Time moved with liquid imprecision, marked not by clocks or alarms, but by the waveform excitement of the crowds, denoting the approximate starts and stops of scheduled events that strayed further and further from their schedules as the day went on. Quinn would find it difficult to disappear, but easy to maneuver. Always there were eyes, often there were words, rarely were there blocks. 

It wasn’t until she passed behind the local community center that someone finally got in her way. A lone shadow that stepped into the light and sprouted bright colors, fluffy hair, and a relieved expression. 

“[color=caffbf]There you are![/color]” Cyril said. “[color=caffbf]Quick—come with me![/color]”

With a theatrical wave to the passersby who saw, he led her gently but insistently through a staff door and into the back rooms of the building. The sounds of an overstuffed city quieted almost immediately, replaced by the dim and incessant hum of fluorescent lights, and the slightly sweet chemical smell of a recently mopped tile floor. 

“[color=caffbf]We commandeered the offices for lunch,[/color]” he said, leading the way through the halls, past doors with empty nameplate holders, and corkboards tacked with fliers for events that had happened months ago. 

Eventually they entered a faculty lounge. It wasn’t overly large, but it did, in a way, look somewhat like her living room on the Aerie. A couch, a TV, some chairs and tables, a kitchen with far less amenities, and the addition of a pinball machine in the corner. 

Sybil was splayed out on the couch, a large baggie of fast food on the communal table, printed with the swooping logo of a place called ‘[i]Benji’s[/i]’. 

“[color=55cbcd]Huh,[/color]” she said. “[color=55cbcd]You found her.[/color]”

“[color=caffbf]Much more that she found me,[/color]” Cyril said, shutting the door behind them, only to recoil out of the way when Quinn darted back to wedge a stopper at the threshold, keeping it just slightly opened. They had been advised, briefly, that she might be given to erratic behavior. They'd seen as much, but still, it would take some getting used to. But used to it he'd get. Cyril had never met a challenge that wasn't worth giving at least a healthy try. 

He stretched tall and long like a cat. There were pops, he let out a satisfied hum. “[color=caffbf]What a morning. Oh, Quinn, help yourself. Picked that up from a local spot. Apparently it’s been around since the captain was a kid.[/color]”

“[color=55cbcd]So like a million years,[/color]” Sybil said humorlessly. 

“[color=caffbf]She’s really not that much older than we are.[/color]”

“[color=55cbcd]She is for a pilot.[/color]”

Cyril rolled his eyes. “[color=caffbf]Ignore her, she’s been painting fruit all morning. Still-life makes her moody.[/color]”

“[color=55cbcd]Nobody in or out of art school wants to paint a fucking [i]apple[/i] on a fucking [i]pillow[/i].[/color]” Sybil rummaged through the bag and tossed Cyril a burger in paper wrapping. She picked one out for herself, then slid the bag over towards Quinn. “[color=55cbcd]There’s fries too. Got a large ‘cause the captain’s not around to yell about calories.[/color]”

“[color=caffbf]God, [i]yes[/i],[/color]” Cyril said, snatching a fingerful of fries with an undignified noise. “[color=caffbf]They don’t warn you about the dietary stuff, when you sign on. Between us, I don’t even think it comes from Toussaint. I’m positive it’s Camille.[/color]”

Sybil took a sharkish bite from her burger and made a halfhearted attempt to cover her mouth when she spoke. “[color=55cbcd]More kale and protein shakes for her.[/color]”

“[color=caffbf]Are they strict on the Aerie, too?[/color]” Cyril asked, hopping onto the counter. “[color=caffbf]What with Dragon and all that.[/color]”