[h3]Tobias Jonathan Rivenridge[/h3] [u][b]Mon, 09/09/1974, 6:00 am Location: Droms, Floor 1, Room 6[/b][/u] [i]Beedle-Deet[/i] [i]Beedle-Deet[/i] The obnoxious tones of an alarm filled the room. Despite how tiny the sound actually was, it still managed to somehow become the most unwelcome of cacophonies. [i]Beedle-Deet[/i] [i]Beedle-Deet[/i] It had always perplexed and eluded him. For all of Tobi's mechanical genius, he never could figure out how to make an alarm that was peaceful and welcoming to wake up to. Even the most pleasant of noises was treated with ire and disgust after no more than a few days. [i]Beedle-Deet[/i] [i]Beedle-Deet[/i] Perhaps it was the neurological link between the noise and the act of waking from sleep. Coming to associate just about anything with the varied unpleasantness of leaving the world of dreamers and rising to make peace with the day, he reasoned, would certainly deprive whatever it was of any particular appeal it might otherwise have. The fact that he was still adjusting his sleep habits to account for the six hour time difference from England certainly didn't help. [i]Beedle-Deet[/i] [i]Beedle-Deet[/i] By this point, the alarm's tones rang like thunder over his head. With the sharp glare of a man unduly disturbed, he remembered the one thing he COULD include on his alarm clock- an off switch that triggered with a little jolt of power. With a stretch he reached his arm out, extended his index and middle fingers, and willed a small jolt of electricity through his fingers and into the receiver. There was a tiny flash of blue and white... but still the alarm persisted. Tobias sighed exasperatedly as he tapped the receiver again with a more potent charge. After a brighter flash of similar color... the incessant beeping continued. Now snarling in a mixture of annoyance and frustration, the young mechanical wizard (in more than one sense of the word) tapped it thrice more, the charge supplied building each time, until finally the alarm quivered to a halt with a sputter of electrical sparks. Still incensed but relieved all the same, Tobi closed his eyes to catch an extra five minutes' worth of rest. [h3][i][b]BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP[/b][/i][/h3] Now, most people at this point would get up, hit the top of the clock, and resolve to tinker with the electrical receiver later. Most people have more patience with their personal projects than Tobias Jonathan Rivenridge at 6:00 in the morning. With freshly renewed exasperation, Tobias grabbed the clock and whipped his arm about, sending it crashing against the wall of his dorm in a scattering of charred black debris with a crashing noise that sounded like broken pieces flying apart. The clock itself was probably ruined and in need of replacement, in fact. But at least the alarm had stopped. Rising from his mattress and rubbing his head in dismay, Tobias quickly and firmly decided that matters of broken clocks could wait until the evening. Breakfast was being served in a half-hour, and if he knew boarding schools- and he most certainly did- being late for breakfast was a sentence to six hours of a growling stomach and a whole host of other problems that came when food was not consumed. The one good news of the morning thus far was that his frustration and energy expenditure had swept any lingering sleep from his eyes and mind, and in quick succession he had gotten dressed and was waltzing out the door toward the dining hall. [u][b]Mon, 09/09/1974, ~6:30 am Location: Dining Hall[/b][/u] Upon reaching his destination, Tobias made for the line to get food almost immediately. With everybody else in his grade range having known one another for three years, and occasionally more, he figured he would be more than a bit ostracized, if for no other reason than lack of familiarity. That was perfectly fine by him; Tobias was used to flying solo. What he was not used to was how horribly Americans undercooked their bacon. A fact that he came to grips with as he sat down by himself with his plate of eggs, bacon, pancakes, and hash browns and realized the second of the list was as stretchy as taffy. He couldn't just ask for more well-done pieces- he'd seen the reactions of the cooks when someone had beseeched them for a syrup that wasn't maple already. There just had to be a better way... Those always were the magic words for him. "A better way." No sooner had they popped into his head than he had whipped out his black notebook from his bag and flipped to a page with a few blank spaces. Unlike his green, red, and blue notebooks, the black one was not for class notations- it was reserved purely for his ideas and calculations. And so, in between bites of food, Tobias was scribbling away on a method to crispify his own bacon that was compact, easily used, and easy to carry. He didn't expect to be disturbed; in fact, he was willing to bet most people, even at the academy, would look at what he was writing and scratching out and confuse themselves too much to want to strike up a conversation with him...