understand. He seemed to have given her plenty of space, he thought. In fact, she had always complained that he was always a bit distant. Keeping her at arms length, as she had put it. Maybe that had been the problem all along. Too much space.

Remi focused on attenuating the distance between the spacial thread, warping the space within its hollow core, the bow curving as it was bent inwards. Satisfied, Remi felt for one of the bolts in the rack in front of him, lifting the smooth, metal length into the air, even the matte shaft glinted in the unrelenting glare of the lights. The tiles that covered the room were one point seven meters to a side, running four full tiles from floor to ceiling, and 500 tiles long along the two longest walls. The floor was eight tiles across at the shortest. All told a volume of 78,608 cubic meters with a surface area of 34,864.96 meters. Remi notched the shaft around the almost invisible spacial thread. Straightening he lifted the bow, the joints on his left sleeve giving a quiet hiss at the motion, hooking two fingers around the thread of the bow, Remi closed his eyes, relishing the cool darkness for a moment. He drew back the bow, concentrating upon the elasticizing thread. His arm quavered slightly as he pulled the fletching past his right ear. He breathed in. He breathed out. Once more. Remi breathed in. He breathed out. A beat. His eyes snapped open. He let go of the shaft and the thread. The distance contained within the thread twisted and warped, space undulating back towards it's natural state, for an instant, a tiny fragment of reality was sovereign to Remiel's will, and then it wasn't. Remi didn't see the bolt leave his bow, he released the string and the shaft vanished. There was a sharp ping at the other end of the room.

It wasn't lost on Remi that a pattern was forming. Vivian was just the last in a relatively sizable line of women who had all reached the same conclusion. Vivian had stuck around longer than most, but eventually, whatever allure there was in Remi's stoic, soldier-boy airs faded, the veneer peeled, and they realized that under that stony disposition was even more cold and lifeless. The possibility that the ultimate failure of these relationships might in fact lie in responsibility with him did not escape Remiel. Still, he didn't know what to do about it. Perhaps...

"Not bad, kiddo!" A voice crackled through the intercom. "We clocked that one in at 774 J, unassisted. I still think we can squeeze out a little more though. Let's do a few more and then we'll begin with the B.A.S.I.L.I.S.K. tria- oh, hold on." There was a short pause. "Ah, alright. We're going to have to cut the session a little short Mister Morgenstern, apparently you are being called to report to the admin offices on the fourth floor of C. We'll pick up the trial tomorrow, same deal as usual. Don't worry though, I'll make sure you get credit for all of today." The intercom but out.

Remi said nothing. Doctor David wouldn't be listening anyway. Instead he released his hold on the spacial thread, the ephemeral strange spiraling into nothing once more. Kneeling down Remi placed the stringless bow into the foam inset of its carrying case. Stripping the B.A.S.I.L.I.S.K. off of his arm he placed it into the case as well. Folding the bolt rack into the cover of the case he carefully shut the lid, averting his eyes as the rooms blinding lights reflected off of the cases silvered finish. Why did they always insist on making the test equipment so damn reflective? General sadism?

A foolish question, perhaps, it was probably the same aesthetic sentiment that caused them to use such as contrived an acronym as basilisk. Remi didn't give it much thought. More pressing matters occupied his attentional space. A summons from the administration today could really only mean one thing. As he picked up the case and started for the exit, his footfalls echoing down the long, white hall, he idly wondered if the others had received an order to report as well. Most of his compatriots were probably still asleep, Remi had stayed sober enough last night to remember how many of them were decidedly not. It didn't matter, if they hadn't heard yet, someone would soon come around to tell them the exciting news. Not that Remi seemed all that excited. He had been expecting this day for some time. As far as he was concerned, today, like everything else in life, was just a matter of time and space.