[h3][i]Freddie Blackwell[/i][/h3][hr]Back in his dorm room, a cruel flick of Freddie's wrist sent a barrage of crimson splashing across the white surface; staining it with silent rage. The floor and furniture around him was draped in white sheets, catching the collateral splashings of paint as the boy followed up with similar attacks of blue, black and purple. More red.

He breathed heavily, the violent hammering of Björk's [i][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-QNxD56p_U]'Pluto'[/url][/i] raging through its sixth or seventh play since Freddie had returned to his room. The Icelandic songstress was one of his favourite artists and, though she hadn't released any work in more than ten years, he held hope that she would return from retirement so that he might one day see her in concert. Her music didn't bring him comfort, per se, but it helped him to determine how he felt; so tempestuous were his moods that often they were difficult to pinpoint, and emotive music usually helped to bring cast aside the chaotic fogs that shrouded them. 

He withdrew several long nails from a drawer, and drove them into the canvas in hectic arrangements, bending them with pliers and twisting sharp wire around their curves; stringing the imposing barbs like decorative garlands over his raw expression. The song finished, and swiftly began again: [i]"Excuse me, but I just have to explode..."[/i] He dipped the paintbrush into a shade of toxic green.

[center]***[/center]

The room sat in relative silence now; the only sounds the gentle tinkling of paintbrushes rattling against their glass jar as Freddie packed away his supplies. He sighed heavily; the painting process was intentionally exhausting, as much as physical exercise as a mental or emotional one. Several thick strands of his previously immaculate styling now hung loosely over his face, which shimmered faintly in exertion. He closed the drawer with a gentle firmness, and stashed the canvas beneath his bed to dry away from the prying eyes of his roommate. His breath steadied.

Sat atop his neatly-made bed, Freddie considered showering; layers of paint had accumulated on his hands and arms, managing to find their way up beneath his nails in a thick crust of dried pigment. Wondering how much time he had until his next lesson, he leant over and checked the clock on his phone. He'd missed a text from Mari.

[indent][indent][b]Mariand'r Grayson[/b]
[i]"Hey Freddie, don't u dare fuckin ditch me 4 ARC"[/i][/indent][/indent]

[i]"Fuck!"[/i], he exclaimed aloud. He'd forgotten they even [i]had[/i] the ARC session today, nevermind that it was so soon: due to start in two minutes, according to the time displayed tauntingly on his phone screen. He scrambled to pull on his boots, knowing that he would not need to take any belonging with him for the activity. He was not particularly excited for the session: he hated Coach Stewart almost as much as Coach Stewart hated him. He was also among the less athletic portion of the student body, and often worried of making a fool of himself in physical activities such as this.

Alas, if the message from Student Services that had accompanied Mari's text was anything to go by, it seemed his behaviour in Theatre Studies had unsurprisingly landed him in some trouble. He knew better than to piss off two members of staff in one day; but more importantly, he knew better than to piss off Coach Stewart. And he was already going to be late. Begrudgingly, he pulled his lace tight with a scowl, and set off out the door.

[center]***[/center]

When he arrived, Coach Stewart was already in the middle of addressing the gathered students. Freddie, now clad in one of the compulsory costumes students were required to wear in the ARC, did his best to enter as stealthily as possible, silently sliding into the lobby area and joining the back of the group. He noticed Mari and Andy stood together and shot them a sheepish glance before breaking eye contact. Blushing slightly, he realised that he might have made a [i]bit[/i] of a fool of himself in Theatre Studies.

He just hoped Coach Stewart wouldn't spot him arriving late and continue the humiliation into his second semester of the day.