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[color=fee7be]He didn't make much from his performance, but for essentially being a street performer, Tryg could do worse. As he finished his tune and parties departed for class, Tryg realized he should probably do likewise. A music theory class to start the day, followed by lunch, then private lessons and orchestra, and lastly (and in his opinion, best) jazz band. Of course, the freshies in the latter two made it near impossible to accomplish anything first day, though they had still received a few sheets of music to begin practice for performances and recitals and the like later in the semester. When all was wrapped up, he stayed over and found an unoccupied practice room in the music building to give this music a more proper look.

Nothing too challenging by Tryg's standards, but could be seen as fun nonetheless. Clearly intended to not scare the new kids out the door as they transition from lesser education levels of musical talent into pseudo-professionalism. It made sense for the purposes of building their abilities, but as far as Tryg was concerned, if this truly were an attempt to transition students into becoming professionals, then this needed to be treated like a more professional gathering. Give the kids the challenging stuff. Make them work to prove themselves. If they can't handle it, then stick them on third seat or send them out the door. Tryg, of course, challenged the higher seats immediately upon his arrival to the school, and played those who were his "senior" under the table. Since, he has been the foremost Trombone seat.

Then that one kid today, wanted to challenge him for first seat, so Tryg went down to the music library, grabbed a piece he'd never played before (something out of his own comfort zone as well, so not even jazz related) and proceeded to show the kid why he shouldn't even be in orchestra, yet the director still had the audacity to promote the kid from third seat to second. The kid couldn't even hold a middle C (and his notes sounded as chunky as the director's fat rolls. What the actual hell was going through the director's head? Whatever. Tryg would make sure the kid came to worship him and his trombone soon enough.

Then about 5:30, a wave of heartburn seemed to set in. Or, unless the clock on the wall was off, it was right on the dot. [color=efbd65][b][i]Shit, must've been something I had for lunch,[/i][/b][/color] he thought. He played another ten minutes, and over that time the discomfort transitioned into pure nausea. [color=efbd65][b][i]Okay, time to call it quits and find a restroom.[/i][/b][/color] He was on the second floor, and there was a restroom at the end of the hallway that should be unlocked. He slung [i]Dainsleif[/i] over his shoulder and stumbled through the door.

The hallway seemed to twist and writhe before him. [color=efbd65][b][i]Either I'm on an acid trip, too, or this bug is worse than I thought.[/i][/b][/color] Rather ungracefully, Tryg made his way down the corridor, once straight as an arrow, but now serpentine, writhing and rippling the whole way. Colors morphed, then returned to normal. Tunnel vision started to set in, but the restroom door was right there. All he had to do was reach out and grab the handle. Or take two more steps and grab it. Damn thing. After repeating this cycle no less than three times (might've been more), Tryg finally shoved the door open, revealing a place that wasn't the restroom he remembered, being completely covered in fog and near impossible to see in. Then, Tryg threw up. [color=efbd65][b][i]Shit.[/i][/b][/color][/color]