[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/r5XJkCF.png[/img][/center] [b]King Henry’s Mound, Richmond Park Sunday Evening[/b] [i][color=0072bc]‘…the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of action of any of their number, is self-protection. That the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilised community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others.’ What’s ‘harm’, though?[/color][/i] Alistair sighs. He swings his legs from atop the metal lattice, planting his solidly-shod feet on the ground and resting his head on the pillar of his hand and arm. Down at the book he gazes. [color=0072bc]“It’s… It’s like the pleasure machine. What’s to stop someone locking people up to prevent them from getting hurt – in the most specific sense?”[/color] He growls. [color=0072bc]“Or, in the other direction, to convince people to trust no-one in academia because they think they’re part of some nonsensical conspiracy?”[/color] He shakes his head, lying back against the metal post. [i][color=0072bc]It’s just too vague. You could use this to justify anything.[/color][/i] Then he closes his fist – the one not holding the library’s copy of Mill’s [i]On Liberty[/i], one of a number of texts he’d plundered and absorbed over the last few days (as opposed to engaging with most of Freshers’ Week) – and shakes his head again, leaning down to drop the text into his bag, stand and pick the whole thing up in a single, fluid motion. [color=0072bc]“Need to keep reading. Probably explains later.” [i]Still…[/i][/color] His thoughts trail to a halt as he looks behind him, confirming the appearance of an elderly couple waiting patiently and a little nervously off to the side. Alistair opens his mouth slightly, then shuts it, hunching over in guilt and walking away to allow them to use the telescope. As he does so, he looks up slightly to take in the view of London, then back to the hole through the hedges to where he knows by now St Paul’s Cathedral is, crowning the City. [i][color=0072bc]And it doesn’t solve the main issue, either. No matter how much thought I put into rules, or how much I think I might be protecting people…[/color][/i] He shakes his head, turning away to begin the journey home. [i][color=0072bc]I could still just be hurting them.[/color][/i] [b]The Parton Residence, Hounslow Monday Morning[/b] The [i]clanks[/i] of spoon against bowl ring out across the Partons’ kitchen diner and into the wider flat beyond as Alistair practically gulps down his cereal and muesli. The young man’s face practically cries out with determination, focus and thought (contortions from eating aside). “Easy there, tiger!” Steven Parton’s chuckle gives way to a yawn as he makes his way out of Alistair’s parents’ room, dressing gown-clad. “No need to get it all inside at once. You’ll give yourself indigestion if you’re not careful.” Alistair pauses a moment and bites his upper lip. Then, giving a grudging nod, he slows the pace of his consumption. Fractionally. “You’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today,” Steven continues. He glances out of the window, the sky still cloaked in twilight. “When’s your first lecture?” Alistair swallows – [color=0072bc]“Ten. Planning on getting there early – picking up some books, then settling into the lecture hall for a bit –”[/color] and then continues as before. Steven purses his lips. Then he swings round the table, sitting opposite his son to look him in the eyes. “Hey. You’re going to be fine, Alistair. Don’t worry.” [color=0072bc][i]My own being fine isn’t the issue…[/i] “You don’t worry either, Dad.”[/color] Alistair musters up a smile. [color=0072bc]“You’re right, I’ll be fine.”[/color] “Good!” Steven raises a huge smile, its infection crossing to Alistair through the hand that clasps and shakes his shoulder. “Seriously, though, you’re going to be [i]great[/i].” Alistair gives a nod in answer, light in his eyes… Then his mind turns to his purpose again, to the question that paralyses him – to its enormity, to the fact that it has never been solved before. His gaze turns downwards, steely once more. [color=0072bc][i]I must be. There isn’t another option. Not if I am to meet with success.[/i][/color] [b]Thames’ Edge Campus[/b] Striding away from the library – in which he had already spent [i]three hours[/i] and from which a new haul of books weighs down his backpack – Alistair glances at his watch. [color=0072bc][i]Twenty to. Plenty of time to find a seat, set out belongings and obtain a proper state of mind for absorption and note-taking.[/i][/color] He nods to himself, continuing his course through the gleaming corridors of the shining modernist buildings… Bland but efficient, though no doubt it would make life harder for those who hadn’t memorised much of the campus’ layout already. [color=B24161]“Uhh… Hi… How are you two doing? I-I need help finding my first class…”[/color] Ah. Mind catching on the voice as he passes the open doors to the common area, Alistair stops mid-stride and hesitates, eyes taking in the situation with the precision of intense practice: a blonde-haired girl – one whom he realises he recognises from the preliminary Philosophy lecture – her hunched, shrinking posture implying distinct unease, facing away from him to speak to a pair of others: one another blond, tall even for a man of his age but seemingly also nervous – and leaving – the other a shorter dark-haired girl with a cane accompanied by two dogs (Alistair’s brain takes in this fact only after some difficulty – one dog would make sense, but two?), her face the picture of pleasantness straining [i]as hard as it possibly can[/i] to obscure indignance. Clearly, the first of the three (possibly the second too) is out of her depth. [color=0072bc][i]Help.[/i][/color] A tidal wave of cold swamps that thought. [color=0072bc]No. [i]You could make things worse just as easily as better. You have[/i] no way of knowing. [i]Standing by won’t do anything… And that is the best that can be guaranteed [/i]beyond doubt. Study. Comprehend. [i]Act[/i] only then.[/color] So does his creed repeat itself – and yet… [color=0072bc][i]BONG.[/i][/color] Alistair starts as the peal of the bell rings through his mind – [i][color=0072bc]That’s been there the whole time[/color][/i], he realises, [i][color=0072bc]where, when did[/color][/i] – and then there is a another [color=0072bc][i]BONG[/i][/color] and a [color=0072bc][i]pulse[/i] and suddenly the world is shrouded and still and where the three are standing there are [i]others[/i] superimposed, half-real, and the bell rings, and rings again, stronger, and [i]rings again[/i] –[/color] Closing his eyes and raising his hand as if to ward against the strain, Alistair opens them to find the world… Normal. [i][color=0072bc]What…[/color][/i] He groans softly, bringing the hand to his head. [i][color=0072bc]Maybe I did get up too early –[/color][/i] [color=red]“Next time maybe look for people not in a conversation, or wait until they're finished? We were kinda in the middle of something there.”[/color] The strident tone brings him back to the situation at hand. This time, rationality momentarily blindsided, Alistair drives forward and moves to lightly tap the blonde on the shoulder. Closing his eyes again, momentarily focussing past the quietened yet still powerful wave of cold, he forces a smile and awkwardly extends a directing finger. [color=0072bc]“First year Philosophy? Wollstonecraft Building? Headed there now, if you want to follow.”[/color] [@Landaus Five-One] [@Smike]